Only moments before the storm burst, Strider found shelter in a deserted cottage.  Too exhausted for anything but the most cursory search of the house, he only took the time to make certain he would not be sharing the little building with raccoons or worse. Then, wrapping himself tightly in cloak and blanket, he stretched out on the hard dirt floor, and was asleep almost immediately.

~*~

Something wet touched his face and Strider leapt to his feet with a strangled cry, hand groping for his sword, eyes darting around the room, only to find that he was alone.

Then a whimper drew his gaze downwards. There at his feet sat a pup of indeterminate colour and breed, looking at him with hopeful brown eyes. As he watched, the pup stood and came to him, nosing his leg, whining for attention.  Strider laughed softly, set down his sword and knelt .“What are you doing here?”  he asked, holding his hand toward the little dog. “Were you left behind when they moved?”   

The puppy sniffed at  Strider’s fingers experimentally, then gave a high-pitched bark and tried to crawl into his lap. Chuckling, Strider picked the dog up, and was rewarded by having his face rather thoroughly licked. “What have you been eating?” he said, grimacing the foul odor on the puppy’s breath.  “And what have you been rolling in? You reek of …” he sniffed the dog’s coat and was sorry he had. “Fox, is it? You are lucky one of those clever fellows did not bite your nose off.”

The puppy seemed not at all rebuked, distracted as he was by trying to bury his nose into Strider’s shoulder. He was also whining again, and Strider wondered how long the little animal had been there. The cottage had not been empty long – there was only a thin layer of dust on the table, and the vines outside had not yet begun to creep up the outside walls. Less than a month, he wagered. These lands have become more dangerous of late, and the owners were likely  frightened to be this far from a proper settlement.

“You’ve obviously done well at foraging for yourself,” he said aloud, holding the puppy up and examining him.  Yes, it was indeed a him, and he still had the barest layer of baby fat. Some child had likely wept rivers of tears when it was discovered that this pup had been accidentally abandoned.

Strider settled the little dog back in his lap as he reached for his pack. I can not take  a dog with me, of course, he thought as he pulled out some dried meat and offered to the puppy, who accepted greedily. But I cannot leave him here, either.  He would either starve, or live, and turn feral. The folk still living hereabouts would not thank me for that.

“What shall I do with you?” he sighed, scratching the pup behind the ears. “You are a very friendly fellow indeed, but a Ranger needs more silence than a child such as yourself can manage.” 

The puppy finished the meat – the last of the meat, Strider reminded himself with a shake of his head – and gave a wide yawn, licking his chops. “You have the right of it,” he decided. “We shall sleep first, then decide your future.”

He lay back down, and the puppy took it upon himself to examine the perimeter, sniffing around Strider’s head and feet before wiggling himself into the crook of Strider’s arm.  The Ranger flinched at the dog’s dreadful breath, and closed his eyes.

It’s a good thing Bree is not so very far away, he thought as he drifted off. 

~*~

There was no point in trying to be stealthy, not with a young pup bounding along next to him  and yipping fiercely at every passing sparrow. Strider did not feel comfortable taking to the road itself, so they walked parallel to it, concealed by the woods.  The pup did not mind – the forest was far more interesting.

Each night, Strider spent a portion of time pulling burrs from the dog’s coat, checking the tender pads of his feet for cuts or thorns, and the puppy relished the attention. He proved to be clever at flushing quail, though his wild barking nearly sent the birds to flight before Strider could nock an arrow.  Occasionally he would dart off into the bushes and return looking very pleased when he presented a mouse or a ground squirrel to Strider. The man always praised him and stopped a moment to let him eat his prize.

“It is too bad that I cannot keep you,” Strider said one night as they were bedding down, “for you are a fine companion. But you would not want to go where I must travel.”

The pup licked Strider’s nose gently.

He restrained himself from giving the dog a name; he tried not think of it as his dog.   

~*~

“There is Bree,” Strider announced as the gates came into view. He bent to scoop the dog up.  “Now do not argue with me,” he scolded as the puppy began squirming. “It will not do to have you caked in mud when I am trying to find you a good home, and Bree’s streets are none too well-kept.”  

The pup ceased his struggles, and Strider grinned at the snort of resignation.

~*~

“Never known you t’ have a dog, Strider,” Nob said, reaching to pet the animal without asking for Strider’s leave to do so. “An’ I don’t think Mr. Butterbur’ll be too happy when he see it in here, neither.”

