Scout: A tail of Babylon Gardens

[GingaDensetsuAleu]

This is one of the fics I've been working on. I'm aiming to upload around one chapter per week.
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Chapter 1: you are here!
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
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Chapter 1: Open range

Clouds drifted lazily through the sky as the Wyoming winds gently rustled the grasses through the fields. Boulders stood here and there, breaking up the landscape, offering great vantage points to view the babbling creek, the mountain views, the edges of the trees, and the golden grasses.
A slipshod fence stood just before the treeline, marking the edge of the territory with its wooden posts leaning against each other, going around the entire field and then back up and over the hill. Just at the top of the hill, barely visible from here in the valley, stood the silo and barn; just beyond, down the hill a ways, sat the house.
Sheep grazed peacefully inside the fence, munching the sweet, ripe grasses. This field was too rocky, too uneven, to be cleared for planting, so it had instead been planted with the best grasses for the sheep to eat, sweet-smelling and juicy and rarely going to seed before it had reached at least a foot tall.
Perched atop a rock, not too far from the flock, sat a border collie, his red bandana covering a plain gray collar and tag shaped like a straw hat. He had a simple black and white fur pattern, his decently fluffy fur blowing in the breeze as he allowed himself a moment with his eyes shut, tilting his head back to let the wind cool under his neck. After a few moments, he opened his eyes again and scanned the landscape, looking over his sheep and counting them once more.
Fifty, eighty, one-ten, one-twenty-five, one-twenty-seven. All there. He picked up his staff, little more than a crooked stick, and slung his bag over his shoulder, jumping down off the rock and darting to another one. The herd barely even looked up at him as he mounted the rock and looked down at them.
He grinned happily as he counted once more, naming each of the sheep as he did. He knew each one by name, by sight, by scent… these were his sheep, he’d been with them since he was a pup, his whole life for some of them, and their whole life for others. This was what he was born for. This was what he loved doing.
Something caught his eye. Not movement, so much as… not movement. He stared just beyond the fence at the patch of grass that didn’t sway in the wind quite the same as the rest of the grass. Almost like something was stopping it. Without removing his eye from the spot, Scout reached into his bag and withdrew a long, leather cord, made of multiple strips of leather wound together, with a wider, spoonlike piece in the middle.
When the patch moved, coming closer, Scout narrowed his eyes. A quick flash of gray fur darted up to the fence. Scout moved closer, jumping from his rock to sheep, sheep to another sheep, quickly and silently. The sheep he jumped to barely even noticed him; he was light on his foot, and he did this all the time, so they weren’t worried. Once he was downwind of the suspicious spot, Scout reached into his bag again and withdrew a single clear marble. He inspected it for blemishes quickly; now was not the time to use a cracked marble and have it explode before it could do its job.
Another flash of gray fur, closer to the herd this time. Scout narrowed his eyes and loaded the marble in the slingshot, winding it up slowly, letting it out as it went faster and faster until it hummed from the strap displacing air so rapidly. Coyote. They never learned, did they? Scout raised his slingshot to aim, and-

