Hockey Fic - Dog Days Are Over, Part 1
Title: Dog Days Are Over
Rating: Mature
Summary: In which Andrew Shaw gets turned into a dog, and Brandon Bollig has to take care of him.
The thing was, Andrew was pretty sure he didn’t do anything to deserve this. Like, 85, 86% sure.
He’d been standing out in front of the restaurant after the team dinner, waiting for a cab, and he’d had his earphones in. So he hadn’t heard the little old lady ask him for help, or whatever. He was just standing there, bopping along to Jay-Z, when bam! All of the sudden he’s a dog.
“Hey!” he tried to yell, but it came out as a bark. And not a very intimidating bark, either, he thought, dismayed. That was definitely more of a yap.
“Serves you right,” said the little old lady who was standing behind him, apparently. “Maybe this will teach you some manners.”
Andrew wanted to protest at that - he had plenty of manners, he was Canadian, ok - but of course it just came out as more barking. She ignored him and got into the cab that had just pulled up.
“Be a good boy!” she shouted out the window as the cab pulled away, and Andrew kind of lost it, barking insults after her as loudly as he could and starting to run after the cab.
“Hey there, little guy,” came a familiar voice from somewhere above him. “What’re you doing here?” He wasn’t really paying that much attention, too focused on chasing after the cab, until he ran headfirst into someone’s legs.
“Better watch it,” came the same familiar voice, sounding amused, which made it even more familiar, what the hell, Andrew thought, until he looked up - and up and up, damn it all - and realized that he’d just tried to bowl Brandon over. And it had been even less effective than normal.
He was really happy to see Brandon, though, and his tail started wagging without his permission. He tried to say “Hey, man,” but it came out as another bark. This one sounded much friendlier, though, and Brandon was grinning as he crouched down and offered his hand for Andrew to sniff, which he did with enthusiasm. Which, whatever, Brandon smelled really good, OK? Like the steak he’d had for dinner, and his usual cologne, and a lingering hint of something that Andrew thought might come from spending so much time at the rink.
“You’re pretty cute, little guy,” Brandon said, and Andrew curled his lip at that, but Brandon followed it up by scratching him behind his ear, and his eyes slid shut in bliss. “Where’s your owner, huh?” Brandon asked him, and Andrew whined a little at that, but only because Brandon had stopped with the ear scratching to feel around his neck for a collar, frowning a little when he didn’t find one.
“No collar, huh. But you definitely don’t look like a stray,” he said, and Andrew would have taken offense at the remark but he’d started up the ear scratching again, and Andrew was too blissed out to do anything but lean into Brandon’s hands and hope that he never stopped.
“Hey, Bollig, what’ve you got there?” came another familiar voice, and Andrew looked up to see Leddy and Stals hovering over him.
“Aww, look at him,” Leddy said, leaning down and offering a hand for Andrew to sniff, which he did but only briefly, because he didn’t smell quite as good as Brandon, and anyway he wanted Brandon to continue with the ear scratching. He put his head on Brandon’s leg and looked up at him.
“He is cute,” Stals agreed. “Who does he belong to, anyway?” he asked, looking around the street like he was expecting Andrew’s owner to materialize out of nowhere. Which, just, no - A, Andrew didn’t have an owner, because he wasn’t a fucking dog, B, this whole street was deserted, except apparently for creepy old ladies who turned unsuspecting hockey players into dogs for shits and giggles.
“No idea,” Brandon shrugged. “I can’t find a collar. Maybe he’s microchipped?”
“Maybe,” Leddy said, straightening up. “Where’s Shawzy, anyway, I thought he was just a little in front of us?”
Stals shrugged at him. “Must have already caught a cab, man.”
Andrew barked at this, because fuck them, he had not, even though he’d wanted to, but he’d been turned into a dog instead. Brandon looked back down at him and smiled.
“I’d better take this mutt home. I can take him to see if he’s microchipped after skate tomorrow.”
And well, it wasn’t like Andrew was going to say no to that, even if he’d had the appropriate vocal cords to do so.
0o0o0o0o0
Brandon had managed to find them a cab driver who didn’t object to the idea of transporting a dog without a carrier - Andrew had the sneaking suspicion that Brandon had tipped him outrageously - who had taken them to Target. Andrew’s suspicions were confirmed when Brandon paid the guy even more to watch Andrew while he ran into the store for a few things. Andrew was not pleased by this, because the cabbie didn’t smell very good and he wanted to be with Brandon. Brandon just laughed and patted him on the head as he got out of the cab and ignored Andrew’s protesting whines.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised, then vanished into the store.
Andrew and the cabbie were engaged in a staring contest - that Andrew was totally winning, thank-you very much - when Brandon emerged from the store a few moments later, carrying his bags. He got into the cab and gave the cabbie his address - which made the cabbie lose the staring contest. Andrew was smug in his victory - then reached into the bag and pulled out a collar. Andrew whined protest and shrunk back in the seat.
