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As I watched the behemoth canine toil ahead of me under the weight of his own body, I had to admit to myself that there was not a lack of some pleasure to be had in seeing that flesh wobble about when it was usually so inert. It was the grey twilight before dawn, several hours yet before breakfast, but there was plenty of light to see by. Air cool on my moist nose, I could almost feel the heat radiating off of the laboring dog in front of me as I checked his pace. If Fat Gut slackened the pace of his walk, I'd catch up and be forced to remind him with a snap of my teeth to his fatty coup. But he rarely did, not unless true exhaustion was taking him. And I learned the difference right away after starting my companion's rehabilitation.

The day after talking down Fat Gut, I felt I ought to push him to follow through with what I told him. The large shepherd lab rose reluctantly, complaining about hurts incurred from the previous day in which I had subordinated the task of getting him up to walk at intervals mostly to Terrier-face, Lopside and Dizzy. I rebuked him sharply and got him moving along. The possibility that he was, in fact, still hurting and injured entered my mind as he stepped up from a shuffle into a rolling gait. However, I also knew that he'd say pretty much anything to get me to leave him to his own devices. It was not long at all before I knew that this was going to be hard for the both of us.

It was, after all, virtually the first unilateral decision I'd made as Alpha. Everything else had been consulted back and forth, back and forth and around and around. Sure there was value to discussion and it was my natural reaction to converse with my peers, but there was also a dogish satisfaction in having my way in something that I felt so strongly about. And I felt strongly about Fat Gut. Watching him walk with bristling effort in front of me even the relatively short distance of the perimeter of the yard was indeed a revelation to just how close things had gotten with his mobility. It was my responsibility after all to protect the other members of the pack. But what could I do with a Fat Gut who could not move himself? Even with my size and strength, it would be all I could do to roll his lumpy, soft body over, and it would be exhausting work. No one else would even be able to budge him. Would the humans come then? There was no way to be sure. Fat Gut had never mentioned any dog getting so big as to not be able to walk. There was no precedence, and I sorely wished to keep it that way.

Fat Gut walked in a more developed and laborious way than any other dog in the yard. His abdomen, swollen as voluminously as it was, pressed against the front of and in between his knees. Toes pointed outwards, he shifted his weight a lot, side to side to allow each hind leg to move forward. Each step was accompanied by the soft rustle of fur sliding across fur from the rubbing between his round, sagging thighs. I didn't push him to do more than walk because I suspected that even getting up into a lolloping jog might break him. Of the rest of him, there wasn't much to see beyond the horizon of the tight stretched skin of his midsection. I did see his broad back for my height, a flat black plain which tilted violently with his shifting bulk. Its depth was obvious despite its lack of features. The deepening fat had obliterated any trace of skeletal features at this point, save for the broad shallow valley where the skin dipped over his submerged spine.

As for the walk itself, there wasn't much more to say. I spent most of the time looking at Fat Gut, trying to analyze his movement, looking for signs of stress, but also sources for advice. The first time he told me he needed to stop, I bit him hard on the rump in answer. He responded with a sort of hop step forward, a reflex memory of running before the shape of his body enforced itself again. I'd already been determined to deny his first attempt to stop. A little while later, I was glad that I'd been violent with my first response for Fat Gut continued plodding silently for a long time before he tried again.

By this time, I was feeling a modest burn in my own muscles as well. I could not equate distances very well in my head at the time, but I felt I'd walked at least as far from the yard to the lot by now, maybe a little less. Fat Gut, though had his tongue hanging out and was drawing honest rapid breaths. His gait was different too, subtly. More natural than before, but stiff and he'd begun to limp a bit on the right side. I studied him carefully, knowing that I was looking at a future of doing this often from now on. Fat Gut kept three legs on the ground at all times, so it was easy to see that was favoring his right hind leg. However, rather than moving scarred foot gingerly as I'd expected, it seemed like he moved the whole leg oddly, as if it was his hip that was hurting him. I found it odd, watching every fourth step, but I also felt vindicated in declaring his feet mended now, even if something else seemed to be honestly bothering him.

"Topsy..." Fat Gut rasped. "I can't keep going. Lemme sit down." He didn't turn his head around, though his thick ruff of fat and his own girth would probably prevent him seeing me anyways, but I heard him well.

I sniffed, and the aroma of sweat from the pads of his feet and the stress pheromones released by his taxed body reached the inside of my nose. I pulled the smell into me, memorizing it so I'd know in the future. "Alright. You can rest for a while Fat Gut." I said neutrally.

Fat Gut sagged down, folding his legs under him as if the strength to stand had just melted out of him. He did not fall long before his belly met the ground with a handsome slap of flesh. The lard filled shepherd lab lay there, his taught curved skin rippling with the force of his breaths. He said nothing.