-Banged his hand into the door of Paw’s truck, causing a short, sharp burst of pain and waking Scout from his dream. He winced and rubbed his hand, pinning his ears back and sitting up. It was nearly nighttime, outside the truck window. The air smelled funny, and he didn’t like it. He looked in the seat next to him, at the bag containing his slingshot and shot. All that was left of the farm where he’d grown up.
The new owners hadn’t even waited for the old owners to leave town before they’d started to demolish buildings to put up new-fangled technological machine doodads. Scout had had the misfortune to see the barn get knocked down as they drove past and out of town.
Ma peeked back at him, then passed back a food bag from some fast food place. “Here, Scout, now you’re awake, we got you some dinner when we stopped. It’s probably still somewhat warm, if you hurry up and eat it.”
Scout accepted the bag and forced a smile. Keep smiling, no matter what. Ma and Paw need you to. “Thanks, Ma. Ah’ll be sure t’ eat it quick, then.” He opened the bag and unwrapped the burger inside. It was pretty good, a little greasy and stone cold, but good. He ate it thankfully, his empty stomach happily accepting the food. After nearly two days straight in Paw’s truck, Scout was itching to get out and run around, but he knew it was impossible. They were racing the movers, after all. Gotta clean the new house before the furniture arrived, and Ma’s new job started the day after tomorrow, so they couldn’t be late.
Ma looked back. “We’re entering River Ridge now, so it’ll only be about twenty minutes before we’re there. Then you can stop fidgeting and run around awhile before bedtime. Okay, Scout?”
Scout nodded quietly. Had he really been fidgeting that much? “Yes, ma.” Force a smile. Be happy. Don’t think about the sheep. He looked down at his slingshot bag again, rubbing a thumb over a small series of red stains on one side of the leather. He remembered the fight that had put them there. They still smelled faintly of blood. He smiled fondly at the bag and opened it up to peek inside. There was his slingshot, coiled neatly on top. Inside was a mix of marbles, river rocks, and small metal balls.
The truck slowed and turned, then went through a series of turns in a row before stopping. The engine powered off. Paw cleared his throat and spoke in that deep, gravely voice of his. “We’re there. Everybody out.”
Ma stepped lightly out of the car and opened the back door for Scout, since the child lock was engaged to keep him from opening the doors. Scout climbed out, clutching his shot bag, and looked up at the house. It was blue, unfamiliar, and strange. A garage opened onto the driveway, with a porch to one side- a swing was already installed, but definitely needed the cushions cleaned. There was a second story, Scout could see, with a big window looking out over the yard just over the garage.
Ma was what one might expect of a country woman- tan skin, hair done up in a tight bun- a few streaks of gray starting to sneak in, but otherwise brown and shiny like fresh chocolate- blue jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, over her boots, so she could move about easily. Eyes as blue as a summer sky.
Paw, likewise, looked as one might expect- light brown hair, like the dust that blows up during a windstorm, moving around to his chin as a scruffy beard, all with streaks of gray starting to sneak in. He wore his suspenders over his plaid shirt and blue jeans- just like his Paw had done, and HIS Paw before him. His eyes were brown, the color of a pumpkin pie.
The air in this new neighborhood smelled strange- it took Scout a few minutes to realize that what he was smelling wasn’t that there WAS a strange smell, but rather that there WASN’T a smell- there wasn’t a trace of manure smell in the air, nor hay, nor the musky scent of horses, cows, sheep, chickens- any livestock at all. Scout pinned his ears back, looking around. He spotted a pair of eyes watching him from the window across the street, but they retreated as soon as they saw him look their way. He moved around to the back of Paw’s truck to help unload. Not much had been brought along- Ma and Paw’s bedframe, Ma’s vacuum and mop, various other cleaning supplies, and a basket with Scout’s name on it- a large one, with a big cushion sewn right into it, and a blanket with it.
Scout knew what the basket was, of course- it was his new bed. He carried it in and placed it in front of the fireplace as instructed, standing back and looking at it distastefully. This house smelled like dust and stale air. He didn’t like it. He went back out to the truck and dutifully unloaded the lighter stuff while Ma and Paw unloaded their bedframe, setting it aside and laying the mattress on the floor in their new bedroom for now. It was late by now, no time for setting up furniture, and beside that, they still had to clean the house first.
Scout climbed into his basket and lay there, hugging his knees and staring at his shot bag. He could hear Ma and Paw setting up their bed. Then, the lights went out, and the house went silent. Scout was left in his basket, awake. Sleep didn’t come. Scout hated the basket. He wanted his old bed, the pile of hay up in the loft. This house was too quiet. He listened for any sound. He could hear the refrigerator running, now that Paw had plugged it in; the water heater was getting started with its duties; they’d have to run the water for a while tomorrow to get the old stale water out of the pipes. Scout gave a little whimper. He missed hearing the horses and the cows breathing as they slept, occasionally making little noises. He missed hearing his sheep in the distance, in their protected pen.
“No cryin’, Scout. No need fer cryin’...” He whispered to himself, blinking back some tears. “Yer a sheepdog. You fight coyotes, wolves, and mountain lions. You don’t cry.” The tears kept threatening to come, and he blinked them back. “Sheepdogs are too tough t’ cry. YE’RE too tough t’ cry.” He kept fighting back the tears and an occasional weak sob, staring off into the darkness until finally it engulfed him, and he fell asleep, curled up in his new bed and dreaming of his missing flock.