“What?” Brandon asked him. “It’s a perfectly nice collar, it’ll fit you.” Andrew curled his lips back to show teeth. “You have to wear it,” Brandon said, picking him up and holding him while he buckled the collar around his neck, which was humiliating, since he was now small enough that Brandon didn’t even have to work hard to keep him from getting away when he struggled. Andrew thought about biting him in protest but decided against it - that seemed like a bad idea when for all Brandon knew he was a strange dog who had rabies. “It’s Blackhawks red and everything,” Brandon told him, which, huh. He hadn’t noticed that he was colorblind. Well, of course he was, he was a dog, but he was a little surprised that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
Andrew expressed his displeasure at being collared by pawing at it and trying to get it off, and whimpering a little bit when he couldn’t. Brandon looked like he was laughing at him again, so Andrew curled himself into as small a ball as he could manage with his back to Brandon and set about having his shock-delayed freakout about being turned into a dog. It lasted all the way back to Brandon’s apartment.
0o0o0o0o0
When they finally made it back to Brandon’s apartment, Andrew had recovered enough from his freakout to go exploring. He’d been there before, obviously - Brandon’s a much better cook than he is, and Andrew likes to try and mooch food whenever possible - but everything smelled so much different it was like a whole new place.
He ended up in Brandon’s bedroom. Brandon’s not a slob - he’s a lot neater than Andrew, really - but there were still some things lying around. Andrew pounced on the first thing he saw - a sock - and started chewing on it. What, okay, he had instincts or whatever.
“What’re you up to - hey, stop that,” Brandon said, coming into the room and laughing at him. Andrew growled and shook his head, still chewing on the sock - he’s pretty sure that if he’d been human it would have been gross, but as a dog it smelled pretty good, like sweat and the rink and Brandon. “Give that back,” Brandon said, crouching down to try and pull the sock away from Andrew. He growled again and clamped down on the sock, backing up and tugging on it.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” Brandon said, amused. Andrew growled at him again, shaking his head from side to side. They played tug-of-war for a while, with both sides refusing to give quarter until Brandon caught a glimpse of his watch and winced.
“Fuck, it’s late,” he muttered, letting go of the sock unexpectedly. Andrew went tumbling end over end, sock clamped firmly between his teeth, before registering that he’d won. He barked in triumph, and Brandon gave him a fond look that was incredibly familiar. He heaved himself to his feet and went over to the door. “Time for bed, mutt, c’mon.”
Andrew got up and followed him out into the kitchen, where Brandon had set up a dog bed. He looked at the bed and then back at Brandon, like, what? You expect me to sleep there? Brandon gave a look right back that said, yes, I do expect you to sleep there. Andrew stared at him for a few moments longer before sighing heavily and walking over to flop down on the bed. Brandon pats him on the head and goes back into his bedroom, calling, “Goodnight, mutt,” over his shoulder.
The dog bed was OK - it was soft enough, but it smelled funny, like plastic bag and that asshole’s cab, not to mention all of the people who’d picked it up and moved it around at the pet store. Andrew squirmed around for awhile, trying to get comfortable, but he couldn’t, because every time he moved he got another whiff of unfamiliar, so eventually he gave up and went over to scratch and Brandon’s door.
It took a few minutes, and some really pathetic whining that Andrew will absolutely refuse to acknowledge before Brandon opens the door. Andrew looked as pitiful as possible, which must be a lot (he doesn’t know, really, because he hasn’t seen a reflection of his dog-self yet) because Brandon’s scowl melts immediately.
“Fine,” he groaned, and held the door open wider. Andrew pranced in, panting happily, and jumped up onto Brandon’s bed.
Or, rather, tried to jump up onto Brandon’s bed, but since he was still new at this whole four legs thing what he ended up doing was tripping over his own feet and running nose first into Brandon’s bedframe. He let out a startled yelp and scrambled backward, giving the bed a betrayed look that he transferred to Brandon when he burst out laughing.
“Oh, man, I wish I’d had my camera,” Brandon finally muttered. Andrew growled at him half-heartedly. “Aww, c’mon,” Brandon said, reaching over to snag Andrew around the waist and lift him onto the bed. Andrew whined - he really did not like being manhandled in either form - but Brandon just ignored him and climbed back into bed.
“Don’t snore,” he said, yawning and punching his pillow. Andrew huffed, offended, before turning around three times and curling up to go to sleep.
0o0o0o0o0
The sound of a phone alarm buzzing woke Andrew up in the morning. He was confused and disoriented briefly, but then he heard Brandon groan and slap at his phone to turn off the alarm and remembered. Brandon rolled himself out of bed and padded into the kitchen, where he started opening cabinets and generally making a lot of noise. Andrew rolled over and snuggled into the warm spot he’d left in the bed, burying his head under the covers and inhaling happily. The whole bed smelled of Brandon and sleep and it was so comforting that he drifted back to sleep without really meaning to, until the most glorious smell in the whole world filled the air.
Andrew jerked himself to his paws, leaped off the bed and dashed into the kitchen without any conscious thought. He found Brandon standing at the stove, poking at something on the frying pan. Whatever it was, it was the most amazing thing he’d ever smelled, and it was making his mouth water. He leaned up against Brandon’s leg to get his attention and looked as pathetic as possible. Brandon looked down at him and laughed, startled.
“You hungry, mutt?”
Andrew wagged his tail as hard as he could and barked. Brandon grinned at him fondly. “I set out some food for you over there,” he said, gesturing. Andrew didn’t budge. Whatever was over there didn’t smell nearly as good as whatever Brandon was doing with the frying pan. Brandon sighed and put down his spatula.
