Story
Chapter 12: Down Memory Lane
The afternoon sun has dipped behind silver-grey clouds by the time Ozzy leaves the house. It’s later in the day than he had hoped—he’d wanted to leave before lunchtime, but ended up sleeping in much longer than he’d meant to. A part of him wanted to declare today a bust already, but there was still a little voice in him that sounded suspiciously like his sister telling him to try anyway. Funny how he can still imagine what she’d say even though he hasn’t heard from her in years.
All the same, Ozzy closes the door half-heartedly behind him when he finally takes that first step out the door. He keeps his balance this time, even though there’s a bundle of canvases and folders and cardboard-backed painting paper held under his arms, like there is every day that he goes out. He’s finally gotten the hang of carrying it all, at least.
A long, tired sigh escapes him. He really doesn’t want to be outside today, but there’s some solace, at least, in the fact that it’s cloudy and cool today. Maybe he should wish for the sun like so many other Neopians here seem to, but something about grey days like this makes him feel just a little bit more at home.
There’s less colour to suck out of the day this way.
He trudges his way to the Neopian Plaza and sets up in his usual spot. It’s not much, but it’s what he’s used to, and he’s just off the path of passers-by; they should have a good view of him and his paintings, but…
“For a long time, everything was just… grey.”
…But it’s another day of nothing, until eventually, after hours and hours of waiting around for something that never happens, Ozzy decides to pack up and leave. One by one, he tucks each desolate grey painting under his arm, and with a sigh, he begins the trek home.
…But he’s not alone.
The further he gets away from the plaza and the Neopets in it, the quieter it should get. He knows this—he finds it relaxing, usually. Today, though, he’s accompanied by the scritch-scratch of little claws in the dirt, and the shhhffffff of something else dragging through it.
He turns around. A strange little Doglefox is following him, with a surprisingly large stick in its mouth.
Ozzy frowns. “Stop following me,” he says.
“Arf!” the Doglefox replies, inadvertently dropping its stick.
With a small huff, Ozzy turns around and continues on his way.
Scritch-scratch scritch-scratch shhhhffff…
He claps his free hand over his ear.
Scritch-scratch scritch-scratch shhhhffff…
“I can’t play with you!” Ozzy calls back.
Scritch-scratch scritch-scratch shhhhffff…
“But then… something happened.”
The next day, when Ozzy makes his way back to the Plaza, he’s not alone. Splinters of wood fall to the dusty path beneath his feet as the same Doglefox from the previous day chews on another stick, so close to him that Ozzy nearly stumbles over the little guy more than once.
He pauses to stare down at the strange creature, frowning and confused, and for a moment debates nudging it away with his foot.
“I don’t know why you keep following me,” he says, more to himself than the Doglefox. “I already told you I don’t have time to play. I’m busy trying to sell my paintings.”
The Doglefox looks up at him, its stick still held between its paws. “Rrr-arf!”
Ozzy sighs. It’s going to be a long day, he thinks.
And he’s right.
As usual, there doesn’t seem to be anyone interested in his paintings. Nobody comes up to say hi or to ask him about prices. A few more Neopets do look his way, but most of them seem more interested in the Doglefox than him. Typical.
But it doesn’t bother him as much today as it normally does. Maybe it’s because it’s a little warmer than usual. Maybe it’s because the Doglefox looks like he’s having a good time. Maybe it’s just because the Doglefox is cute, wagging his tail and chewing on that stick… or any of his sticks, because somehow, in the few moments Ozzy hadn’t been watching him, he seemed to find new ones. Bigger ones, skinnier ones, ones with extra branches.
Where is he getting them all?
The Doglefox isn’t just good at finding sticks, though. He does tricks with them while he’s playing, too: turning onto his back and kicking the stick to make it spin; throwing the stick off into the distance and then running to go get it; sticking the stick in the ground and dancing in circles around it…
The most impressive, though, is when the little guy tosses one of his sticks up into the air and catches it in his mouth.
“Whoa!” Ozzy gasps, lurching forward on the stool he’s set up and clapping his hands to either side of his face. The Doglefox seems to notice; stick still in his mouth, he turns around, wagging his tail.
“Rrr-rrr!”
Excited by his audience of one, the Doglefox does it again. He lowers himself closer to the ground, giving the stick a few little hefts to test it before he launches it in the air again. One, and two, and then up it goes…
BONK!
And down it comes again, squarely on top of the poor thing’s head.
“Rrrow…”
“Heh… Haha… Hahahaha!”
Ozzy can’t help but smile. The absurdity of it all sweeps him off his feet and he bends over, clutching his straining tummy and laughing so hard he can barely breathe. The Doglefox looks up at him, tilting his head in confusion, but his tail starts to wag, and wag, and wag…
Ozzy lifts a hand up to his face, catching a tear before it falls from his eye. For the first time in what feels like his entire life, it’s a tear of joy.
What’s going on, Luxinia?
A long time has passed. Ozzy is older and has started selling his paintings in Neopia Central. While it may seem like nobody is giving him the time of day, a stray Doglefox has taken a liking to him. I can already tell how much he likes you, Ozzy—and what fun company he is!