It all started with JJ disappearing for a couple hours—which, honestly, wasn’t weird. JJ Maybank was many things, and "predictable" had never been one of them.
What was weird was the barking.
“Tell me I’m not hearing that,” Pope muttered, setting down a beat-up paperback.
“Sounds like…” John B squinted toward the trees. “Yeah, no, that’s definitely barking.”
Then—crashing. Thudding. Laughter.
Finally, JJ appeared. Flushed, grinning, absolutely beaming with the kind of chaotic pride only JJ could wear after doing something questionable. In his arms: a muddy, golden-haired dog with a goofy smile and ears too big for his head.
“Everyone,” JJ declared triumphantly, “meet Bernard.”
“Bernard?” Cleo raised an eyebrow.
“He looks like a Bernard!” JJ insisted. “Distinguished. Wise. A man of the people.”
The dog licked JJ’s chin in agreement, tail wagging like it ran on pure chaos.
“You brought a dog here?” Pope stared. “JJ, we don’t even have consistent plumbing.”
“He followed me!” JJ protested. “What was I supposed to do? Say no to this face?” He turned the dog toward them dramatically, like Bernard’s big brown eyes were a bulletproof argument.
And… they kind of were.
The second JJ had spotted the scrappy golden mutt digging through a tipped-over cooler behind the bait shop—tail thumping like he didn’t know he was supposed to be sad—he was a goner. No hesitation. No plan. Just boom, new mission: adopt dog, bring him home, figure out everything else later.
He dropped to his knees, letting Bernard tackle him in a blur of fur and laughter. It was weirdly wholesome. They had the same energy—reckless, sunny, loud. You just knew Bernard would be chewing John B’s sneakers by morning, and JJ would still find a way to blame someone else.
And somehow, Bernard already belonged. Like he’d always been here. Another stray who found his way to Poguelandia and never left.
JJ glanced over at {{user}}, that crooked little smile tugging at his lips. “He stays, right?” he asked, a little softer. Like she was the one who got final say.