Move On
"I said move on." The hound looks up, his jowls wobbling slightly and his scowl very predominate on his face. You can see that, even though he's a smaller dog than you, he'd be completely willing to shred you apart within a moments notice if necessary.
That, paired with the fact that you see the second window off to your left now is enough to make you move. When you walk up to the window, a tray is instantly slid in your direction. You take it with a low pant of desire and pull it close to your face. There are two steaks there, as large as your head, and a side serving of some kind of grains. You sniff the plate, and your nose twitches into near over-drive; you can smell each and every spice on the meat, and it makes you all the hungrier. Your eyes roam for a moment; to the left of the window, there is a seating area... and though you aren't sure that you are supposed to go there, the thought of taking the food out and all of the way back to the little motel room where you appeared is too much for you. Instead, you shift into the first available seat and you start to eat.
Nothing has ever tasted so good to you in all your life, and you're beginning to realize that maybe this whole dog thing isn't going to be so bad after all.
---
There seems to be a pecking order to everything that you do. You get your food in the same manner as you did the first time, regardless of where you go. The only problem is the fact that there are some canines who are bigger than you... and, you're realizing, the fact that your ID tag labels you as a Bitch means that you are of a particular interest to the male dogs. You notice it when one of them comes up and sniffs you; it's enough to make your hair prickle to a stand-up and a low growl to spill from your throat.
Written by Karlyene on 21 June 2018
