Life With A Werewolf

The Accidental Prank

          Ah, the road to hell. It's paved with, well, good intentions, hard work, and a lot of lack of forethought. I've paved that road many times and have burned many bridges in the past. This is one of those times, this past week. And to be honest, I wouldn't blame Crash if he punted me to the curb. But, in my own defense, I'm still working out this entire "werewolf pack" thing. If he'd give me an instruction manual or something, it'd be a hell of a lot easier. But, they don't make such things. There really needs to be a book or something. I'd prefer a title called "Living With The Modern Werewolf".
         This all started because I was wanting to be nice. We had a cookout. Nothing fancy, a few burgers, some hot dogs, that sort of thing. Crash made his own special "werewolf burgers". Massive patties that came out to about 2/3 and 1 pound each, filled with bacon cheddar cheese and a hint of jalapeno peppers. One was enough for me, but him, Mitch and Elouise got large 1 pound burgers.
          Mitch was between relationships at that point. And pretty much between friends, families, you name it. He'd gotten promoted at work, but seemed to have gotten demoted in life. Everyone who's over the age of twenty five had been there at one point or another, so we all could at least identify with what he was going through. Elouise had summed it up in three eloquent southern words "bless his heart".
         I thought it was about time someone did bless his heart. And I was determined to do something about it. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this would be what you could affectionately call "mistake number one".
         This is the type of thing that could backfire, I knew. So, I gathered ideas from the other guys without letting them know I was gathering ideas from them. I'd stopped everyone and asked "if you were going to do something nice for one lonely person, what would you do?"
         Sean: "I dunno, dude. Like, talk to them, I guess. Try to be there for them and what not. Maybe take them skateboarding or something."
         Kris: "Find out what they're into. Guys who are lonely always have an obsession of some kind. Then get him a ticket to whatever convention celebrates his passion."
         Zack: "Get them a dog, maybe? I don't know."
         Of all the ideas that I got, Zack's seemed the most feasible. After all, getting a dog is as simple as going to the pound, right? Plus, Mitch is a werewolf, which technically means that he's part canine or lupine or whatever-ine down in there somewhere. This was a good idea, wasn't it? Just wait till Mitch goes to work, enter his trailer, drop off the dog with a note, and wait for him to come home to the surprise.
         Getting the dog from the pound was easy enough. But, I should have known there'd be a problem when the dog started whining as I brought him to the trailer. The dog was a larger dog, seemed to be some sort of German Sheppard mix. He paced back and forth in the back seat, and nearly bolted when I opened the door. But that's just nerves, right? The dog hadn't been in a home for a while, was probably kept outside for a bit. It didn't know what was coming, did it?
         I'd forgotten how sensitive a dog's nose really is. It smelled something other than human there. A large predator. One it didn't know or trust. When werewolves move through the forest, bears and wolves tend to stay quiet and out of their way. With good reason.
         That dog had smelled a large predators den and didn't want to be anywhere near it. Of course, I didn't know all of the signs of outright terror that poor dog was giving me. I just knew it was a pain in the ass to get it into the house. I'd left him the note, something that said "looks like you needed a friend" and left it at that. I didn't sign my name. That was the end of it, wasn't it?
         Yeah, right. Mitch had worked an extra long shift at the fast food place he worked at. He was now the assistant manager of the restaurant, so, when one of the high school kids they employ called out as sick to go to a concert or something instead, Mitch was stuck with the shift. Then he had all of his manager stuff on top of that. So, a fourteen hour day on his feet, and he comes home to...well...
         Terms like "cluster fuck" don't get used enough. Well, not used properly anyway. An abundance of problems mounted on top of each other, that fed into each other to create an ever worsening situation, which could all be summed up in a single word: dog.
         This poor animal was terrified. In it's terror, it had done what dogs do: it began marking out territory within the home. It peed on the carpet in the living room. On the small entertainment center he had. On the walls. On the couch. It grabbed cushions from said couch and began doing what dogs do to comfort themselves when they're overly stressed: it chewed through every single cushion. It dug holes in the bottom of it, so what was left of the cushions could sit on bare wire. Then it, of course, peed on the couch.
          When Mitch had arrived home, he found a dog, who'd bolted out the door the moment it was open, mountains of pee soaked carpeting and upholstery, and just about everything chewed on, clawed, or peed on in the living room. Sitting on the floor, in a pile of chewed up pillow stuffing and a pool of urine, was my note:
         "Dear Mitch,
         Looks like you could use a friend.
         Hope you enjoy!"
         The way you or I would have taken this turn of events is to assume someone was a jerk, or someone was an accidental jerk. That's me. Accidental jerk. However, Mitch saw it as something entirely else.
         What, I'd effectively done, since that trailer was Mitch's home and his territory, was left my mark on his things. My scent was on everything. The dog pee didn't cover every last bit of my scent, and it was very apparent, to Mitch at least, that I was attempting to make my mark on his territory. I was telling a lonely werewolf that I wanted to be part of his pack. What's more, the first that Crash had heard any of this was when Mitch asked him if he could take me as a member.
         It hurt Crash that I'd done that. But, I hadn't even known I'd done anything wrong. When he came home that morning from work, he wouldn't even look me in the eye. I attempted to ask him what was wrong several times, but couldn't get a direct answer from him. He drank his decaff coffee, put a shot of bourbon in it, finished it off, and then went to bed.
         When he got up that evening, I stopped him in the short hallway we had. "Look, I'm sorry," I told him. "Whatever it is. But, I got to plead ignorance on this."
         "I'm not ready to talk to you," he said, then left. Yeouch. Boss called me and told me not to come in for a couple days. Double Yeouch.
         I did the best I could under the circumstances. I waited until he came home. I presented him with a bottle of his favorite whiskey and sat him on the porch. "What did I do. Let me know, please. I'm flying blind."
         He opened the bottle, a brand of whiskey from Tennessee that's not well known out of the state. He sipped on it, then sipped again. Then explained the entire thing to me. "It was a slap in the face," Crash said. "I thought you were happy here."
         "I am," I told him. "I didn't know what I was doing when I did that. I wasn't even trying to prank him! I thought a dog is a good gift."
         "Jason, a dog has to be raised around a werewolf from a pup. Otherwise, it'll always be terrified of our kind."
         Oh. "So, essentially, I'd told him that I wasn't happy in your pack and wanted out?"
         Crash nodded. "Yeah. I knew what you were trying to do, but Mitch, he's so lonely right now, he didn't understand. In his heart, he was hoping you'd be part of his."
         It was a bit like waving a sandwich in front of a starving man. "How do I make this right," I asked.
         "You don't," Crash said. "I'll make this right. Next time you want to do something for Mitch, you talk to me, first. We werewolves don't have a lot of differences when it comes to etiquette. But you have managed to cross one of the biggest ones. Good job."
         So, yeah. My name is mud, right now. I've been keeping my head down, doing my stuff around the house, writing, that sort of thing. I stay in my room mostly, right now. At least until Crash calms down and whatever thing between him and Mitch gets settled. There's an old saying in the military: "It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission". In that case, it would have been better to ask for permission. Not doing that again. Well, not for a while. At least a month, I can go a month without making rash decisions without asking others for their input. I know I can make a month. Or at least finish this month out.