PA 3.5: End of a Tail

Chapter IX Part II

Dell felt naked without her entire outfit, both literally and figuratively. Not only did she feel every shift of the wind with her short fur, but her purple hoodie always had the same sensation to it as a hug- it was comforting to the point of her anthropomorphizing it in some of her older drawings.

Now, it was riddled with filth, tumbling around in a bloodstained recycling bin with a murderous dog that was probably using it as toilet paper or something. When she got home, she'd need to scrub the hell out of it.

Approaching her street by passing through fenceless backyards, Dell quickly found her home just a minute away. Luckily, the road was utterly barren aside from a few old parked cars and mailboxes proudly standing before their respective houses. Everyone was off for work, and the patrols centred around the edges of Kemonotown, near Hachiko, meaning it was relatively easy to bypass them with the information she had. Only a few adults or very young kids had seen them, and none had thought to ask why some random grade 11 was pushing around a bin. *

"We're here," Dell said, rolling the bin past a fence gate and shutting it behind herself, then she let go of it, letting it stand upright.

After the recycling bin was rolled upright onto the wet grass in the backyard of the small suburban house, she could hear Patches rustling around for a while, seemingly failing to get out.

"Give me your paw," he said, voice still muffled from his position inside the bin.

Dell went around to the front of the bin, tossing open the large lid and looking inside. She leaned down as best as she could, but the height of the container and her own relative shortness made it hard to grasp at Patches' paw. Once he had grabbed her, the two tugged as hard as they could but only managed to hurt one another's arm. Patches couldn't even stand up because of the cramped interior and the weakness caused by blood loss, and there was no way the terrier would be able to pick him up all on her own.

"Agh! Fine, just tip it over." He said, letting go of Dell with an annoyed huff.

Dell took a deep breath, then crouched down and placed both paws on the bin, lifting it from the handle on the bottom. Patches let out a grunt of disorientation as the container tipped towards the back before smashing onto the grass and allowing him to crawl out. Both of the dogs were exhausted, and it took their combined strength to get Patches up from his prone position. By now, he was always moaning in pain. He was constantly checking the swollen area by his rib and cussing.

"Hey, cmon, let's get you inside," Dell said, hoisting him up as she had done before and carrying him through the back door of the white suburban household after fumbling around with her keys. When the duo finally got inside, the lack of brisk air made it apparent just how awful the dalmatian was doing. Patches was covered in blood - both his and not - from head to toe, swipes of it along his legs from the stick they had removed, splotches of it along his torso and arms from the small punctures he had received, and his head was still matted with blood from the gash across it. Patches' grey eyes flickered open and closed every second from the dog's overwhelming need to fall asleep. The dalmatian managed to stay upright for the time being, but he swayed drunkenly around with each step.

"Are you okay?" she asked rhetorically, amazed the dog was even able to stay upright.

Patches didn't respond and meekly walked through the cramped hallways with Dell until the living room they had entered was no longer visible. Dell took him through an open door into what was presumably her room.

In contrast to the family photos and stupid messages framed up on the wall that read things like 'House is where the home is!' and 'Dog bless this mess!' Dell's room was just as someone might expect it would be from seeing the terrier's getup. It still surprised Patches to see such an edgy room filled with fake skulls, indie bands, and so much black that it'd make Coco's choice of outfit look upbeat by comparison. The walls were still painted the generic coat of beige that permeated the rest of the suburban home, but that could hardly be discerned with all the artwork and brown posters of hipsters with ukuleles looking sad.