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The gym at the back of the McGregor estate was alive with activity. After Little Martin's stunning, one-sided victory over wildcat Matthew Jackson, the wildcat had approached the folf and congratulated him in the spirit of good sportsmanship, inquiring if he might be able to work out with him one day. Martin, ever the gracious winner, readily accepted the offer and knew that he had made a friend that day. He didn't find the circumstances surrounding their friendship strange in the least. His father and Oliver and Olivia's father were best friends, and Martin's Dad had even broken their father's jaw during the title bout! It was just the nature of prize-fighting.

Martin was busy showing off his skills with the double-end punching bag, which bounced all over when hit. The young folf gracefully maneuvered around it's crazy motions, ducking it and returning with a punch. Matthew just looked on in utter amazement at Martin's skills. He'd never seen anyone so agile as his folf friend. What was even more amazing was how Martin made it look so easy, so natural to him.

"Wow," said Matthew, getting ready to take his turn with the double-end bag. "I can't believe how good you are!"

Martin stopped ducking, giving the bag one last big right paw. "If I'm good, it's only because I've been practicing since I was a really tiny cub," admitted the folf. "No one gets good right away, especially with this thing!"

"My trainer never even had me train with one of these things before," admitted the wildcat. "He just told me to go in there, and try to punch the other kid in the nose!"

"That's pretty common advice," said Bradley, who'd been standing aside and watching the two young beasts. "Even if you're the biggest, baddest, hardest hitting heavyweight in the division, you've got to work on your foot work."

"Yes, sir!" said Matthew in a smart, military fashion.

"You don't have to call me, sir, Matt," informed Bradley, a grin hanging on his face.

"Yeah," said Martin. "Call him Dad! Ow!"

Matthew couldn't resist the urge to chuckle, seeing his friend getting smacked on the back of the head by his father. Martin rubbed the back of his injured head, giving his father a dirty look.

"It was just a joke!" he whined.

"Yeah, well, keep the jokes down," warned Bradley. "Besides, whining about a little smack to the head? You're not gonna win a championship that way!"

Martin grumbled his disapproval about being smacked in the back of the head. Meanwhile, Will McCallister, former undisputed heavyweight champion and Bradley's best friend, went to work trying to help Matthew with his foot work.

"Now," began Will. "The thing you have to remember about your feet is that you don't want to have them constantly planted to the canvas. You want to dance around like Martin was doing, but don't wear yourself out. Boxing is more than punching, it's a rhythm, it's a dance, and you need to learn the dance if you want to be any good."

Matthew took in every word of Will's instructions, never once complaining, always showing an aptitude for picking up directions quickly. In only a few hours, it was apartment to everyone present that Matthew had made progress by leaps and bounds. It was as Bradley thought; the boy wasn't lacking talent, he was lacking proper guidance, and he had an idea of what to do about it.

"Say, Matt," said Bradley, motioning for the wildcat to come over to him. "Come here."

Wiping sweat from his face, the wildcat went over to the wolf. "Yes?"

"How old are you right now?"

"I'm seventeen, Mr. McGregor, but I'm going to be eighteen in just a few weeks."

"Is that so?" said Bradley, scratching his muzzle. "What are your plans for after school is done?"

"I'd really like to turn professional," said the wildcat, his voice filled with hope. "That is if you think I would be ready."

"I think we could help you out with that," said Bradley. "So, you're not thinking about going to college, a trade school, the military?"

"Nah," admitted the wildcat. "I haven't done the best in school, and I don't have any money for college. I'm really hoping to make it in boxing."

"In that case, I have a proposition for you," said Bradley.

"Sir?" said the wildcat, even though he had been told that calling Bradley "sir" was not necessary.

"How about this. Once you turn eighteen, you come and live with us. We can get you out of school and you can take your GED test to get your diploma. The only catch is you have to work very, very hard in the gym. I've already got my paws full with Martin, so Mr. McCallister has agreed to be your trainer. Don't worry, he was my trainer throughout most of my career, so you're getting one of the best."

"One of the best?" repeated Will, feigning insult.

"Okay, the very best trainer!" laughed Bradley. "He's been looking for a young fighter to work with and it looks like you're the one!"

Matthew was absolutely astounded at the offer. He'd lived in a poor area of the city his entire life, and the McGregor's had to charter a bus to get him and take them to our place. His family never had much money, he'd gone without, so when he heard that he was getting a break, he jumped at it wholeheartedly.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. McGregor!" he said, shaking the wolf's paw. "I'm not going to let you down!"

"Good," said Bradley. "Most of all, don't let yourself down either."

Matthew went on to say that he planned to bulk up and move to Middleweight and fight in that class. Bradley and Will were both of the opinion that given his frame, the wildcat might be able to eventually move up to Light Heavyweight, though that would take time, effort and patience.

The four bests were just about to wrap up for the day, when Bradley's father, the elder Martin, walked into the gym.