[Amazee Dayzee]

I think that you have made a good start with this story so far! I can't wait to see what else you are gonna post!

[NHWestoN]

Wait'til he meets the neighbors! Good start.

[CunningFox]

Strong start. Looking forward to seeing where it goes.

Funnily enough, I've got a dog named Scout.

[Amazee Dayzee]

I honestly think he will get along well with Fox and Bailey as they have both been brought up on farms. Maybe they will help him to acclimate to his new home.

[GingaDensetsuAleu]

A bonus chapter this week, because I had it ready and I have no patience.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2: You are here
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

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Chapter 2: Moving in

Scout dodged around the movers, helping to point them to where their various boxes and furniture needed to go. His shot bag was slung over his shoulder and hanging at his hip. All day yesterday had been spent cleaning; he’d vacuumed the whole floor six times, scrubbed the bathtub and toilets, and done anything he could to help. He’d been woken up this morning by the sound of the movers arriving, and had so far been helping Paw direct them the whole day while Ma was at work. Scout took a moment to wonder how she’d got there, since Paw’s truck was still here.
One of the movers stepped on his paw, and he yelped, darting out of the way. “That goes upstairs, t’ the left!”
It took the movers until noon to move all their stuff in and leave, so that meant that Scout didn’t have a chance to eat until then. No big deal, he’d had to skip breakfast before. He sat across from Paw on a folding chair, sitting at a folding table, picking at his burger. Just a few days ago, fast food had been a rare treat, but after nearly four days of eating it exclusively, Scout was kind of tired of it.
Paw watched him. He wasn’t much one for talking, but he could tell Scout wasn’t really enjoying the process of moving. To be fair, who did? He cleared his throat. “Scout, how you likin’ the new house?”
Scout looked up at Paw. I hate it and I want to go home, he wanted to say. But this WAS home now. And Paw wouldn’t be sympathetic for tears. Hadn’t been when Scout was a pup, anyway. Force a smile. Act excited. “It’s great, Paw. Ah can’t wait ‘til we’re all set up.”
Paw eyed Scout. He was putting on a brave face, but Paw was smarter than that. Of COURSE he didn’t like it. At least, not yet. Scout had been raised on a farm, with acres of land to run around in and a flock of sheep to tend since he was barely more than a pup. He could see the homesickness in the dog’s eyes. He felt it a bit himself; he’d been running that farm since he was a young man. But, broke is broke, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He and Ma had no kids to pass the farm to, or at least none that wanted it, so it had been sold, and the livestock sold off to the neighbors. “... Good. Yer job’s gonna be to unpack, say, at least two boxes per day, until they’re all unpacked. Take stuff out, find a place fer it t’ live, fold th’ boxes flat an’ lay ‘em in a stack somewhere fer us t’ take care of.” He gave a firm nod and returned to his food.
“Yes, Paw.” Scout nodded quietly and finally took a bite of his burger. The grease didn’t taste as good as it used to. He sighed and put it down, washing down the bite with a drink of water. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Focused on lunch. Paw didn’t want to hear his worries, he wanted his dog to be obedient and quiet.
Sheepdogs are tough. I’m tough. Too tough for tears.
“After lunch, I want ye t’ check out th’ backyard. Clean up any trash ye find, sweep off th’ deck, rake th’ leaves.”
“Yes, Paw.”
He ruffled his ears with a smile. “Yer a good boy, Scout. Remember that.”
“Yes, Paw.”