“C’mere, mutt,” he said, walking over to where a pair of bowls were set out on the ground. Andrew trotted over to see what they were and discovered that one of them was full of dry dog food and the other was full of water. He looked up at Brandon in betrayal.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Brandon said in confusion. “I thought you were.” Andrew barked at him. Brandon shrugged. “If you’re hungry, eat. I’m burning my sausages.”
He headed back over to the stove, and Andrew trailed him closely. Brandon almost tripped over him and let out a startled “Fuck!” He glared down and Andrew, who ignored it. “What’re you doing?”
Andrew reared back on his hind legs and stretched up as far as he could towards the stove, whining. He wasn’t quite tall enough to get at the sausages, but he wagged his tail as hard as he could, trying to convey to Brandon that all he really wanted in life was some sausage. Right now. Brandon reached out and shoved him back down, glaring.
“Get down from there! Bad dog. You could have burned yourself. No sausages.”
Andrew whined. He wasn’t a bad dog! He just wanted the sausages. This was so unfair. Brandon would have shared the sausages with him if he were a human. He whined again and tried wagging his tail hopefully as Brandon took the sausages off the frying pan. Brandon just ignored him as he carried the plate with the sausages over to the table and set them down before going to the refrigerator and pulling out some juice.
While his back was turned, Andrew tried jumping up and putting his paws on the table. He could just about manage it, but he couldn’t reach the plate with the sausages. He jumped back down and tried to nudge one of the chairs out enough that he could jump up on it and grab sausages from there. He’d almost gotten the chair out far enough when Brandon came over to the table and nudged him away from the chair.
“Shoo, mutt,” he said, pulling the chair out and sitting down. Andrew tried to put his paws in Brandon’s lap, but Brandon knocked them away with a stern, “No.” So he sat down next to Brandon’s chair, pulled out his best pleading eyes and the slow tail thwaps, and waited. The thing is, Brandon’s totally a sucker, which is why he only lasted about 30 seconds before giving in and giving Andrew part of a sausage. Andrew mentally fist-pumped and gobbled it down as fast as he could before laying his head against Brandon’s leg and begging for more.
0o0o0o0o0
After breakfast was over and the breakfast dishes cleaned, Brandon reached into the Target bag sitting on his kitchen counter and pulled out a leash. Andrew looked at it blankly for a moment before realizing what it meant. All of his dog instincts were screaming that walks are the best thing ever, and his tail started wagging so hard his whole body went with it almost without his consent. Brandon leaned down to attach the leash to his collar and Andrew licked his face in gratitude. Brandon laughed and pushed him away, wiping his face off.
“Ugh, really?” he said, but he was smiling and Andrew could hear the laughter in his voice. Andrew barked at him, because yes, really, Brandon was awesome. He deserved all the face licking - wait, was that the dog or the person talking?
Brandon interrupted Andrew’s brief foray into introspection by tugging on his leash. “C’mon, mutt, let’s get going. I have practice this morning,” which, fuck. Practice. That he was going to miss. That people were going to notice him missing. Because he was a dog. He followed Brandon out of the apartment on autopilot.
Andrew was completely distracted from his worrying once they got outside. There were so many things to smell! And - was that a squirrel?? He barked and raced off to chase it, only to be pulled up short by the leash. He turned around and gave Brandon his best injured look.
“Don’t give me that,” Brandon told him. “We’re going to the park. It’s this way. C’mon, mutt.” Andrew whined sadly at him but followed along, casting a longing glance back over his shoulder at the squirrel. It came down the tree a little further and chittered at him in a distinctly taunting matter, and Andrew lunged at it only to be foiled by the leash again. Brandon sighed.
“There will be more squirrels at the park,” he said, dragging Andrew away. “You can chase them to your heart’s content.”
Andrew sulked about the squirrel for about five seconds before a new smell caught his attention and he ran over to examine it. Brandon rolled his eyes and kept walking, so their procession down the street went something like this: Andrew smells something new, runs off to investigate and tries to pull Brandon forward. Brandon ignores the pull, proceeds forward at his own pace until Andrew reaches the source of the smell. Andrew pauses to sniff all around, Brandon continues walking until the leash runs out and Andrew is pulled forward. Andrew tries to pull Brandon backward until he smells something new and runs off to investigate. Rinse and repeat.
The park, once they finally reached it, was AMAZING. Andrew stood stock-still, quivering, unsure what to do first until Brandon laughed at him and snapped him out of his daze. He whined with excitement when he saw a squirrel sitting just off the jogging path ahead of them and pulled forward, straining at the end of his leash. Brandon pulled back, keeping him still and Andrew whined again. Brandon had said he could chase the squirrels in the park to his heart’s content! Why wasn’t he letting him go? He pulled and pulled as Brandon started to tug him back down the jogging path, away from the squirrel, before thinking that if he just turned around and angled his head just right. . .
Brandon stumbled forward in surprise when the leash went slack as he slipped his collar and Andrew would take the time to feel smug about that later. For now there were squirrels to chase!
He tore off after the closest one as fast as he could, barking his head off the whole way. The squirrel darted up the nearest tree and laid itself out along one of the lowest branches, chittering at him smugly. Andrew ran around the tree once, looking for a way to climb it, before bowing to the inevitable lack of opposable thumbs and running off after the next nearest squirrel, which repeated the process. He was vaguely aware of Brandon yelling things behind him, but he wasn’t really paying that much attention. There were squirrels! So many of them! Surely he’d be able to catch at least one!