"Hey, Dad," said Bradley. "Nice of you to finally join us."

"What are you talking about?" asked the confused wolf. "I'm right on time!"

"No, grandpa," said the younger Martin. "You were supposed to be here hours ago, remember?"

"You're just trying to play tricks on me, aren't you?" laughed the elder Martin. "Now, come on, let's get to work!"

"We're done for the day, Dad," Bradley informed him, finding his father's behavior slightly tedious. "How about you go back into the house with us?"

"No!" snapped the elder Martin, uncharacteristic of his usual laid-back personality. "I'm gonna stay out here!"

Bradley sighed, not wanting to upset his father any more than he already had. "Fine," he said in resignation. "You stay out here, we'll be back inside."

The four beasts left the elder Martin in the gym. Martin occasionally turned around to see his grandfather punching the heavy bag and really putting his weight into it. A remarkable feat, given his years.

"Dad," asked the younger Martin as they headed back home. "How old is grandpa."

"He's gonna be seventy next month," said Bradley, still annoyed at his father's strange behavior.

"Really?" asked the younger Martin. "So, was he older when he had you?"

"Yep," said Bradley. "Grandpa didn't get married to grandma until he was retired from boxing, though your grandmother is thirteen years younger than him."

"Thirteen years, huh?" said the folf. "Wow, that's the same age you were when I was born, right?"

"Yes," said Bradley, hating the fact that his son was aware of that little scandalous bit of information. "We've been over this before, Martin. Don't make me smack you in the back of the head again."

"Okay, okay," said the folf, putting his paws up in a sign of non-aggression. "You don't have to be so sensitive about it!"

"Hey, Will," Bradley said to his best friend.

"Yeah?"

"You wanna trade Oliver for Martin? Your son seems way better behaved, not at all a smart ass like Martin."

"Hey!" protested the folf, much to everyone's amusement.

The four beasts came back inside, pleased to see that Tori had prepared dinner for everyone. Not only had dinner been prepared, but the vixen had made her husband's favorite dish, lasagna. Of course, no lasagna would be complete without salad and bread sticks, and there was enough for everyone present.

"Ah," said Bradley, going over to his wife in the kitchen. "Everything looks wonderful as always, Tori."

The vixen felt her husband's massive arms envelope her, reaching his head around and giving her a kiss. She closed her eyes, always loving the attention.

"Your welcome, Bradley," she said with a giggle. "Now, let's not get too carried away. There are children present, you know."

Bradley sighed, sitting down on a stool next to where his wife was cooking. Everything smelled so good, he just couldn't bring himself to leave the kitchen. Tori was used to it.

"How did you boys do out there?" inquired the vixen.

"Really good," said Bradley. "Matt's really making progress with his foot work."

"Did you tell him our proposal?" asked Tori.

"I did," said Bradley, getting up from his stool and going over to pour himself a glass of milk. "He's going to be staying with us after he turns eighteen."

"Good," said Tori, opening the oven and checking her lasagna. "It'll be nice to have a kid that's polite around here."

"Tori," said Bradley. "You can't honestly expect our kids to behave themselves, can you? Kids aren't supposed to behave for their parents, only for other people."

"Don't I know it," said the vixen, who was no stranger to misbehaving children, as she and Bradley had five of them.

"Do you think Matt has what it takes to become a professional?" asked Tori.

"I do," said Bradley. "He's got natural talent, he just needs Will to help him out with proper instruction and work outs. If anyone can do that, it's Will McCallister. That wildcat's a quick learner; never cops an attitude or anything like that."

Little Martin walked into the kitchen, with his youngest sibling, four year old Ray on his shoulders. The little folf cub was laughing hysterically, happy to be shown attention by his big brother. Even Bradley and Tori found the sight amusing.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad!" said Martin. "Is dinner going to be ready soon?"

"Yes," said Tori. "I see you and your little brother are getting along."

"Of course," said Martin, picking Ray up from off his shoulders and putting him down on the kitchen floor. "He's my pal, aren't you, Sugar Ray?"

"Yep!" exclaimed the little folf, wagging his tail happily.

"Sugar Ray?" said Bradley. "Looks like our oldest has already came up with a ring name for our youngest, Tori."

"Wonderful," said the vixen. "Just what the world needs; another McGregor lacing up the gloves."

"I wanna be a boxer!" exclaimed Ray, tail still wagging.

Sensing his mother was none to pleased by the four year old's desire to enter prize-fighting, Martin picked up his little brother and made a retreat from the kitchen. "Come on, Sugar Ray, I don't think Mommy's too happy to hear you want to be a boxer right now."

Bradley sat back down on the stool next to his wife, amused at his youngest cub's desire to take up the family trade. "Tori, have you noticed anything strange about my Dad lately?"

The vixen looked over at him. "You mean like him forgetting what time it is, slurring his words and his mood swings?"