Ten minutes later found Scout in the backyard with a trash bag, picking up and throwing away months’ worth of blown-around trash that had gotten trapped in the bounds of the privacy fence. He sighed. This moving stuff was hard work, and not the fun kind he was used to. He could hear Paw putting the dishes away in the kitchen through the open window.
Scout’s cleaning revealed patches of yellow grass where the sun had been blocked, dead flower beds, and various bugs. He tied off the full bag and put it aside. They didn’t have a bin yet, so there wasn’t anything else to do with it.
He sighed and sat on the deck stairs, looking out over the yard. It was cleared out now- the yellow patches had started to fade already in the sunlight, the leaves were gone, and he’d swept off the porch.
“Paw?” Scout put his ears back, pausing at the door. He’d never been BANNED from entering the house, not exactly, but he had never really cared for being indoors. He was more of an outside dog. He found Paw resting against the wall with his hand on his back, the way he had been doing the past year or two when he’d been working too hard. Scout flinched; it was a reminder of one of the reasons they were here now in the first place. Paw wasn’t as young as he used to be. “Paw, ah’ve finished with th’ backyard. What else do ya need me doin’?”
Paw gave Scout a little dismissive wave. “Y’er good fer th’ day, Scout. We got plenty ‘a time t’ get unpacked. Why don’t ya go an’ explore th’ neighborhood, see if y’ can make any new friends?”
Scout hesitated. “Uh.. yes, Paw… Ah can… explore.. Ah suppose…” He slung his slingshot bag over his shoulder and wandered out the front door. The eyes across the street disappeared when he looked at them again. He put his ears back and started walking along the sidewalk.
There was a wolf in a leather jacket walking down the street toward him. He had his slingshot out and a marble loaded before he even realized what he was doing, the sling whirring to a gentle hum of displaced air as he wound it up. The wolf glanced at him, giving him a glare as if daring him to, then turned and walked up to a house. The mailbox read “Wolf House.” Scout watched her go inside, then let his slingshot wind down and put it away. There were wolves living here? This place was weird.
None of the neighborhood pets seemed too interested in meeting Scout, not that Scout was interested in meeting them. Soft, lazy, squishy housepets that wouldn’t know a day’s work if it bit them on the tail. He scowled at a tan corgi with his half-husky puppies playing ball in a yard. Bet HE never had to deal with any kind of real stress in his life. Just sunshine and rainbows and playtime, all the time.
He huffed and kept wandering around. How long did he have to stay out before Paw wanted him back in the house? Or should he even GO back in? He could just stay outside, in the backyard and… do what? Shoot his slingshot at the fence? Smell the flowers? What did housepets even DO?
A few moments later, horror struck him. ‘Wait a second… I’M a housepet now!’ He made a disgusted noise and turned right back around to head back to the house. Maybe Paw would have more work for him. Maybe there was something he could guard. ANYTHING to keep him from becoming soft like.. Like… He glanced around for an example, spotting a white husky with a yellow bandana. Like HIM.
Scout’s horror faded into sorrow as he walked up the steps to the house. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t HOME. It was a house. Home was in Wyoming… but, no it wasn’t. He’d seen the barn get destroyed with his own eyes. Home was gone. Forever.
Scout sat on the porch and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He could feel tears trying to force their way onto his face. Paw wouldn’t cry though, would he? No, Paw was tough. He tried to picture the big man with his grizzled beard streaked with gray, crying. He couldn’t. It just looked wrong. What would Paw say if he saw Scout now, fighting back tears? Scout shakily impersonated Paw out loud. “What’re you cryin’ fer? You got a roof over yer head, a warm place t’ sleep, an’ food in yer belly! There’s no call fer tears! Buck up! You call yerself a sheepdog?!”
The impersonation cheered Scout up for a few moments, and he smiled at his impression. It was pretty good, he thought; he’d even managed to get Paw’s gruff tone just right. But then he remembered WHY he had been impersonating Paw, and his face fell. Because he was sad, fighting off tears. Because home was gone. His sheep were gone. And Ma and Paw had dragged him halfway across the country, to this place full of pets, made HIM a pet. And it wasn’t home, probably would never BE home, and felt all wrong.
Scout sucked in a deep breath, held it for a few moments, and then whispered to himself. “Ah have a roof over mah head, a warm place t’ sleep, an’ food in mah belly. There’s no call fer tears. Ah have a roof over mah head, a warm place t’ sleep, an’ food in mah belly. No call fer tears. No call fer tears…” He curled up, hugging his legs and letting his tail cover his toes, leaning on the porch’s support post and repeating it to himself over and over and over again.

