Two Tails
an episode
(2)
[Some days later.]
They lounged silently in the overgrown pasture under the large oak. It had been three hours since they had last stopped, and the Dog finally relented to the Sheep's request for a moment to rest. The Sheep sat with eir head drooping low, breathing quieter now than minutes ago. Ey spoke rarely in the course of a day, though when ey spoke, it came out in a clear and easy bleat. The Dog fretted over em, just a little bit. Ey emself had so far had plenty to eat, playing Lassie for the crowds at Burger Kings and KFCs, but the Sheep hadn't eaten at all. The Dog was sure the monstrous blob of wool hid very bony ribs.
The Dog decided that now was the time to play Parent. Pep and cheer.
"Eat, drink, rest," ey announced. "Those are Big Things. Very important. Okay?"
It sounded very inspirational to em, but the Sheep only stared. A glob of wool with shuttered eyes. The Dog continued, struggling to recall the speech they'd heard when they had first left home some months ago. "Stay sharp and alert. Be ready to run and fight and… and stuff. Very important stuff. Sleep when--um, sleep in turns. Be--"
"Why are you having such trouble remembering what Mom taught us?" the Sheep asked suddenly. "It's only been a few weeks since we turned. Dogs are supposed to have better brains than Sheep."
Put like that, the Dog didn't quite know how to answer the question, so ey confronted the insult, instead.
"I am smarter."
"You're losing it," came the bleat.
Now, it was true that the Dog's vocabulary was slipping. Somewhat. Just a little bit. Hardly enough to notice, really. A rough bark could blur the edge nicely. A steady whine could completely cover the gaps by inducing a temporary deafness in eir audience. Ey was growing quite good at that. But what the Sheep perhaps forgot was that Dogs are excellent judges of tone and mood. And the Dog clearly heard that this bleat jiggled in the Sheep's throat more than it had previously.
Eir own bark became sharper in response.
"I'm using mine more!"
The quip didn't turn out to be quite the witty retort that the Dog had planned. Ey wanted to say something far more demoralizing, but ey could only stare blankly as seconds ticked by. Eir brain could no longer recall how to phrase snark in compound sentences. Ey'd never realized what a gift it had been. Ey doubted the Sheep would appreciate the loss.
No, of course not. Sheep had no patience for fun. The Dog was being frowned at. Familiar sibling eyes were made further alien and vaguely sinister by the Sheepish slits. With layer upon unkempt layer of once-white wool now corded with dirt and grass, the Sheep looked like a glob of grey matter left out in the rain.
I can't believe we're related.
"Brains aren't a non-renewable resource," snooted the Sheep. "Brains don't come with an expiration date. You can't run out of brains."
The Dog glared but could not speak, and in the absence of eir reply, the silence stretched out painfully. That a Glob of Grey Matter should say this to em felt the cruelest cut of all. Ey had never felt so fluffy and small. Ey tapped eir ridiculous tail against the grass as eir mind worked to latch on to something. Anything. Ey was certain ey was using eir brain more, just certain of it. After all, the Sheep just sat and walked and sat again all day long. Ey barely even spoke. Still, the Dog had to wonder why this Brain business seemed so darn easy for the Sheep, because, for pete's sake, weren't Dogs above Sheep on the food chain? That had to count for something. Nobody said, "Just look at that incredibly badass Sheep!"
Then again, this particular Sheep had proven eir brain. Ey had been right about the Bats last night, after all. Not the cool kind that sucked blood--the Dog remembered those--but the everyday kind that were rabid and lived in caves or abandoned barns going bump in the night. The Dog had known that in eir head, ey had, but instinct to eat had overridden eir smarts. It had taken the Sheep to stop em from chasing the Bats. That was becoming a trend.
The Dog stared across the tall grass at the slit-eyed Sheep and felt very fluffy and wrong.
Fugly-eyed smartass.
Defeat made a Dog cranky. And a Dog loaded with Complex Issues will become downright pissy.
So in the absence of a witty retort and in the fine tradition of both Man and Dog, ey took a cue and lifted eir leg.
"Hey!" The Sheep scampered away, eir bleating frenzied and indignant.
The Dog's aim had always been perfect. And the Sheep was trapped in eir woolly sponge. Sucks to be Sheep. Perhaps the Sheep would beg some kind farmer to shave em now and look less like a waterlogged Brain. Two in one triumph. Not bad.
The Dog couldn't laugh, not like ey did before. But eir open-mouthed pant had the same effect on the Sheep, and ey knew it. Ey flaunted it broadly as the Sheep stumbled off, stomping a disgruntled path across the old pasture. The Dog brandished eir tail high over eir back like a flag and trotted forward in a jaunty gait as ey followed after, keeping eir one-Sheep flock ever in front of em.
It wasn't until some minutes later, when a paw landed in something soft and moist and steaming hot, that the Dog remembered their Mom's warnings on karma.
Life wasn't very fair at all.
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