Life With A Werewolf

Cure For The Common Werewolf's Cold

         It sounded more like an air horn than actually blowing his nose. I knew it was more from my own pounding head than from Crash's volume. He'd been sick for a couple days. Some strain of Covid or something was my guess. Crash wouldn't go to the doctor. In his words "they couldn't do shit for me anyway."
         His face paler than I'd ever seen him. He hadn't bothered to shift into his werewolf form in a couple days either. "Oh God, is this what you go through when you're sick? This is horrible," he muttered with a stuffed up nose.
         "Yes, it is," I said. "Thanks for sharing." I blew my own nose, more to emphasize my point than out of necessity.
          He smiled at me. "What are friends for."
         We were standing in the kitchen. Crash had been sick for about two days. He got me sick at the same time, of course. Everyone was avoiding us as they probably should. Zack had said, and I quote, "You got Crash's super mutant virus."
         Makes sense. After all, if it can get a werewolf sick, it must be some sort of mean virus, right? It's not like a lot of things out there can get through a werewolf's tough immune system. Then again, Crash did have to deal with Garrett's super sludge or whatever that brown muck was. I think it weakened his immune system. Which then got him a Covid variant, which he politely shared with me. Lucky me.
         Of course, I had to get him back. Not that making me ill was on purpose, but what are friends for? He saw my prank when he opened the pantry. Inside, every shelf was stocked with chicken soup. Chicken soup concentrate. Cream of chicken soup. Chicken noodle. Chicken and dumbling. If it had chicken as an ingredient, I got it.
         He snarled at me and grumbled "very funny."
         I laughed. I always know when I get Crash very good cause his eyes do this thing, where one moment they're human and for a brief glimpse, they're not. Almost like the beast is trying to break out and take its revenge. I caught that and held up my hands in surrender. "What are friends for?"
         He moved all of the cans to grab a vegetable soup and made his way to the stove to heat it up. "Why do you hate chicken so much," I asked.
         Crash shrugged. "It came from my first hunt."
         "Oh no, sick dog. You got me ill, you got to spill. Tell me why you hate chicken."
         He snarled at the small pot as he dumped the soup into it. After grumbling under his breath about "eating nosy humans" he began to talk.
         "A werewolf's first hunt is a bit of a cultural rite of passage. When we can shift and control it, our families take us into the woods. Parents help us hunt. They'll show us how to stalk game, even injure animals so we can finish the kill. It's to help us build confidence and enjoyment in our second form. So we know it's a gift rather than seeing it as a curse."
         "Makes sense," I said. "Like a dad taking his kids hunting or fishing."
         "Yes," Crash said. "Exactly like that."
         He stirred his soup for a bit, not saying anything. I'd almost thought he was through and was going to start prodding him again when he continued. "I wanted to do everything myself. Even as a pup, I was fiercely independent. 'No help' I said. Demanded it even. Made them promise to not help. But I caught nothing. The first night, the next day, nothing."
         "Ouch. So, like you hunt now, huh?"
         Crash laughed. "More like how you fish. I've heard fish laugh at you."
         "Hey, I've caught fish before."
         "Yeah," Crash said. "And it was nearly eaten by your bait."
         I sipped on some coffee to hold back a mean comment. Crash continued. "Well, I was getting hungry. And desperate. I smelled game and stalked into the next farm. There was chicken. Lots of chicken. What's more, the birds weren't reacting to me. It was like they didn't care I was a werewolf! And they were big birds, standing almost to my knee. I got a few, killed them and bagged them, then brought them back to the campsite."
         "I get the impression that wasn't a good idea," I said.
         "Well," Crash replied, "in my defense I was only ten. Had never been hunting before and was first learning to navigate through the woods. I didn't know I stumbled onto the farm owned by the other werewolf family in the county."
         I smiled. "I get it they were pissed."
         Crash laughed. "Oh, Mr. Rodriguez got a kick out of it. Though, we still had to pay for the chicken. But every meal for the next month was chicken. Every. Single. Meal. Every way you can imagine having it. In soup, stew, baked, broiled. My mother had even figured out how to do a chicken pot cake. Something I never want to have ever again."
         He shook his head and shuddered. "And before each meal, was the same prayer. 'Lord, we thank you and our son for giving us this meal.'"
         I chuckled. Then coughed and spat phlegm into a tissue and threw it out. "Yeah, I'd be sick of chicken too."
         "So, now you know. And you realize, I will get you back."
         I smiled. "I spent almost fifty dollars on soup. I got myself back with this one."
         He gave me a grin afterwards that made me feel unsettled a bit. "No," I said. "Not the feathers in the bed again. Don't you dare!"
         Crash just laughed and shook his head as I left the kitchen.
         At least I knew why he didn't like chicken. Come to think of it, I'd never seen him eat much turkey or any other bird either. Maybe it's for the same reason. Maybe it's for a different one. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Like I've ever done that before.