Kevin Hearne - Hunted

Tall chain-link fences stretched away on either side of the main house, with expanses of green grass behind them—acres of turf that served as a massive dog run for a pack of wolfhounds. Seven of them barked and gamboled back and forth as we approached. Oberon’s tail wagged and he woofed a greeting to them.

I hope so. We need to let Granuaile go first and see if one of them is a suitable match for the two of you. As we paused outside, Granuaile smiled at me and gave me a quick kiss.

“Fingers crossed,” she said, and left us to go inside.

We need to find a wolfhound bitch who will get along with both you and Granuaile, and there’s a chance we won’t find one here.

Oberon leapt and twisted in the air in extreme excitement. He kept spinning around as he spoke.

Maybe, Oberon, maybe. And I’m not adopting her. Granuaile is, if she can find a smart one that you both like. And, by the way, she has to like you too. You need to be a gentlehound and win her affection by yourself. We’re not going to adopt one unless she genuinely gets along with both of you.

Oberon’s enthusiasm wasn’t dampened in the least by my cautions and disclaimers. He spun around so fast he was making me dizzy, and the independent enthusiasm of his tail eventually overbalanced him and he wiped out. Undeterred, he leapt back up and tried to execute something gymnastic, for which wolfhounds are decidedly not renowned. He wiped out again. Realizing he felt too awesome to stand right then, he wriggled around in the grass of the front yard, every inch of him in motion.

Well, to be fair, Oberon, sausage wasn’t really my idea. It was just my idea to feed it to you.

Are you saying you’d give up sausage for a companion?

That admission made me feel more than a little ashamed. I’m sorry we waited so long, buddy. And, remember, we might not find the perfect bitch here today, but if not we’ll keep looking. It’s a quest now.

Oberon rolled over to get his feet underneath him and then he leapt at me, tackling me to the ground.

“Auggh!” I cried aloud, half in alarm and half in amusement. “Shit! Oberon, get off me!”

I tried to twist away, but the bulk of his weight pressed down on my chest and I had no leverage. Still, I managed to turn my hips around in time for Oberon to start humping the side of my leg.

“Gah! Ha! Oberon, stop!” It was simultaneously horrifying and hilarious, and I couldn’t keep from laughing. “Someone’s going to see!”

The wolfhounds behind the fence seemed to be barking encouragement now, and that, combined with the joy in Oberon’s voice and the picture we must have made for any witnesses, was all it took for me to lose it. I laughed uncontrollably as he humped my leg, helpless to defend myself from his enthusiasm. The hounds barked, I laughed, and Oberon humped until Granuaile appeared behind the fence with an older woman and saved me.

“What in the world? Oberon! That’s enough!” She sounded mortified. It was not the first impression she wished to make on the owner of the ranch. I’m sure she must have reinforced her verbal command with a telepathic one, because Oberon finally ceased and apologized—to her, not me.

He stepped off and spent maybe two seconds in contrition before he started spinning around again. I rolled away and tried to get my laughter under control but couldn’t, because now I was embarrassed and so was Granuaile and that was funny too. Luckily, the owner of the ranch wasn’t offended or shocked. When Granuaile explained that Oberon was unusually excited and didn’t normally behave that way, the woman nodded in sympathy. She knew very well what wolfhounds were like.

With the show over, the hounds inside the fence turned their attention to Granuaile and the owner of the ranch. They crowded around Granuaile and jockeyed for a position underneath her hands, since she was doing her best to pet all seven with only two limbs. Eventually she isolated one from the others, a cream-coated hound with kind brown eyes.

“Could I spend a bit of time with this one?” Granuaile asked, to which the owner nodded. As Granuaile and the owner walked back toward the house, all the hounds followed, not just the one Granuaile had asked about.

Oberon stopped spinning and pricked up his ears as they passed out of sight.

They’re going to chat for a little while. She’ll make a decision soon enough. Flop down and I’ll give you a belly rub while we wait.

Oberon dove and skidded across the lawn as he twisted to present his belly. I began to scratch him and tried to avoid getting swatted by his tail, which wouldn’t stop wagging.

Now, remember, buddy, regardless of which hound we adopt, she’s not going to know how to speak at first. We have to teach her.

Oberon said, and that’s all I had to say to keep him occupied, because he began to catalog all his favorite movies and rank them according to their potential for language acquisition. He was going to start with Pulp Fiction but dismissed it for fear that she would keep asking him what Marsellus Wallace looked like. Somehow, from there, he wound up choosing to begin with Pride & Prejudice starring Keira Knightley, because there was an Irish wolfhound running around in it. Eventually Granuaile and the owner of the ranch emerged from the house with the cream-colored hound on a leash.

All right, buddy, time to be on your best behavior. Sit up and don’t move. Follow Granuaile’s lead.

He posed like a show dog, perfectly still except for his tail, which swished madly across the grass.

“Hello, Oberon,” Granuaile said aloud, clearly for the owner’s benefit. Dog owners were used to people talking to dogs and wouldn’t find it strange. “This lovely lady is Orlaith. Would you like to say hello?”

Oberon gave a short bark of affirmation, but mentally he said,

Granuaile must have answered him, for there was a pause before he said,

Orlaith approached, nose aquiver and tail sawing the air, and Oberon rose to his feet, similarly enthused. He was very patient as she snuffled all around his face, and then she did a quick once-over of his torso before sliding down to his posterior.

Oberon said. Orlaith’s rear end was of course next to his snout now, and he turned his head to get a good whiff of it. Swinging around his head meant pulling his shoulders along and then his rear legs, which drew him away from Orlaith’s nose. She tried to get in closer, and that had the same effect, pulling her ass away from Oberon. In no time they were circling each other, pursuing what for them was a heady fragrance, and Granuaile let go of the leash. Their tempo sped up, and I wondered how long they could maintain it without crashing. Soon they weren’t even trying to sniff, they were simply chasing each other in circles with their mouths open in doggie smiles.

Granuaile laughed and looked at me. “She likes him.”

I grinned and nodded. It was pretty obvious from the hound’s behavior, but it was good to have confirmation of Orlaith’s feelings from Granuaile. I would be very careful not to tap into Orlaith’s head for a few weeks, to make sure she bonded properly with Granuaile.

Oberon heard the comment, of course, and said,

I asked Granuaile,“Do you think you’ll get along with her?”

“Oh, yes, no problem,” she replied. “Orlaith’s quick and very sweet.”

Oberon broke out of the circle and took off across the lawn, Orlaith hot on his heels.