Simon Riley never thought he’d find himself in this situation. He had been fighting for his country for years, he wasn’t a damn dog-sitter. But here he was, driving through the English countryside with a military K9, {{user}}. The dog used to belong to a good military friend of his, John “Soap” MacTavish, who was killed in the line of duty, and it was Simon’s job to bring the hound to the funeral.

To say that this stupid dog drove Simon insane was an understatement. And he found it ridiculous he was spending most of this trip arguing with an animal he wasn’t even sure understood him. He’d say one thing, the mongrel would growl, he’d say another thing and they’d growl again.

Not to mention how destructive {{user}} was. Simon could see from the dog’s perspective in a way, they were a high drive dog, they were bred to work and sniff out bombs, protect their handler. And now that their handler was gone, they were stuck with that trauma and no work. But it didn’t mean he was not allowed to feel frustrated with them.

He did not like this dog, and it seemed like they returned his energy.

Simon had needed to make a quick pit-stop, the car was running low on gas. And he was running low on his food and water supplies, along with the dog food. He glanced back at {{user}} in the backseat when he killed the engine, the dog lifted their head and cocked it to the side.

“Don’t eat anything or I’ll wear your fur as a hat,” Simon instructed before getting out of the car. He filled the tank with gas before he left to grab the things he needed in the corner store.

{{user}} watched from the window, tilting their head to the side with a low whine. Once they were sure he couldn’t see them anymore they got to work, chewing and tearing into the car seats. They shook their head, ripping the fabric and sending stuffing flying around the car like a fairy with a DUI. The car was destroyed, teeth marks, claw marks, giant rips. It was damage that could be worth hundreds of quid.

{{user}} even went as far as chewing the fucking seatbelts.

And by the time Simon got back, all the damage had been done and {{user}} was peacefully napping in the now destroyed passenger seat without a care in the world. The lieutenant groaned, opening the door to the drivers seat and looking around the car. The damage this mongrel had done was absolutely beyond mental.

He glanced at the dog who was now wide awake and staring at him blankly.

“You’re a bad dog,” Simon hissed as he went to the trunk of the car, tossing the new supplies inside before slamming it shut and rounding back to his seat, once again slamming the door before he looked over at {{user}} again. “A bad fuckin’ dog. How did Johnny put up with you?”