Post by Cody on Oct 2, 2005 17:01:03 GMT -5
((can I join as a member later? I want to see if my audition pays off first))
~~~~~
The fumes from the street hit Cody's nostrils, which flared in reply. He had traveled a long way from home, from his Masters who probably missed him. He was paw-sore, his pads cracked and bleeding, but he pushed on.
Cody was a two-year-old mixed breed dog, with both blue heeler and dalmatian heritage. His pelt was white, dappled with millions of gray spots. But his ears were mottled brown and white; it looked as if someone had painted brown rain onto a white canvas, the brown creeping along like liquid on the bare earth. His eyes were a liquid mahogany, beautiful, inquisitive eyes. His muscles rippled under his pelt as he barely moved a shoulder.
A new scent hit his nose; his nostrils flared again. Dogs. The thought of more canids excited him. Yes, he was prepared for the worst if these dogs weren't as friendly as those back home.
In fact, his shoulders bore the scars of clawmarks from a feral dog pack closer to home. Here he hoped it would be different. He warily crossed the street--a car had almost hit him earlier on in his journey--and then saw it: a magestic brown dog. The canine disappeared before he could yip a hello.
His ears perked as a squirrel chattered a warning from a park tree. The smell of a rabbit's blood also hit his nose. His tongue swiped over his lips eagerly. This place had prey . . . even though the most he killed in his two years was a duck at the local pond, back home. No, he couldn't think of home now. He had to concentrate on this new thing, here. A faint bark broke the silence of dusk. Dogs could live here, they could support pups, probably, they could run free, they could live.
Cody parted his jaws in the softest, gentlest growl he had ever sounded. "This is my home.
~~~~~
The fumes from the street hit Cody's nostrils, which flared in reply. He had traveled a long way from home, from his Masters who probably missed him. He was paw-sore, his pads cracked and bleeding, but he pushed on.
Cody was a two-year-old mixed breed dog, with both blue heeler and dalmatian heritage. His pelt was white, dappled with millions of gray spots. But his ears were mottled brown and white; it looked as if someone had painted brown rain onto a white canvas, the brown creeping along like liquid on the bare earth. His eyes were a liquid mahogany, beautiful, inquisitive eyes. His muscles rippled under his pelt as he barely moved a shoulder.
A new scent hit his nose; his nostrils flared again. Dogs. The thought of more canids excited him. Yes, he was prepared for the worst if these dogs weren't as friendly as those back home.
In fact, his shoulders bore the scars of clawmarks from a feral dog pack closer to home. Here he hoped it would be different. He warily crossed the street--a car had almost hit him earlier on in his journey--and then saw it: a magestic brown dog. The canine disappeared before he could yip a hello.
His ears perked as a squirrel chattered a warning from a park tree. The smell of a rabbit's blood also hit his nose. His tongue swiped over his lips eagerly. This place had prey . . . even though the most he killed in his two years was a duck at the local pond, back home. No, he couldn't think of home now. He had to concentrate on this new thing, here. A faint bark broke the silence of dusk. Dogs could live here, they could support pups, probably, they could run free, they could live.
Cody parted his jaws in the softest, gentlest growl he had ever sounded. "This is my home.
