Bogart's purpose was to track, follow, find.
In his youth, he'd been taught to find humans in the aftermath of avalanches, to weather the indomitable northern winds and never lose a trail, to find the pulse amongst bodies otherwise unmoving. In this regard, it made hunting somewhat manageable for a dog whose nature lent him more toward begging than it did running down a squealing animal of the wilds. A scent caught his nose with a twitch, one he pinned as ungulate before he did canid. His tail lashed a little.
Was he becoming an animal of the wilds now?
How was a decision like that made?
He shook out his fur and lowered his head to the ground and followed the slinking trail.
To be clear, he was no animal of the wilds now—not even by a long shot.
If he was, Bogart would not have made the fatal mistake of alerting all around to his very position as he made twin heavy steps, snow crunching beneath him, a soft yelp escaping his jowls. He blinked and took twin steps backward as if that alone could reverse the damage done. The scent he'd been following was close, very, very close. Did he just lose what could've been a meal?
Well, he thought that until his eyes caught the sight of a living shadow in the distance.
Oh.
Bogart scented the air and let out a despondent sigh, he'd been following her, and now she knew exactly where he was.
In his youth, he'd been taught to find humans in the aftermath of avalanches, to weather the indomitable northern winds and never lose a trail, to find the pulse amongst bodies otherwise unmoving. In this regard, it made hunting somewhat manageable for a dog whose nature lent him more toward begging than it did running down a squealing animal of the wilds. A scent caught his nose with a twitch, one he pinned as ungulate before he did canid. His tail lashed a little.
Was he becoming an animal of the wilds now?
How was a decision like that made?
He shook out his fur and lowered his head to the ground and followed the slinking trail.
To be clear, he was no animal of the wilds now—not even by a long shot.
If he was, Bogart would not have made the fatal mistake of alerting all around to his very position as he made twin heavy steps, snow crunching beneath him, a soft yelp escaping his jowls. He blinked and took twin steps backward as if that alone could reverse the damage done. The scent he'd been following was close, very, very close. Did he just lose what could've been a meal?
Well, he thought that until his eyes caught the sight of a living shadow in the distance.
Oh.
Bogart scented the air and let out a despondent sigh, he'd been following her, and now she knew exactly where he was.
