It began, as most disasters do, on a deceptively peaceful afternoon.
Athena, the elegant and intelligent two-year-old husky with fur like storm clouds and snowdrifts, was sprawled on a mountain of stolen blankets she had constructed into a throne worthy of her royal nickname: Princess Pants. With one sky-blue eye and one chestnut-brown, she gazed serenely out the window like a queen surveying her chaotic realm.
Said realm was, of course, in ruins. The once-pristine lawn was now a cratered moonscape, thanks to her “gardening projects.” Half the flowerbeds looked like a scene from a floral apocalypse. And her brother Obito, also known as Mr. Toe Beans, was currently face-first under the sofa, his back legs sticking up like a clumsy horse doing a handstand.
“Toe Beans,” Athena sighed, her tail flicking with royal annoyance. “You’re stuck again.”
Obito popped his enormous fluffy head up, fur sticking out at improbable angles and eyes wide with joy. “Worth it,” his expression said proudly, despite the fact that the popcorn kernel he’d been hunting under the sofa had likely fossilized weeks ago.
Obito, you see, is a creature that defies logic. A one-year-old malamute the size of a small pony, he is the physical embodiment of oops. His paws, enormous, tan, and somehow always in the wrong place, often seem to be operating on a different Wi-Fi signal from the rest of his body. He is clumsy, derpy, overly affectionate, and food-obsessed to a degree that makes you question if he’s secretly part vacuum cleaner. His love language is sloppy kisses. His specialty is knocking things over. His vibe is “excited toddler in a bear suit.”
And while Obito is a gentle, happy-go-lucky soul most of the time, there is one thing, one feathery, cooing, wing-flapping thing, that turns him from goofy love bug into a howling beast of righteous fury.
Pigeons.
It started with a sound.
Coo.
Athena’s ears twitched. Obito froze.
Coo. Coo.
It was there, perched brazenly on the garden fence: The Pigeon. A plump, smug little bird with all the arrogance of someone who’s never been chased by an eighty-pound fluff missile. It stared at them with the cold, judgmental gaze of a creature that knows it owns the place.
Obito’s pupils dilated. His fur bristled. His enormous paws shuffled. And from deep within his chest rose a sound so powerful, so primal, it could awaken wolves from their graves.
“AWOOOOOOOOOOO!”
It was majestic. It was operatic. It was also completely unnecessary because the pigeon did not care. At all.
The pigeon blinked. Tilted its head. And swear on all that is holy, cooed louder.
Obito’s jaw dropped. The insolence. The audacity. The feathered villainy!
“AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he howled again, louder this time, the sound vibrating the windows. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked in confusion. A toddler cried. A cat fainted. Athena sighed and covered her face with her paws.
“Really?” she seemed to say. “It’s a pigeon. It’s basically a flying potato.”
But Obito was past reason. His destiny was clear. He lowered his massive body into a crouch, or what he thought was a crouch but looked more like a beanbag attempting yoga, and launched himself forward.
He immediately slipped in one of Athena’s garden craters, faceplanted into a patch of mud, skidded sideways into the rosebush, and belly-slid with all the grace of a runaway shopping cart. Dirt exploded. Flowers disintegrated. Athena jumped out of the way, glaring daggers at him.
The pigeon was still on the fence. Still cooing. Still smug.
Obito scrambled upright, eyes blazing. He was going to end this. He reared up on his hind legs, an impressive, dramatic move, and promptly fell backward into the birdbath.
SPLASH.
Water shot into the air like a geyser. Athena screamed as droplets hit her fur. She stared at her soaked paws, betrayal radiating from every fibre of her being. She had walked through miles of mud before, yes. But this water? This was personal.
Obito surfaced, dripping and grinning like a wet potato with fur. The pigeon tilted its head again.
And then, because this bird was clearly Satan in feather form, it pooped.
Right on the fence.
Right in front of Obito.
The gasp Athena made could have shattered glass. Obito let out the loudest, most dramatic “AWOOOOOOOOOO” of his life. He was practically crying. “It MOCKS me!” his howl said.
Athena turned and walked back to the house. “I’m not part of this,” her tail declared.
But Obito wasn’t done. He would not be defeated. He circled the fence, barked at the pigeon in every language he knew (mostly variations of “BOOF”), and even tried jumping again, but misjudged the distance and headbutted the fence instead.
The pigeon finally flapped lazily into the air, clearly bored of this nonsense. It soared over the rooftops, probably off to go torment another giant dog somewhere else.
Obito sat in the mud, dripping wet and panting, looking both defeated and proud. “I did it,” his goofy grin said. “I saved us.”
Athena stared at him from the patio, one paw raised delicately off the wet grass. She sighed. The sigh of someone who knows she will never have nice things.
Later that night, Athena curled up in her fortress of blankets, dreaming of a pigeon-free world. Obito sprawled beside her like a giant, furry starfish, paws twitching as he dreamed of his next great battle.
And on a nearby rooftop, the pigeon cooed softly into the night, plotting its return.
Because peace, in the world of Athena and Obito, is never permanent. Not when there are blankets to steal, lawns to dig, and pigeons to wage war against.

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