[Chieris]

That is a very nice chapter, I'm definitely looking forward to see Scout's interactions with the pets of Babylon Gardens

[Amazee Dayzee]

One thing I want to ask is if Scout only dealt with the sheep. Or did he also work with the other animals and did other chores (like scooping up cow manure)?

[GingaDensetsuAleu]

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3: You are here
Chapter 4
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Chapter 3: Home Alone

Ma gently shook Scout awake, running her hands through his fur. Scout sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking at her. “... Ma? ‘S there a problem?” He looked around quietly.
Ma shook her head. “No, I just wanted to let you know I was leaving for work, and Paw is already gone. I didn’t want you to wake up and be home alone without knowing it.” She stroked his head lovingly. “You can go back to sleep, if you like. Be a good boy for me today?”
Scout nodded, leaning into her for a hug. “Ah love ya, Ma. Have a good day at work fer me?”
“Mm. Of course. Go on back to sleep now.” She kissed his head, giving his ears one final stroke before standing up and heading toward the door.
Scout watched Ma go, listening to her locking the door before laying back down. He didn’t go back to sleep; he couldn’t. He listened to the hollow sounds of the house. None of Paw’s snoring, no sounds at all other than the fridge and the heater. He sat up again. The silence sat in his gut like a rock, unnerving and uncomfortable. Why did Ma have to wake him up to tell him he was all alone?
He knew in his head it was because she was worried that he would panic if he woke up and found nobody there, and maybe she was right, but now he couldn’t go back to sleep. After nearly an hour of trying, Scout sighed and climbed out of his basket, tucking the loose corner of his blanket back into the basket before he sighed and wandered the house once. He was really all alone. His tail went between his legs.
Back on the farm, he had never really been all alone. Sure, he was often the only person in sight, but he’d had a little whistle he could blow if he ever needed anything, and someone working in a nearby field would come to check on him. He’d never been ACTUALLY alone.
After contemplating the implications for a while, he decided that there was nothing to be done for it and went to the kitchen. He was old enough that he shouldn’t NEED supervision, after all, he was sixteen, a fully-grown border collie, and a trained sheepdog. He dug his bowl out of the pile of clean dishes, went to the cupboard, and filled it with kibbles before taking it to the table.
It was odd to him, being able to eat his breakfast in peace. Back on the farm, he’d always been in a rush to get the sheep out to pasture, so he’d always brought his breakfast with him, usually in the form of a sandwich or some other portable food. He ate his kibbles in silence, the sound of them crunching filling the empty air. TOO QUIET.
He put his bowl in the sink and stomped off upstairs. Picked a room. Started unpacking boxes. Still too quiet. He pinned his ears back and growled in frustration. Why did the quiet bother him so much? He finished unpacking three boxes, then stomped outside and sat on the porch.
He closed his eyes and listened to the wind in the trees, the birdsong, the gentle sounds of suburban life. Better. Not great, but better.
After a while, Scout gave a bored grumble. He fetched his slingshot bag and did a few laps of the front and back yard, looking around for danger. That took up a good fifteen minutes. Only… six hours to go, before Paw would be back from work. He sighed heavily and took off, roaming the neighborhood from sheer boredom.