He could not catch even one. Andrew had no idea how much time had passed since he’d started chasing squirrels, but he thought it was probably a long time. He was getting tired and thirsty and he was definitely done chasing squirrels. The stupid things were the biggest teases on the planet, wandering around looking all fun and easy to chase and then climbing trees. Who needed squirrels anyway, definitely not Andrew. What he did need was water, and possibly some food, and definitely a nap. He looked around for Brandon, who could be counted on to provide all of those things, and couldn’t find him. In fact, he couldn’t see anyone, because he’d managed to end up in one of the smaller wooded areas away from the populated area of the park.
Not being able to find Brandon almost freaked Andrew out even more than being turned into a dog had. His initial “Holy shit I’m a dog” freakout hadn’t lasted that long before more practical matters had trumped it - having food, water, and a safe place to sleep. Not being able to find Brandon, on the other hand, meant that he had no idea where he would find food, or water, or a safe place to sleep. It also meant losing his connection to his human life. Andrew hadn’t been a dog for very long, but he had definitely felt overwhelmed by his dog instincts at times. Having Brandon around had been a tangible reminder that he’d had a life before he was a dog, that he was actually Andrew Shaw of the Chicago Blackhawks.
He forced himself to push the freakout to the back of his mind and focus. He needed to be able to find Brandon - but dogs were supposed to be good at that sort of thing, right?
He put his nose up in the air and sniffed, trying to identify as many of the scents as possible. Squirrel, obviously, from the one he’d just chased up the tree, and trees and grass and people! Andrew’s ears perked up and his tail started wagging without his conscious consent as he took off toward where the scent of people was. Once he got back to people he should be able to find Brandon, no problem!
The problem with this line of thought was, of course, that once he got back to a more populated area of the park there were so many scents that he had to sit down, overwhelmed. He was trying to summon up the energy to try and sort through all of them when someone squealed “Puppy!” in a loud, high pitched voice just to his left. He had just enough time to brace himself before a little girl who looked to be about six years old barreled into him, knocking him completely over. He let out a completely undignified yelp and tried to squirm his way out from underneath her, but she had a death grip around his midsection and was not letting go.
“Oh, honey,” her father came over to try and pry her off of Andrew, looking frazzled. “Let the puppy go, OK?”
“No. My puppy,” she said, squeezing him tighter. Andrew yelped again and redoubled his efforts to squirm loose. Her father glanced at him nervously.
“Honey, he’s not a stuffed animal,” he said firmly. “Let go of him so that he can breathe.” She let go of him all at once and Andrew took a deep breath and wiggled away before getting to his feet. “Thank you. Alright, let’s see - do you have a collar on, little guy?”
Andrew bristled a little bit at that but submitted to the inspection, and the man frowned when he couldn’t find a collar. “Someone’s definitely missing you,” he said, running his hands over Andrew’s coat in search of a lump where he might be chipped. “You’re too well cared for to be a stray.” Andrew whined and licked at the man’s hand, and he laughed a little in surprise. “Good manners, too,” which had to be the first time anyone had ever said anything like that about a hockey player, ever, even the Canadian ones.
“Puppy?” the little girl asked, holding out her hands toward Andrew but looking at her father. He nodded, and she reached out to stroke his head. “He’s so soft,” she said, entranced. Andrew licked her hand too, and she giggled. “He likes me!”
“He does,” her father agreed. “But he’s got an owner somewhere who’s looking for him and is probably very worried about him-”
Just as he was saying that, Andrew spotted Brandon jogging down the path towards them. He let out a joyous bark and wiggled out from underneath their hands before racing down the path towards Brandon, who looked so relieved to see him.
“Oh my god you’re okay,” he said, kneeling down and running his hands all over Andrew as though he were checking for injuries. Andrew just whined happily and proceeded to lick Brandon’s face to express his joy at finding Brandon again. “You scared the shit out of me, mutt,” Brandon said, laughing as he pushed Andrew’s tongue away from his face, which Andrew didn’t even mind because Brandon was scratching his ears again and it was the best thing ever.
“Is he yours?” came the voice of the little girl’s father, and Brandon looked up at the two of them, beaming. Andrew was disappointed that he’d stopped with the ear scratches but he’d liked the man and his daughter, so he stood there and panted at them, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth in the biggest doggy grin he could manage.
“Yes, he’s mine. Did you find him?” The man laughed a little at that.
“My daughter, Annalise, found him,” he said, looking down at her and smiling. “She loves dogs.”
“Thank-you, Annalise,” Brandon said to her, gravely. She was hiding behind her father’s leg a little - Andrew always cracked up when that happened to Brandon, because Brandon was the biggest softie in the world when it came to kids but some of them found him intimidating - but peeked out to say, “You’re welcome,” before ducking back. Her father smiled down at her goofily.
“Anyway, I’m just glad you came along when you did,” he said, looking back over at Brandon after a moment. “I had no idea what to do with him, since he clearly has an owner, but he didn’t have a collar or a chip or anything.”
“Yeah, that was lucky,” Brandon said, but he smelled sad all of the sudden. Andrew looked up at him - he didn’t look sad, what was going on? “We’d better get going, though - I’m running late. It was nice to meet both of you,” he said, standing up and shaking the man’s hand before waving goodbye to the little girl. She waved back shyly and as they headed down the path Andrew heard her asking her father, “Can I get my own puppy?”