I considered saying something then, but decided against it. After all, there'd be days and days ahead to think about what to say. That night, I did not return to other tribe of dogs. I sent Pink Nose and Dizzy in my place and instead attended to Fat Gut. He resisted of course, but meekly. He'd hardly spoken except to plead to stop since I'd started my mission. Of course, I could have had one of several dogs keep on Fat Gut, getting him up every couple of hours for movement, for laps around the yard. However, right now, this was where I wanted to be. Never mind that it was tedious, mostly boring work. I felt that Fat Gut was my responsibility now. That and I felt no more strong desire to return to the other tribe. Even the memory of the scent of female dogs was not strong enough to draw me away because accompanied with that memory was the recollection of Autumn's eyes and the last question she'd asked me the last time I'd been there...

To better occupy myself, I walked to the lot and back after allowing Fat Gut to collapse. When that got to be too easy, I began walking the perimeter of the lot, just as Dizzy and Spinner had the first time they'd escaped. Every night, Fatty and most of the others staked out the dumpster or the smaller trash cans that we'd found outside of either building. Terrier-face kept his vigilance on the watch human as well when he could and every morning, Pink Nose related what he'd learned from his time with the other tribe.

After more than a week of this new routine, Pink Nose said, "She asked me where you've gone."

I was more than half asleep when he had returned, so the chocolate lab had to repeat himself. Blearily, I sat up, feeling the weight of my abdomen reach generously across the ground. "What did you tell them?"

Pink Nose looked at me sheepishly, "I told them that you were spending time with your pack. You are Alpha after all." It might have been presumptuous to say anything definitive on my behalf, but I was glad that he'd answered them.

I yawned, "Well, that was a good answer." Then I began to lower my head as if to lay back down.

Pink Nose interjected however, "Actually, I was wondering when you were going to start coming with me again. This is the first time they really tried talking with me since you stopped coming. I think they think they scared you off."

"They didn't scare me off." I said nonchalantly, though my tail rose stiff and straight as I spoke. I rose a golden eyebrow then and stared at the obese lab. "Are you trying to tell me that you are tired of repeating what you learned to me every morning?"

Pink Nose's eyes flashed, but he denied it at once. "Of course not. I'd never complain. In fact, I love learning... English, yes that's the proper word for it. I love learning English." The sycophantic tone in his voice annoyed me in a strange undefinable way, but annoyed me nonetheless.

I sighed. "Well, they can have me back once I've got Fat Gut moving well enough to at least assist Fatty in a meaningful way. If I let off of him now, he'll just slide back. I still don't think he gets how we're helping him, despite how much farther he can manage now."

Pink Nose cast his eyes down and was quiet, but I thought that there was a lot of words going unsaid between us. His brown face was full of outward doubt, but his eyes, his eyes held a different story altogether. What he said, though was, "So he is getting better?"

I sniffed. "I'd have thought you'd notice. Although all he ever does is complain, so maybe you haven't. But he is doing better. Every day he's getting father. He can do almost three laps now."

Pink Nose nodded slightly. "That is a big improvement. But I haven't seen him up and about except when you or someone else is marching him."

That was true enough. Fat Gut had seemed to make it his mission to remain ground bound all the time he was not forced to nowadays. He drank and eliminated when we walked him. The only exception was meal times. "One of these days he'll realize that we're helping him. If only because walking around will be as easy for him as it is for us."

Pink Nose rolled his eyes, "I don't think he'll ever get around like we do, big as he is. He's still putting it on."

And he was at that. Despite all his loud complaints that the rest of us were trying to deprive him of his fleshy birthright, the livid red marks on his belly were testament to a healthily growing frame. I looked sidelong at Pink Nose though. "I'd be careful what you say. Fatty is just around Fat Gut's old weight mark." I rose a paw and gestured to the labrador's chunky midsection, "And you're not that far behind."

Pink Nose paused to consider. "Well, I do enough walking to keep me up, I think." He said, shifting his considerable bulk, "And Spinner would never let me vegetate like Fat Gut used to anyways."

I gave Pink Nose a half smile. "You're right. But just remember what I said when you're bigger than Fatty is now."

Pink Nose pawed his own doughy flesh. "Oh, I don't think I'll ever be that big..." he said, but his grin was knowing.

I glanced down as well, seeing my own pale fur extending from between my splayed forepaws, "You never do." I muttered.

Pink Nose left then, but the question he'd raised stayed with me. The other tribe noticed I'd gone. Honestly, I didn't know why I was surprised, but I'd forced them out of my mind so thoroughly that I hadn't thought about how they might react. Autumn flashed to mind, her red fur, the smell of her, her femaleness and a spice that was utterly absent in this world of the yard. I felt a quivering deep inside and felt uncomfortable where I sat so that I had to move. What was this strange power she held over me? Far beyond the mysteries of English that she offered, this was something deeper and more instinctual. It frightened me a little, the pull of her image in her mind and the fact that I was at an utter loss as to why I should even think of her in the first place. I lapped water and was able to set my mind at ease, though the memory of her and the female tribe in general seemed only to linger under the surface of my thoughts, ready to come again at a mere whisper.