"Yeah," said Bradley. "I'm starting to worry about him. In fact, I think I'm going to go check on him right now."

"Where is he?" asked Tori.

"Out in the gym," said Bradley, getting off his stool. "He showed up right when we were done with our workout, and was very adamant that he was staying, so I let him stay in there. I don't want to fight with my Dad."

"Okay," said the vixen, watching her husband walk out the backdoor and out to his gym.

Inside Bradley's gym, the elder Martin, who had last been seen throwing his weight into a heavy bag using right hooks, was still in the gym when Bradley came to check on him, but he wasn't doing any workout now. The former champion was just standing stone still, staring at the same bag he'd been hitting earlier.

"Dad," said Bradley. "You okay?"

Martin turned around, staring blankly at his son before answering. "I . . . I don't know. Last thing I remember, I was at home talking to your mother, now I'm here in your gym."

Bradley's blood ran cold at his father's revelation. He was starting to see what was really going on here.

"Bradley," said the older wolf. "How the hell did I get here?"

"Come on, Dad," said Bradley, offering his father his arm. "How about you come in side with me, okay? Tori's fixed us a wonderful lasagna. I know that's one of your favorite things to eat."

"It is," said the older wolf excitedly. "Tori . . . she's a vixen, right?"

"Yes, Dad," said Bradley, trying to hold it together as he and his father left the gym and went back to the house. "She's my wife. We have five cubs, remember? Little Martin is the oldest."

"Little Martin!" exclaimed the older wolf. "Of course I remember him! He's going to be a great boxer one day, probably better than you and I were!"

Bradley sighed inwardly. At least his father could remember something.

Dinner that evening had been a very, very trying experience for the McGregor family and their guests. The elder Martin needed reminding who all his grandchildren were, as well as constant reminder of who Will and Matt were. Bradley's normally favorite dish had been tainted by the realization that something was really, really wrong with his father, so much so that after everyone had eaten, he felt it necessary to drive his father home and have a very long talk with his mother. Bradley was stunned to know that his mother was already aware of her husband's condition, and that they had been to several doctors for a diagnosis. Bradley didn't need to be told by any doctor that his father was suffering from pugilistic dementia, and that he was never going to get any better. As he drove back home, he had to pull off the side of the road and cry.

Later that night, Bradley lay in bed with his wife, talking about his father's condition. He knew that something like this could happen to him, but always hoped it wouldn't.

"You know, Tori. I'm a horrible son," he confessed to her.

"What? How are you a horrible son?" asked the puzzled vixen.

"I'm lying here, talking to you, worrying about my father, but I can't help think . . . what if I end up like that too? What if I need you to take care of me like that during my final years?"

"I said for better or worse at our wedding vows, and I meant that," said Tori.

"I know, but I don't want to burden you like that," said Bradley, staring at the ceiling as he lie in bed with his wife.

"Bradley," said the vixen. "I'm raising five cubs right now, I think I could manage you, and you're not a horrible son for worrying about whether or not that's going to happen to you. You were a prize-fighter and things like that can happen."

"Then I worry about, what if it happens to Martin?" admitted the wolf. "Am I doing the right thing by getting him into boxing? What kind of father am I?"

Tori scratched at her husband's muzzle affectionately. "You're a very, very good father, Bradley, and do you really expect for our kids not to get into boxing? Asking a McGregor not to fight is like asking water not to be wet."

Bradley managed a slight smile. "You're right, of course."

"Aren't I always?" she asked, her sly vulpine grin showing.

"You know what's weird though? Dad's having all this trouble remembering other things, but his memory about Little Martin is crystal clear. That's . . . that's so strange."

"Not really," countered Tori. "Think about it. You were going to school and so was I when we had him, so that left your parents to raise him for those first few years until I got my degree. You remember how happy your Dad was when he learned that he had a grandson named after him? Those two just have a very special bond."

"You're right," said Bradley with a slight chuckle. "You know, Dad told me he figured out when he and Mom were in Australia that he had a grandson?"

"What?" said Tori, not believing what she just heard. "How did he figure that out?"

"Putting the pieces together, my foxy lady. He noticed that Martin was obviously part wolf because of the gray patches of his coat. The baby was three months old, and there's a nine month gestation period. You came to watch me almost exactly a year after the first time. Plus, Dad could tell that I really, really liked you as a babysitter, even though at almost fourteen, I was really too old for something like that."

"Most babysitters don't do what I did," laughed Tori, snuggling up to her husband.

"You were a different kind of babysitter, my foxy lady," joked Bradley. "The kind every boy hopes he gets. Oh, that reminds me, there's something I needed to talk to you about."

"What?"

"When we go away on vacation, let's make sure we find the ugliest, oldest babysitter possible for the kids. They don't need to repeat their parents' mistake."

Tori giggled. "For once, I couldn't agree more with you, Bradley."