Part Two
Rating: Mature
Summary: In which Andrew Shaw gets turned into a dog, and Brandon Bollig has to take care of him.
The thing was, Andrew was pretty sure he didn’t do anything to deserve this. Like, 85, 86% sure.
He’d been standing out in front of the restaurant after the team dinner, waiting for a cab, and he’d had his earphones in. So he hadn’t heard the little old lady ask him for help, or whatever. He was just standing there, bopping along to Jay-Z, when bam! All of the sudden he’s a dog.
“Hey!” he tried to yell, but it came out as a bark. And not a very intimidating bark, either, he thought, dismayed. That was definitely more of a yap.
“Serves you right,” said the little old lady who was standing behind him, apparently. “Maybe this will teach you some manners.”
Andrew wanted to protest at that - he had plenty of manners, he was Canadian, ok - but of course it just came out as more barking. She ignored him and got into the cab that had just pulled up.
“Be a good boy!” she shouted out the window as the cab pulled away, and Andrew kind of lost it, barking insults after her as loudly as he could and starting to run after the cab.
“Hey there, little guy,” came a familiar voice from somewhere above him. “What’re you doing here?” He wasn’t really paying that much attention, too focused on chasing after the cab, until he ran headfirst into someone’s legs.
“Better watch it,” came the same familiar voice, sounding amused, which made it even more familiar, what the hell, Andrew thought, until he looked up - and up and up, damn it all - and realized that he’d just tried to bowl Brandon over. And it had been even less effective than normal.
He was really happy to see Brandon, though, and his tail started wagging without his permission. He tried to say “Hey, man,” but it came out as another bark. This one sounded much friendlier, though, and Brandon was grinning as he crouched down and offered his hand for Andrew to sniff, which he did with enthusiasm. Which, whatever, Brandon smelled really good, OK? Like the steak he’d had for dinner, and his usual cologne, and a lingering hint of something that Andrew thought might come from spending so much time at the rink.
“You’re pretty cute, little guy,” Brandon said, and Andrew curled his lip at that, but Brandon followed it up by scratching him behind his ear, and his eyes slid shut in bliss. “Where’s your owner, huh?” Brandon asked him, and Andrew whined a little at that, but only because Brandon had stopped with the ear scratching to feel around his neck for a collar, frowning a little when he didn’t find one.
“No collar, huh. But you definitely don’t look like a stray,” he said, and Andrew would have taken offense at the remark but he’d started up the ear scratching again, and Andrew was too blissed out to do anything but lean into Brandon’s hands and hope that he never stopped.
“Hey, Bollig, what’ve you got there?” came another familiar voice, and Andrew looked up to see Leddy and Stals hovering over him.
“Aww, look at him,” Leddy said, leaning down and offering a hand for Andrew to sniff, which he did but only briefly, because he didn’t smell quite as good as Brandon, and anyway he wanted Brandon to continue with the ear scratching. He put his head on Brandon’s leg and looked up at him.
“He is cute,” Stals agreed. “Who does he belong to, anyway?” he asked, looking around the street like he was expecting Andrew’s owner to materialize out of nowhere. Which, just, no - A, Andrew didn’t have an owner, because he wasn’t a fucking dog, B, this whole street was deserted, except apparently for creepy old ladies who turned unsuspecting hockey players into dogs for shits and giggles.
“No idea,” Brandon shrugged. “I can’t find a collar. Maybe he’s microchipped?”
“Maybe,” Leddy said, straightening up. “Where’s Shawzy, anyway, I thought he was just a little in front of us?”
Stals shrugged at him. “Must have already caught a cab, man.”
Andrew barked at this, because fuck them, he had not, even though he’d wanted to, but he’d been turned into a dog instead. Brandon looked back down at him and smiled.
“I’d better take this mutt home. I can take him to see if he’s microchipped after skate tomorrow.”
And well, it wasn’t like Andrew was going to say no to that, even if he’d had the appropriate vocal cords to do so.
0o0o0o0o0
Brandon had managed to find them a cab driver who didn’t object to the idea of transporting a dog without a carrier - Andrew had the sneaking suspicion that Brandon had tipped him outrageously - who had taken them to Target. Andrew’s suspicions were confirmed when Brandon paid the guy even more to watch Andrew while he ran into the store for a few things. Andrew was not pleased by this, because the cabbie didn’t smell very good and he wanted to be with Brandon. Brandon just laughed and patted him on the head as he got out of the cab and ignored Andrew’s protesting whines.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised, then vanished into the store.
Andrew and the cabbie were engaged in a staring contest - that Andrew was totally winning, thank-you very much - when Brandon emerged from the store a few moments later, carrying his bags. He got into the cab and gave the cabbie his address - which made the cabbie lose the staring contest. Andrew was smug in his victory - then reached into the bag and pulled out a collar. Andrew whined protest and shrunk back in the seat.