Unable to get back to sleep at the moment, I decided to retreat to the dim interior of the concrete house. It'd be dark in there for a good while longer after the dawn had come. Inside, however, I found Fatty already snoring. I was surprised to see him, though he did usually return before Pink Nose. It seemed like he'd already been resting here for some time. I sidled close to him then flopped myself down, head resting on the sac of his under belly. Languidly, I stretched my paws up into the meat and skin of his chest and the underside of his brisket. The skin pulled with my paws and the claws rasped through the thick fur pulling away clumps of downy undercoat. He was shedding, as most of us were.

Fatty awoke from the disturbance. I think I meant to, so I wasn't annoyed. Lifting his head just a little, he saw my outline and said, "Morning, Topsy."

"Morning Fatty." I said while he yawned. I could see one canine missing, a new adult tooth half grown in its place. I pushed my head a little more into his copious middle. "I'm surprised to see you back so soon."

Fatty dropped his head against the stone floor, not wasting the effort. He sighed and lifted my own head high for the force of his diaphragm. "I'm getting sick of it."

"Sick of what?"

Fatty stuck out a paw, stretching it against the floor. Seeing it emerge somewhat from its holster of shoulder fat, it was a surprising length. "Sick of staring at that damn dumpster every night. I think I'm going to give up."

Now this sounded serious. More keenly aware, I said, "Are you sure? I thought that you were on the verge of figuring it out." More than any other canine, Fatty had been insistent on unlocking the dumpster and claiming the treasure of human food that lay within. It was disturbing to hear him give up on the one thing he'd been passionate about.

He shook his head slowly, "Nope, nope." He lifted his head again and a glimmer of eye met mine, "Oh, we tried. We tried and tried. But nothing we think of is even close to working." His eye rose and seemed to take in the extend of his vast round body behind him. "Mostly the trouble is that we're too heavy to get up in there."

I let my eyes drift over the extent of the smooth dense furred surface of Fatty's torso. I thought that Pink Nose had been modest earlier. There could be little doubt from this angle that Fatty was as fat now as Fat Gut had been during our epic fight; likely a generous helping heavier. Fatty was heavier in the chest than Fat Gut though, so his belly dropped barely an inch from the low slung chest. He was wider too, more cylindrical. With my head on his gut, I could feel that his consistency was somewhat firmer than Fat Gut's and everywhere other than his shoulders, he had a tendency to be round rather than to sag like his former Alpha. Of the dogs in the yard, Fatty's shoulders were the most evolved. His girth was such that the fatty bulges usually folded clear over the actual forelegs to either side, waxing and waning depending on how he sat and twisted himself. Overall a very handsome cut, and he'd not suffered the maiming that Fat Gut had received either, but I could see the difficulty in getting all that weight up over such a tall and sheer metal wall.

I scratched absently at my ear, "Well, what about using Spinner or Dizzy?"

Fatty let his head sink back against the floor. "We've been doing that. We've always been doing that." Said Fatty roughly. He then went on to describe the previous night's attempt to get into the dumpster. Apparently several large boxes had been left outside of the bin. Lopside had been the one to suggest stacking them up to climb into the container. However, it was quickly found that these boxes were hollow, light and pretty fragile. Spinner was the only dog whose weight could have possibly been supported by the flimsy boxes. However, even his "minute" frame buckled the things by the time he'd gotten to the top.

This was the first time I'd heard this story. "Well, we should be thankful that they broke while he was outside. He could have been trapped inside the dumpster."

Fatty acknowledged this, but seemed more distressed by the latest failure in a long stream of attempts. "Its no good." He said flatly. "There's no more point to trying."

I was disheartened to see Fatty like this. I'd been to the bin myself. I was sufficiently tall now to put my paws on the lip of the container's walls, even to see clearly over it, but there was no way I could pull my heavy self over the height of it. Unless some dog could shimmy up my broad back... but no, that was equally outrageous. Uncertain of what to say, I changed the topic. "How goes your lessons? Have you found a new student yet?"

I knew that both Spinner and Dizzy had both mastered the use of our language some time ago. However, I'd left it up to Fatty and Terrier-face as well as the former students to decide for themselves which new pupils to take. Fatty shifted his bulk a little, causing my head to buck up and down, and his belly to push itself a little further under my neck. "I found a pup who seems smart enough. He's putting sentences together now. I call him Squirt, but he doesn't like it."

"Why do you call him that?"

Fatty snorted. "He still leaks a bit when he gets excited."

I chortled a bit. "I'm surprised that you picked one of the younger ones."

Fatty broke into an open laugh which rocked my head violently on the smooth surf of his belly. "That's just it, he's one of the yearlings, or close enough so it doesn't matter."

I laughed along with him, thinking I knew which canine he was talking about now. We shared some more small talk after that, mostly talking about who was teaching who now and the quirks of individual dogs, but not for very long. My interrupted sleep seemed to come back in full force and I drifted downwards, rocked by the rise and fall of Fatty's breath, and the gurgling rumble of digesting kibble deep inside his cavernous frame.

***