It was a Tuesday. Not just any Tuesday. It was one of those suspiciously calm mornings where nothing had exploded, no one had mysteriously disappeared with a slipper, and Athena hadn’t yet flung herself over the back of the couch like a caffeinated gazelle. The humans were relaxed, hopeful, sipping their coffee like they hadn’t raised two furry chaos goblins.
That was their first mistake.
Athena, the elegant, intelligent, soft-hearted, emotionally manipulative, blanket-hoarding husky queen, sat in the window like royalty watching over her kingdom. Her fur, black, white and grey and glimmering like freshly oiled mischief, was perfectly fluffed. One of her eyes sparkled a cool, nearly white-blue. The other smoldered with the warmth of a Chestnut cappuccino. When those two eyes locked onto something, it either got licked, pounced on, or buried in the garden.
Her younger brother Obito, a ten-month-old malamute the size of a compact car, was sprawled across the floor, tongue dangling out like a necktie he hadn’t figured out how to wear. His face was black, with two tan eyebrows that made him look constantly concerned about everything, including snacks that weren’t currently in his mouth. His oversized paws and adorable toe beans were slowly catching up with the rest of his horse-sized body. He snored like a chainsaw being slowly drowned in pudding.
Athena twitched an ear. There was movement outside. Voices. Activity. Marching boots. Obito stirred, groggily tried to stand, and stepped on his own face.
Today was Army Training Day.
A community event. Tactical demos. Obstacle courses. Search and rescue simulations. It was supposed to be a dignified display of military prowess. They had tents. Flags. Matching shirts. A table labeled “Ask a Soldier Anything,” which would later regret its openness to the public.
Athena’s eyes lit up with the fury of a thousand zoomies. She glanced at Obito, who was busy licking the carpet with great focus.
“Obito,” she barked in fluent Caninese, “we ride at dawn.”
Obito yawned wide enough to swallow a Frisbee and blinked. “Is there food?”
“Eventually.”
And that was all it took. The fluff cavalry was on the move.
The humans brought them along, unsuspecting. Athena trotted in like she owned the military. Obito bounced behind her, knocking over a bike rack with his tail before anyone even realized he had entered the premises.
At first, they behaved. Athena sniffed boots politely. Obito tried to kiss a colonel. But then Athena spotted it: the obstacle course. Ramps. Ropes. Tunnels. Climbing walls. A seesaw. To the army, it was a test of human endurance. To Athena, it was the promised land.
Before anyone could stop her, she took off like a majestic grey-black-and-white torpedo. She soared over the rope bridge, darted through the tunnel, and, in one glorious leap, launched herself over the wall and straight into the passenger seat of a Humvee.
Someone screamed, “Is that dog driving?”
Obito, meanwhile, lumbered up to the starting line like a sentient mattress and flopped into the first tunnel. He got stuck halfway through, not because he was too big, but because he found a mysterious crumb halfway and refused to leave until he’d solved the flavor.
The soldiers tried to stay professional. They really did.
Athena jumped out of the Humvee wearing someone’s sunglasses. She strutted through a row of soldiers like a celebrity on a red carpet. When one of them crouched to tie his boot, she hopped on his back like a horse and howled with victory.
Obito had freed himself from the tunnel using sheer willpower and possibly black magic. He galloped off toward the food tent with all the grace of a refrigerator on a bouncy castle. He made direct eye contact with the chef, drooled a gallon of affection, and stole an entire tray of sandwiches in one clean swoop.
Back at the obstacle course, Athena had discovered a backpack. It was zipped. Temporarily. She unzipped it with her teeth, removed a bag of beef jerky and a laser pointer, and ran off like an excited toddler high on espresso.
Soldiers chased her. She zig-zagged. She vaulted over barrels. She stopped only to dig a single, perfectly inconvenient hole in the middle of the field before disappearing under a truck.
Obito, now full of tactical sandwiches, had returned to the crowd and was enthusiastically hugging everyone with the sheer mass of his body. A child tried to ride him. Obito accepted this with dignity. Another child gave him a popsicle. He accepted that with less dignity and a lot of stick-eating.
At one point, Athena reemerged from under the truck and leapt onto the hood of a tank. She let out a dramatic howl that echoed through the entire base. It was the kind of howl that said, “I have conquered this institution, and I demand belly rubs.”
A soldier, not knowing what else to do, saluted.
Obito tried to follow her onto the tank but tripped over his own back legs and somersaulted into a sandbag pile. He popped up looking like a powdered donut, tail wagging, tongue flopping, and declared victory over gravity itself.
By this time, half the base had stopped what they were doing just to watch. The other half were too busy trying to retrieve scattered gear, sandwiches, and pride. Someone found a helmet full of dirt and three tulip bulbs. No one wanted to ask questions.
Eventually, Athena leapt off the tank, landed with a poof, and ran a perfect figure-eight around two sergeants and a Labrador in a K9 vest before sprinting straight into a pile of blankets, where she curled up smugly like nothing had happened.
Obito, now labeled “Public Affection Hazard Level 5,” collapsed beside her with a contented grunt and fell asleep on someone’s tactical vest.
The event was declared “a learning experience.”
The humans arrived to collect their majestic war criminals. Athena blinked innocently. Obito rolled over and exposed his belly. They were leashed, kissed everyone one last time, and trotted home like conquering heroes.
The base, though somewhat traumatized, began a new tradition the following year. Alongside the obstacle courses and demos, a new booth was added, complete with a red carpet and photo ops.
It was called “Pet the Veterans of Operation Fluffstorm.”
And the line? Always longest for Princess Miss Pants and Mr. Toe Beans.

©️Lainey Green — intwined.blog