“What?” Brandon asked him. “It’s a perfectly nice collar, it’ll fit you.” Andrew curled his lips back to show teeth. “You have to wear it,” Brandon said, picking him up and holding him while he buckled the collar around his neck, which was humiliating, since he was now small enough that Brandon didn’t even have to work hard to keep him from getting away when he struggled. Andrew thought about biting him in protest but decided against it - that seemed like a bad idea when for all Brandon knew he was a strange dog who had rabies. “It’s Blackhawks red and everything,” Brandon told him, which, huh. He hadn’t noticed that he was colorblind. Well, of course he was, he was a dog, but he was a little surprised that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
Andrew expressed his displeasure at being collared by pawing at it and trying to get it off, and whimpering a little bit when he couldn’t. Brandon looked like he was laughing at him again, so Andrew curled himself into as small a ball as he could manage with his back to Brandon and set about having his shock-delayed freakout about being turned into a dog. It lasted all the way back to Brandon’s apartment.
0o0o0o0o0
When they finally made it back to Brandon’s apartment, Andrew had recovered enough from his freakout to go exploring. He’d been there before, obviously - Brandon’s a much better cook than he is, and Andrew likes to try and mooch food whenever possible - but everything smelled so much different it was like a whole new place.
He ended up in Brandon’s bedroom. Brandon’s not a slob - he’s a lot neater than Andrew, really - but there were still some things lying around. Andrew pounced on the first thing he saw - a sock - and started chewing on it. What, okay, he had instincts or whatever.
“What’re you up to - hey, stop that,” Brandon said, coming into the room and laughing at him. Andrew growled and shook his head, still chewing on the sock - he’s pretty sure that if he’d been human it would have been gross, but as a dog it smelled pretty good, like sweat and the rink and Brandon. “Give that back,” Brandon said, crouching down to try and pull the sock away from Andrew. He growled again and clamped down on the sock, backing up and tugging on it.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” Brandon said, amused. Andrew growled at him again, shaking his head from side to side. They played tug-of-war for a while, with both sides refusing to give quarter until Brandon caught a glimpse of his watch and winced.
“Fuck, it’s late,” he muttered, letting go of the sock unexpectedly. Andrew went tumbling end over end, sock clamped firmly between his teeth, before registering that he’d won. He barked in triumph, and Brandon gave him a fond look that was incredibly familiar. He heaved himself to his feet and went over to the door. “Time for bed, mutt, c’mon.”
Andrew got up and followed him out into the kitchen, where Brandon had set up a dog bed. He looked at the bed and then back at Brandon, like, what? You expect me to sleep there? Brandon gave a look right back that said, yes, I do expect you to sleep there. Andrew stared at him for a few moments longer before sighing heavily and walking over to flop down on the bed. Brandon pats him on the head and goes back into his bedroom, calling, “Goodnight, mutt,” over his shoulder.
The dog bed was OK - it was soft enough, but it smelled funny, like plastic bag and that asshole’s cab, not to mention all of the people who’d picked it up and moved it around at the pet store. Andrew squirmed around for awhile, trying to get comfortable, but he couldn’t, because every time he moved he got another whiff of unfamiliar, so eventually he gave up and went over to scratch and Brandon’s door.
It took a few minutes, and some really pathetic whining that Andrew will absolutely refuse to acknowledge before Brandon opens the door. Andrew looked as pitiful as possible, which must be a lot (he doesn’t know, really, because he hasn’t seen a reflection of his dog-self yet) because Brandon’s scowl melts immediately.
“Fine,” he groaned, and held the door open wider. Andrew pranced in, panting happily, and jumped up onto Brandon’s bed.
Or, rather, tried to jump up onto Brandon’s bed, but since he was still new at this whole four legs thing what he ended up doing was tripping over his own feet and running nose first into Brandon’s bedframe. He let out a startled yelp and scrambled backward, giving the bed a betrayed look that he transferred to Brandon when he burst out laughing.
“Oh, man, I wish I’d had my camera,” Brandon finally muttered. Andrew growled at him half-heartedly. “Aww, c’mon,” Brandon said, reaching over to snag Andrew around the waist and lift him onto the bed. Andrew whined - he really did not like being manhandled in either form - but Brandon just ignored him and climbed back into bed.
“Don’t snore,” he said, yawning and punching his pillow. Andrew huffed, offended, before turning around three times and curling up to go to sleep.
0o0o0o0o0
The sound of a phone alarm buzzing woke Andrew up in the morning. He was confused and disoriented briefly, but then he heard Brandon groan and slap at his phone to turn off the alarm and remembered. Brandon rolled himself out of bed and padded into the kitchen, where he started opening cabinets and generally making a lot of noise. Andrew rolled over and snuggled into the warm spot he’d left in the bed, burying his head under the covers and inhaling happily. The whole bed smelled of Brandon and sleep and it was so comforting that he drifted back to sleep without really meaning to, until the most glorious smell in the whole world filled the air.
Andrew jerked himself to his paws, leaped off the bed and dashed into the kitchen without any conscious thought. He found Brandon standing at the stove, poking at something on the frying pan. Whatever it was, it was the most amazing thing he’d ever smelled, and it was making his mouth water. He leaned up against Brandon’s leg to get his attention and looked as pathetic as possible. Brandon looked down at him and laughed, startled.
“You hungry, mutt?”
Andrew wagged his tail as hard as he could and barked. Brandon grinned at him fondly. “I set out some food for you over there,” he said, gesturing. Andrew didn’t budge. Whatever was over there didn’t smell nearly as good as whatever Brandon was doing with the frying pan. Brandon sighed and put down his spatula.