Martha Edwards got off the bus and started walking home. It was her second day at her new job, and her feet were killing her from the shoes they made her wear at the factory. She was glad to be back in her well-worn boots. George’s truck was in the driveway as she approached; good, he probably had supper about ready.
“George, I’m home!” She called as she stepped inside the house and started unlacing her shoes. “Scout, sweetie? You here?”
“He ain’t. Ain’t seen ‘im, neither.” George’s gruff voice sounded as he approached. “He’s prob’ly out, exploring th’ neighborhood. Been alone all day, after all.” He gave her a hug and a kiss. “He’ll turn up soon, I reckon.”
Martha kissed George back, then looked around. “Well… he doesn’t seem to have torn up the house, so that’s a good sign. I was worried he would get upset, being all alone like that. We’ve never left him alone for long stretches before.”
George huffed. “He’s a smart dog. Knows better. Unpacked a bit upstairs.” He turned to head back toward the kitchen. “Chicken about ready.”
“Okay, hun, I’ll be there in a second.” Martha took off her boots. The only thing that felt better than her own boots, was no shoes at all. She sighed happily, then paused when there was a knock at the door. She turned around and opened it. “Oh, dear. Hello, officer.”
Standing at the door was a largish black dog, dressed in a K-9 officer vest, complete with a little badge, and a bandage on his head, right between his eyes. He looked up at her. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but is this the Edwards residence?”
Martha’s heart sank. That little bandage right between the officer’s eyes, and him looking for her and George by name, could only mean one thing. “Why, yes, I’m afraid it is. This is… about our little Scout, isn’t it?”
The officer tugged a little leash he was carrying to pull Scout out from behind him. Scout was sulking, letting himself be led around, and looked like he’d been in a fight. “I’m afraid so, ma’am…” He started undoing the leash from Scout’s collar. “We found him down at the dog park, taking pot shots at some of the neighborhood pets with a slingshot. When we tried to apprehend him, he led us on a merry little chase. Got off a few good shots, too.” The officer paused to rub at his bandage. “Good arm on him. We kept him in custody down at the station until a patrol reported that someone had come home.” He handed Scout’s shot bag to Martha.
Scout huffed and stomped into the house. The officer lowered his voice. “Ma’am, your family just moved here, did you not? From a farm? It might be best to keep the slingshot away from him for a while, until he’s settled in a little better. Nobody was seriously hurt this time, but that misplaced aggression is going to get him into some trouble if he doesn’t get it under control.”
Martha stammered. “I’m terribly sorry, officer, I’m not sure why he did that. He’s USUALLY so well-behaved…”
“It’s probably just stress from the move, ma’am. I can provide him some therapy if necessary, as I am also a licensed pet therapist. Some pets will act out a little when undergoing large life changes, such as a move.” He shook her hand, a little too firmly, and gave her a card. “I’m Officer Mungo. I’d better get back to my patrol, but give me, or anybody down at K-9 headquarters, a call, if you have any questions.” With that, he turned and started back down the sidewalk to his little K-9 scooter. He had another bandage on his left hindquarter.
Martha closed the door, hefting Scout’s shot bag as she wandered into the kitchen. Scout was sitting at the table, looking extremely guilty. After a few moments, she sighed and put the leather sack up on top of the cupboards, well out of Scout’s reach. “We’ll talk about this AFTER supper.”
George set a plate of food in front of Scout, then glanced at Martha. “Talk about what? What happened?”
Martha quietly took a seat across from Scout, smoothing out her jeans before answering. “Scout has just spent most of the day in a holding cell down at the K-9 police headquarters for using his slingshot to take shots at the neighborhood pets, and leading the K-9 officers on a chase when they tried to stop him. Apparently, he shot several of them before they were able to catch him.”
George scowled at Scout, but didn’t say anything.
Scout hung his head. “Ah didn’t HIT any of ‘em. Ah just hit NEAR ‘em. Th’ regular dogs, that is. Ah DID hit th’ police dogs, but they was chasin’ me.”
“We will talk about it AFTER supper.” Martha repeated as George set down a plate for her and a plate for himself.
“... Yes, Ma…”

