Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six)

least by my cautions and disclaimers. He spun around so fast he was making me dizzy, and the independent enthusiasm of his tail eventually overbalanced him and he wiped out. Undeterred, he leapt back up and tried to execute something gymnastic, for which wolfhounds are decidedly not renowned. He wiped out again. Realizing he felt too awesome to stand right then, he wriggled around in the grass of the front yard, every inch of him in motion.
    
    Well, to be fair, Oberon, sausage wasn’t really my idea. It was just my idea to feed it to you
.
    
    Are you saying you’d give up sausage for a companion?
    
    That admission made me feel more than a little ashamed.
I’m sorry we waited so long, buddy. And, remember, we might not find the perfect bitch here today, but if not we’ll keep looking. It’s a quest now
.
     Oberon rolled over to get his feet underneathhim and then he leapt at me, tackling me to the ground.
    “Auggh!” I cried aloud, half in alarm and half in amusement. “Shit! Oberon, get off me!”
     I tried to twist away, but the bulk of his weight pressed down on my chest and I had no leverage. Still, I managed to turn my hips around in time for Oberon to start humping the side of my leg.
    “Gah! Ha! Oberon, stop!” It was simultaneously horrifying and hilarious, and I couldn’t keep from laughing. “Someone’s going to see!”
     The wolfhounds behind the fence seemed to be barking encouragement now, and that, combined with the joy in Oberon’s voice and the picture we must have made for any witnesses, was all it took for me to lose it. I laughed uncontrollably as he humped my leg, helpless to defend myself from his enthusiasm. The hounds barked, I laughed, and Oberon humped until Granuaile appeared behind the fence with an older woman and saved me.
    “What in the world? Oberon! That’s enough!” She sounded mortified. It was not the first impression she wished to make on the owner of the ranch. I’m sure she must have reinforced her verbal command with a telepathic one, because Oberon finally ceased and apologized—to her, not me.
     He stepped off and spent maybe two seconds in contrition before he started spinning around again. I rolled away and tried to get my laughter under control but couldn’t, because now I was embarrassed and so was Granuaile and that was funny too. Luckily, the owner of the ranch wasn’t offended or shocked. When Granuaile explained thatOberon was unusually excited and didn’t normally behave that way, the woman nodded in sympathy. She knew very well what wolfhounds were like.
    With the show over, the hounds inside the fence turned their attention to Granuaile and the owner of the ranch. They crowded around Granuaile and jockeyed for a position underneath her hands, since she was doing her best to pet all seven with only two limbs. Eventually she isolated one from the others, a cream-coated hound with kind brown eyes.
    “Could I spend a bit of time with this one?” Granuaile asked, to which the owner nodded. As Granuaile and the owner walked back toward the house, all the hounds followed, not just the one Granuaile had asked about.
    Oberon stopped spinning and pricked up his ears as they passed out of sight.
    They’re going to chat for a little while. She’ll make a decision soon enough. Flop down and I’ll give you a belly rub while we wait
.
     Oberon dove and skidded across the lawn as he twisted to present his belly. I began to scratch him and tried to avoid getting swatted by his tail, which wouldn’t stop wagging.
    Now, remember, buddy, regardless of which hound we adopt, she’s not going to know how to speak at first. We have to teach her
.
     Oberon said, and that’s all I had to say to keep him occupied, because he began to catalog all his favorite movies and rank them according to their potential for language acquisition. He was going to start with
Pulp Fiction
but dismissed it for fear that she would keep asking him what Marsellus Wallace looked like. Somehow,