“C’mere, mutt,” he said, walking over to where a pair of bowls were set out on the ground. Andrew trotted over to see what they were and discovered that one of them was full of dry dog food and the other was full of water. He looked up at Brandon in betrayal.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Brandon said in confusion. “I thought you were.” Andrew barked at him. Brandon shrugged. “If you’re hungry, eat. I’m burning my sausages.”
He headed back over to the stove, and Andrew trailed him closely. Brandon almost tripped over him and let out a startled “Fuck!” He glared down and Andrew, who ignored it. “What’re you doing?”
Andrew reared back on his hind legs and stretched up as far as he could towards the stove, whining. He wasn’t quite tall enough to get at the sausages, but he wagged his tail as hard as he could, trying to convey to Brandon that all he really wanted in life was some sausage. Right now. Brandon reached out and shoved him back down, glaring.
“Get down from there! Bad dog. You could have burned yourself. No sausages.”
Andrew whined. He wasn’t a bad dog! He just wanted the sausages. This was so unfair. Brandon would have shared the sausages with him if he were a human. He whined again and tried wagging his tail hopefully as Brandon took the sausages off the frying pan. Brandon just ignored him as he carried the plate with the sausages over to the table and set them down before going to the refrigerator and pulling out some juice.
While his back was turned, Andrew tried jumping up and putting his paws on the table. He could just about manage it, but he couldn’t reach the plate with the sausages. He jumped back down and tried to nudge one of the chairs out enough that he could jump up on it and grab sausages from there. He’d almost gotten the chair out far enough when Brandon came over to the table and nudged him away from the chair.
“Shoo, mutt,” he said, pulling the chair out and sitting down. Andrew tried to put his paws in Brandon’s lap, but Brandon knocked them away with a stern, “No.” So he sat down next to Brandon’s chair, pulled out his best pleading eyes and the slow tail thwaps, and waited. The thing is, Brandon’s totally a sucker, which is why he only lasted about 30 seconds before giving in and giving Andrew part of a sausage. Andrew mentally fist-pumped and gobbled it down as fast as he could before laying his head against Brandon’s leg and begging for more.
0o0o0o0o0
After breakfast was over and the breakfast dishes cleaned, Brandon reached into the Target bag sitting on his kitchen counter and pulled out a leash. Andrew looked at it blankly for a moment before realizing what it meant. All of his dog instincts were screaming that walks are the best thing ever, and his tail started wagging so hard his whole body went with it almost without his consent. Brandon leaned down to attach the leash to his collar and Andrew licked his face in gratitude. Brandon laughed and pushed him away, wiping his face off.
“Ugh, really?” he said, but he was smiling and Andrew could hear the laughter in his voice. Andrew barked at him, because yes, really, Brandon was awesome. He deserved all the face licking - wait, was that the dog or the person talking?
Brandon interrupted Andrew’s brief foray into introspection by tugging on his leash. “C’mon, mutt, let’s get going. I have practice this morning,” which, fuck. Practice. That he was going to miss. That people were going to notice him missing. Because he was a dog. He followed Brandon out of the apartment on autopilot.
Andrew was completely distracted from his worrying once they got outside. There were so many things to smell! And - was that a squirrel?? He barked and raced off to chase it, only to be pulled up short by the leash. He turned around and gave Brandon his best injured look.
“Don’t give me that,” Brandon told him. “We’re going to the park. It’s this way. C’mon, mutt.” Andrew whined sadly at him but followed along, casting a longing glance back over his shoulder at the squirrel. It came down the tree a little further and chittered at him in a distinctly taunting matter, and Andrew lunged at it only to be foiled by the leash again. Brandon sighed.
“There will be more squirrels at the park,” he said, dragging Andrew away. “You can chase them to your heart’s content.”
Andrew sulked about the squirrel for about five seconds before a new smell caught his attention and he ran over to examine it. Brandon rolled his eyes and kept walking, so their procession down the street went something like this: Andrew smells something new, runs off to investigate and tries to pull Brandon forward. Brandon ignores the pull, proceeds forward at his own pace until Andrew reaches the source of the smell. Andrew pauses to sniff all around, Brandon continues walking until the leash runs out and Andrew is pulled forward. Andrew tries to pull Brandon backward until he smells something new and runs off to investigate. Rinse and repeat.
The park, once they finally reached it, was AMAZING. Andrew stood stock-still, quivering, unsure what to do first until Brandon laughed at him and snapped him out of his daze. He whined with excitement when he saw a squirrel sitting just off the jogging path ahead of them and pulled forward, straining at the end of his leash. Brandon pulled back, keeping him still and Andrew whined again. Brandon had said he could chase the squirrels in the park to his heart’s content! Why wasn’t he letting him go? He pulled and pulled as Brandon started to tug him back down the jogging path, away from the squirrel, before thinking that if he just turned around and angled his head just right. . .
Brandon stumbled forward in surprise when the leash went slack as he slipped his collar and Andrew would take the time to feel smug about that later. For now there were squirrels to chase!
He tore off after the closest one as fast as he could, barking his head off the whole way. The squirrel darted up the nearest tree and laid itself out along one of the lowest branches, chittering at him smugly. Andrew ran around the tree once, looking for a way to climb it, before bowing to the inevitable lack of opposable thumbs and running off after the next nearest squirrel, which repeated the process. He was vaguely aware of Brandon yelling things behind him, but he wasn’t really paying that much attention. There were squirrels! So many of them! Surely he’d be able to catch at least one!