[Amazee Dayzee]

After reading this chapter this story appeared in my newsfeed on AOL so I figured I might post it here. It sounds almost like what Scout was doing minus the property damage.

https://www.aol.com/lifestyle/serial-sl ... 40217.html

[GingaDensetsuAleu]

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4: This is it

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Chapter 4: Grounded

“Grounded?! That’s so unfair! Ah ain’t do nothin’!” Scout howled out angrily.
“You shot a police officer in the face! And the butt!” Ma scolded angrily. “Two weeks- front yard, back yard, house, unless your Paw or I are with you. Understood?”
“But Ma-”
“UNDERSTOOD?” She looked down at him sternly, and he nodded, huffing and looking down. “And no slingshot until I think you can behave yourself with it. Understood?”
“... Yes, Ma.” He grunted and stomped off to his basket, plopping down inside and glaring across the room at her. She sighed and shook her head at him. “What’s gotten into you? You’re usually such a good boy. And taking shots at the other dogs? You know better than that.”
“... They’re just housepets. Probably the most exciting thing to happen around here in months.” He muttered to himself.
“Scout Atticus Edwards! No!” She snapped at him and gave him ‘the look.’
Scout flinched and lay down in his basket to pout.
“You can pout at me all you want, but you’re still grounded, and you’re still not getting your slingshot back until you can behave. That is FINAL.” Ma stalked out of the room with a grunt.
Shade huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, sitting cross-legged in his basket and grumbling to himself. “Unfair… Ain’t do nothin’... Jus’ havin’ some fun…” He glared in the direction Ma went and stuck his tongue out at her.
“You wanna make it three? Put that tongue back in, young man.” Scout squeaked and sucked his tongue back into his mouth. He had no idea how Ma did that. She wasn’t even in sight.

The next morning, Ma and Paw were both already gone by the time Scout woke up. He scratched his cheek sleepily, and his hand bumped something unusual. He felt it with his hand and frowned. A smooth square, attached to his collar, rounded corners. It barely stuck out off his collar a quarter of an inch. He wandered to the bathroom to have a look, then put his ears back, cheeks burning. It was a GPS tracker for pets, complete with a little speaker on it that he assumed would be irritating if he went out of bounds.
He tugged at it, trying to remove it, but it wouldn’t so much as slide along his collar. He took his collar off and glared at it, then grimaced. There was a pin with a flat plastic backing keeping it in place. It must be electronically locked. He put his collar back on with a huff. Ma didn’t trust him to stay grounded without a GPS tracker? He huffed crankily. He was tempted to go out of bounds just to see what would happen, but decided not to. It would DEFINITELY tell Ma if he did, and then he would be grounded longer.
He stomped over to the couch and flung himself on it. Fine. If he was to be grounded, then he wasn’t going to be doing the job Paw had given him. Ma and Paw could unpack their boxes their OWN selves. It was THEIR stuff, anyway. Scout’s tiny box of his own belongings was already sitting next to his bed, still packed, but open.
He lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The clock ticked at him relentlessly. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. His resolve started to melt. This was boring. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. He grumbled and sat up. He would watch TV, but it wasn’t hooked up yet, and he didn’t know how to work it anyway. Tick. TICK. TICK. He stomped out the back door and onto the porch. He glared around. Not much out here. He stomped back inside, out to the front yard. Not much here, either. He stomped over to the tree. Maybe he could find a stick to swing around. He looked around. Nothing. Not so much as a twig. Stupid suburban neighborhood with their stupid suburban trees that didn’t have any sticks under them.
There was a forest, a small one, behind the houses across the street. Definitely some sticks over there. Unfortunately, that was out of bounds. He tugged at the GPS tracker.
He could take his collar off, run across the street, find a stick, and then come back to put his collar back on. Nobody would ever know. But if he was caught, he would DEFINITELY end up at the pound. And he didn’t know Ma’s new cell phone number yet.
He grumbled and stomped back in the house. Upstairs. Pick a room, start unpacking. Nothing better to do. He grumbled to himself and tossed things haphazardly to roughly where they should go.
Angry tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t FAIR. He couldn’t stay on his farm with his sheep, he couldn’t play with his slingshot, he couldn’t go out and wander. This house smelled like cleaner and dust and stale air. He hated it here. He just wanted to go home.
Scout stomped his foot and left the box half-unpacked, growling in frustration as he scrubbed the tears out of his eyes and went back downstairs. He glared at his slingshot, way up out of reach on top of the cabinets. He glared at the little box on his collar. He glared at a photo of Paw and Ma, already hanging up in the living room. He glared at his basket. He hated the basket most of all. He hated the way his name was embroidered into it. He hated that it wasn’t his straw pile in the hayloft. To him, that basket represented him being taken from his home.
With an angry growl, he picked up the basket, opened the door to the basement, and threw it down the stairs, slamming the door after it. He stood panting after his fit of rage, then snatched up the blanket and threw that down the stairs too, just for good measure. Then he stomped out the back door, crawled under the balcony, lay down, and stayed there until he heard Ma and Paw come home.