“Then Mr. Butterbur shall have to help me find a home for him quickly,” Strider said pleasantly enough, but Nob looked chastened..

“I’ll ask around,” he assured the Ranger, “see if anyone’s need of such a stout pup. I’d take ‘im meself, but I already got me a couple o’ dogs might not take kindly to it.”

“I’ll take him,” a voice from behind Strider slurred.

Man and Hobbit turned to see Bill Ferny standing there, eyeing the puppy in a way Strider did not much like.  Nob spoke before he could, however.

“Wouldn’t give you a dead rat, Ferny,” Nob said sharply. “You got enough animals y’ don’t look after.”

“Hobbits,” Ferny sneered. “Think all animals be like people, don’t ye?”

Strider moved forward, and Ferny twitched, as if keeping  himself from falling back.. “It would not be wise for you continue to speak so of Hobbits, ” the Ranger warned in a deceptively mild voice.

Ferny looked distinctly uneasy, but glared nonetheless before moving toward a table in the corner without another word.  Strider heard him muttering to himself as he walked away.

~*~

Strider had never seen so many dog-lovers who did not want a puppy. Hobbits and Men alike stopped to see the little creature, all professed that “it’s a fine dog, a fine dog indeed. Flushes birds, you say? That’s right useful, that is”, but no-one seemed inclined to give the pup a home.  The puppy did not care; he was near delirious with joy that so many people were petting him and feeding him little tidbits. Strider had to keep a close eye on him to make certain that he did not befoul Butterbur’s floor.

He was ready to retire, and think of an alternate plan in the morning when he was approached by a dark-haired Hobbit.  “Ardo Cottonwood,” he introduced himself. “You’re Strider? I hear you’ve a pup needs a home.”

“I do,” Strider nodded. “He is friendly and healthy, but it would be impossible for me to have him with me.”

“Wild’s no place for a young creature,” Ardo agreed, leaning forward to study the puppy more closely. “Some would say none for Man, neither.”

“Some would say,” Strider agreed with a hint of amusement. “Should you like to hold him?”

Ardo took the pup, who promptly licked the Hobbit’s cheeks in greeting. He laughed merrily. “Lively,” he remarked with a grin. “Perfect for a lad, wouldn’t ye say?”

“I would,” Strider replied, relieved.

“My cousin – well, fourth cousin thrice removed on my mother’s side through her grandmother -  his son’s having a birthday right soon,” Ardo went on easily, stroking the dog’s head. “I think this little fellow would find a good home there among all them mad, dog-loving, child-spoiling Tooks.”

Strider chuckled. “I imagine a Took can care for a dog as well as anyone might, and better than others.”

Ardo followed the quick glance of Strider’s eyes to Bill Ferny, who sat in the corner of the common room. “Aye, that’s true enough.” He looked back at Strider. “You want to keep him with you, til you’re on your way again? Party’s not for two weeks.”

It was tempting; he’d grown used to the pup’s company. But there was no point. “You are kind to ask, but no,” Strider said with a twinge of remorse. “I must leave tomorrow, as soon as I have resupplied. I was not planning to come to Bree, until he changed my plans.”

“Kind of you to find him a home, rather than leave him in the woods,” Ardo said with a smile. “Lots of folk wouldn’t bother.”

Strider gave a wide grin. “Hobbits are not the only ones who think that animals are like people,” he confided, and Ardo burst into hearty laughter.

“My thanks to you,” the Hobbit said. “Have you given him a name?”

Strider shook his head. “I deemed it best to let his new owner have that privilege,” he said. “And my thanks to you. I was beginning to fear that no-one would take him.”

“He’ll be well-loved, never you fear,” Ardo said. “And run ragged, if I know Paladin’s son at all. Now it’s getting late, and Iris’ll be wonderin’ where I am.  You tread careful in the wild, Strider.”

A bit startled by the consideration, Strider solemnly promised he would. He scratched the little pup behind the ears in farewell, and ignored a small pang of regret when Ardo left.

 Ah well, Strider thought as he made his way upstairs. Better a child have the caring of him.  I only hope the boy doesn’t stuff him with table scraps until he can hardly walk.

But he’d grown used to the pup’s snoring and the solid ball of warmth tucked against his chest, and it took him a bit longer than usual to get to sleep that night.