He could not catch even one. Andrew had no idea how much time had passed since he’d started chasing squirrels, but he thought it was probably a long time. He was getting tired and thirsty and he was definitely done chasing squirrels. The stupid things were the biggest teases on the planet, wandering around looking all fun and easy to chase and then climbing trees. Who needed squirrels anyway, definitely not Andrew. What he did need was water, and possibly some food, and definitely a nap. He looked around for Brandon, who could be counted on to provide all of those things, and couldn’t find him. In fact, he couldn’t see anyone, because he’d managed to end up in one of the smaller wooded areas away from the populated area of the park.
Not being able to find Brandon almost freaked Andrew out even more than being turned into a dog had. His initial “Holy shit I’m a dog” freakout hadn’t lasted that long before more practical matters had trumped it - having food, water, and a safe place to sleep. Not being able to find Brandon, on the other hand, meant that he had no idea where he would find food, or water, or a safe place to sleep. It also meant losing his connection to his human life. Andrew hadn’t been a dog for very long, but he had definitely felt overwhelmed by his dog instincts at times. Having Brandon around had been a tangible reminder that he’d had a life before he was a dog, that he was actually Andrew Shaw of the Chicago Blackhawks.
He forced himself to push the freakout to the back of his mind and focus. He needed to be able to find Brandon - but dogs were supposed to be good at that sort of thing, right?
He put his nose up in the air and sniffed, trying to identify as many of the scents as possible. Squirrel, obviously, from the one he’d just chased up the tree, and trees and grass and people! Andrew’s ears perked up and his tail started wagging without his conscious consent as he took off toward where the scent of people was. Once he got back to people he should be able to find Brandon, no problem!
The problem with this line of thought was, of course, that once he got back to a more populated area of the park there were so many scents that he had to sit down, overwhelmed. He was trying to summon up the energy to try and sort through all of them when someone squealed “Puppy!” in a loud, high pitched voice just to his left. He had just enough time to brace himself before a little girl who looked to be about six years old barreled into him, knocking him completely over. He let out a completely undignified yelp and tried to squirm his way out from underneath her, but she had a death grip around his midsection and was not letting go.
“Oh, honey,” her father came over to try and pry her off of Andrew, looking frazzled. “Let the puppy go, OK?”
“No. My puppy,” she said, squeezing him tighter. Andrew yelped again and redoubled his efforts to squirm loose. Her father glanced at him nervously.
“Honey, he’s not a stuffed animal,” he said firmly. “Let go of him so that he can breathe.” She let go of him all at once and Andrew took a deep breath and wiggled away before getting to his feet. “Thank you. Alright, let’s see - do you have a collar on, little guy?”
Andrew bristled a little bit at that but submitted to the inspection, and the man frowned when he couldn’t find a collar. “Someone’s definitely missing you,” he said, running his hands over Andrew’s coat in search of a lump where he might be chipped. “You’re too well cared for to be a stray.” Andrew whined and licked at the man’s hand, and he laughed a little in surprise. “Good manners, too,” which had to be the first time anyone had ever said anything like that about a hockey player, ever, even the Canadian ones.
“Puppy?” the little girl asked, holding out her hands toward Andrew but looking at her father. He nodded, and she reached out to stroke his head. “He’s so soft,” she said, entranced. Andrew licked her hand too, and she giggled. “He likes me!”
“He does,” her father agreed. “But he’s got an owner somewhere who’s looking for him and is probably very worried about him-”
Just as he was saying that, Andrew spotted Brandon jogging down the path towards them. He let out a joyous bark and wiggled out from underneath their hands before racing down the path towards Brandon, who looked so relieved to see him.
“Oh my god you’re okay,” he said, kneeling down and running his hands all over Andrew as though he were checking for injuries. Andrew just whined happily and proceeded to lick Brandon’s face to express his joy at finding Brandon again. “You scared the shit out of me, mutt,” Brandon said, laughing as he pushed Andrew’s tongue away from his face, which Andrew didn’t even mind because Brandon was scratching his ears again and it was the best thing ever.
“Is he yours?” came the voice of the little girl’s father, and Brandon looked up at the two of them, beaming. Andrew was disappointed that he’d stopped with the ear scratches but he’d liked the man and his daughter, so he stood there and panted at them, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth in the biggest doggy grin he could manage.
“Yes, he’s mine. Did you find him?” The man laughed a little at that.
“My daughter, Annalise, found him,” he said, looking down at her and smiling. “She loves dogs.”
“Thank-you, Annalise,” Brandon said to her, gravely. She was hiding behind her father’s leg a little - Andrew always cracked up when that happened to Brandon, because Brandon was the biggest softie in the world when it came to kids but some of them found him intimidating - but peeked out to say, “You’re welcome,” before ducking back. Her father smiled down at her goofily.
“Anyway, I’m just glad you came along when you did,” he said, looking back over at Brandon after a moment. “I had no idea what to do with him, since he clearly has an owner, but he didn’t have a collar or a chip or anything.”
“Yeah, that was lucky,” Brandon said, but he smelled sad all of the sudden. Andrew looked up at him - he didn’t look sad, what was going on? “We’d better get going, though - I’m running late. It was nice to meet both of you,” he said, standing up and shaking the man’s hand before waving goodbye to the little girl. She waved back shyly and as they headed down the path Andrew heard her asking her father, “Can I get my own puppy?”
Part Two