The first thing Martha noticed when she walked in the door, was that Scout’s basket was missing. She wasn’t particularly alarmed at this; she thought maybe Scout had decided to move it into her and George’s room so he wouldn’t be so lonely at night. Or one of the spare rooms. When she didn’t find it there either, she checked the basement. It was lying, upside-down, at the bottom of the stairs, with his blanket lying on top of it. She sighed. She knew a temper tantrum when she saw one; she’d had kids once.
She gave George a kiss. “... where is he?”
“Tracker says backyard. Think he’s under the porch. Didn’t crawl down there to check.” George kissed her head. “He’s still mad.”
“I know. I saw. Poor thing, I didn’t think he’d have such a hard time adjusting. It breaks my heart to have to punish him, but we can’t just let him act out just because he’s upset.” She grimaced, starting toward the back door. “I’m gonna go see if I can get him out of there. Talk to him. If he’s under the porch, he’s gonna need a bath. He’ll be even more mad about that.”
Martha walked outside and down the stairs, crouching next to the porch to peer under. Scout’s green eyes stared back at her. “Hey, sweetie. Wanna come out of there, talk to me?”
She watched his eyes sway back and forth as he shook his head. “Aww, come on out, Sugar Lumplin’. Come talk to Ma.” She sat her rump directly on the ground and patted her lap. After a moment, Scout’s eyes started getting closer, and the filthy border collie crawled out and sat in her lap, leaning forlornly against her chest. She stroked his back, holding him like she had when he was a pup, and their old sheepdog, the one that had trained him, had passed. She was quiet for a while, holding him.
“I saw your basket. You sleeping in the basement now?”
“Ah don’ WANT a basket. Ah want mah straw pile. Ah want mah sheep. Ah wanna go HOME.”
“I know, I know…” she spoke softly and soothingly. “It’s hard to leave our homes, I know. It’s going to take a while before this feels like home.” She started slowly rocking in place, rocking him with her. “But I need you to stop misbehaving. Okay? You know better.”
“Yes, ma…” He lay his head on her shoulder, then gasped when she stood up, pulling herself up with her free hand on the porch, supporting him with a hand under his rump like a child.
“And now, you’re filthy from crawling around under the porch and you need a bath.” She put her hand back on his back and started carrying him inside.
“Awww, maaaa!” He whined, but didn’t try to squirm away from her, turning his head to watch as she carried him through the house, then plopped him down in the tub.
She put out her hand. “Collar, bandana.” Scout removed the requested items and gave them to her, and she started the water, letting it warm up a little bit before she plugged the drain and turned to dig out the dog shampoo from a box on the counter. Scout gave a dejected sigh and sat down in the tub, kicking at the rising water with his toes. Back on the farm, he’d only had to take baths for special occasions, and it didn’t matter how dirty he got.
Just one more thing he hated about being here.