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  1. Rec *

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    “How have you been here like, five hours and you’re running my shitty life already,” Richie grumbles, stifling a yawn. “Are there type-A dogs? Is that a thing?”

    Hot dogs for breakfast, courtesy of chef Richie, who wonders aloud if this is like, cannibalism before he puts it on a plate in front of him. Being a dog sucks, Eddie thinks gloomily, thoughts thick with visions of steel-cut oatmeal and green juices and honeydew melon, although his new taste buds have decided that hot dogs are actually just fine. His mind is the same, unfortunately, and he has to keep himself from thinking too hard on macros and his sodium intake and whether or not hot dogs are gluten-free, because he’s already got a fragile grip on everything like this and he thinks he’d lose it entirely if he did. He’d spent forty years knowing his body, every little thing about it, maintaining it carefully, like a temple, and now he doesn’t know the first thing about it. In fact, he has no idea if dogs can even have gluten allergies.


    After Derry, Richie is caught in the throes of grief, and Eddie is a miniature American Eskimo/Pomeranian cross.
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    10 Feb 2021