This is a gift for Yanixter that I owed to him back in 2019. I should show the story prior to this and how lackluster it was compared to now.

I started this last year, felt unsure, finished it last month.

Backyard Picnic

        *THWACK*

        Dexter reeled in from a high kick. He panted but kept his stance up and firm. Hopping side to side, he then evaded against the still punching bag, pretending it were a burly combatant. His body swung with tight control, and his reflexes built up with the adrenaline as he dodged another imaginary fist. With his next right lunge, he threw his fist against the leather bag, and left it sunk with its shape for a moment. Followed by a flurry of punches on that same spot, and another high kick on its side to finish the combo.

        The muscular wolf, drenched in sweat, returned to his original posture. Both arms on his hips as he let out deep breaths. Despite the exhaustion, his mind operated like clockwork. Dexter acknowledged his improvement in stamina but cost the impact of his punches. And he had to practice kicking higher, or perhaps add flying kicks into his routine. All those things kids see in the movies are just for show, and perhaps having watched one too many with Miles had been influencing him.

        Then he had to remind himself of proper kickboxing, being a soldier and all. As far as weapons go, he wouldn’t want to be caught defenseless if he was out of ammo or if his blades dulled. After that mental routine, his breathing slowly normalized. Next came his favorite part: the personal inspection.

He walked over the padded flooring, towards his wall-wide mirror. There were other gym apparatus behind him, such as barbells, a treadmill, and even a stationary bike. He considered going for the barbells tomorrow because it was one of his fantasies to punch out his bag from the ceiling or tore it open with a powerful wallop. Getting a new one wouldn’t be cheap, but it was enough on a lieutenant’s salary. Still, if it meant physical prowess, then it was worth it.

Speaking of which, “Hi again, stud.” Dexter gawks at his thick and furred muscles. He could even see the bulging veins between the strands of hair as he flexed his guns. It was the proportionate build he desired; not too large like weightlifters but not too small a body similar to gymnasts. And his top went off, revealing toned abs hidden behind smooth and soaked fur. “Bang, bang,” he pressured his gut almost cartoonishly, moving individual muscles. Then he blew himself a quick kiss before doing his post-exercise stretching.

“So I do fifty reps of 25kgs tomorrow,” he said to himself as he squatted in position. “Five in ten with the bike or treads.” Dexter did fifty slow squats after, breathing deeper so his muscles would relax. His body temperature cooled, and his joints followed after his fifty reps. His ears flicked to the door as heavy footsteps descended from the staircase behind it.

“Yo Dex,” He heard Chase’s knock on the door.

“Yeah? Come in.” Dexter fetched his water bottle from the side and took a sip as the door opened.

Chase stepped in, a panther donning a civilian’s outfit with a tie and jacket. But it was too formal to settle a residential issue. Made it seem like he was going to court. He said, “Thanks for letting me stay the weekend.” He walked over and made sure he was presentable. There was nothing out of place anymore, well, except for him.

“No problem man,” Dexter walked over and patted him on the back. “You’ve stayed here so much it’s like you live here already. Miles tells me the neighbors talk highly of you keeping him company while I was away.”

Chase chuckled, and gave Dexter a pat before wiping his drenched hand with a handkerchief, “Wasn’t too hard. You raised an obedient son.”

“Yep,” though obedience wasn’t what he really wanted from him. He clarified, “but I also want him to forge his own path when he gets older. I’m just worried if I’m too imposing on him becoming a soldier,” Dexter lamented. His heart ached there, worried about his son’s future. Being a soldier wasn’t easy, and the hazardous environments they operate in weren’t pleasant either. Especially being away at times; the heartache and the longing to see his loved ones. He looked at himself the way he did back in Afghanistan, wondering if he was missing out on his son’s growth. Worried that his son would miss out on his child’s growth but at least then he’d have a wife. Still, the idea didn’t sit well with him as it piled itself on the top of his head.

“Dex!” Chase yelled, poking his toned side. “You’re a great father. Your son never shuts up about you and how you’re his hero.”

That’s right, “Thanks for reminding me, Chase.” Dexter chuckled and wanted to hug the panther who insisted otherwise. He still had to shower after all. “Best not to delay you. Good luck with your residence.”

Chase gave him a half salute as he stepped out the door, “And remember, you’re a great father.”

And he listened to him walk out the front door. Dexter looked back to the mirror and shot himself a smile. He reflected on what Chase said, compared it to his worries. His son hadn’t become distant. In fact, all the tours had gotten them closer. The anticipation to have met his father being a hero. Well, he’d have to put it that way till his son was old enough to understand these things. Such worries flushed out as he picked up his towel and started wiping it all over himself. He then walked out and shut the door behind him and went upstairs.

He heard Miles stomping about in his room, probably losing a game. The youngsters and their modern tech. He was playing with a console device where its controller also had the screen. Compared to his early adult years, gaming consoles had to be connected to a television set. Oh how times have changed. It was a youngster thing he never understood but ended up buying for Christmas. He even bought five ‘cartridges’ which were these thick floppy disks you put under the device and you could play the game. Plus the salesman at the game store was awfully convincing, praising these five games in particular. Maybe there would be one about being a soldier, he’d play that.

Dexter peeked into his room, seeing his son sat down on the bed with clicking and arcade noises coming from his device. “Hey buddy,” he got his attention. Those red eyes looked at him now as he paused his game. His son was a carbon copy of his young self, fur pattern and all. But he was taller at his age though his growth spurt hadn’t kicked in yet.

“Hi dad!” Miles waved. “Chase said he went out for house stuff. Is he buying a house?”

“Not exactly. He’s finalizing his home after moving to Victoria with us. Just forgot to sign some papers,” Dexter explained.

“When do I get to sign papers?” Miles tilted his head and raised an ear.

“When you’re older, son,” Dexter asked him, “What do you want to do this afternoon?” He glanced at the console and back at him, “Wanna go out and get a new game?”

“I’m fine, actually, thanks.” He waved around the expensive gadget, “I’m still playing through ‘Easy Crush Sister’.”

It was an unusual name for a game, but if that’s what it’s like nowadays, “Oh, well then what do you want to do sonny?”

Miles’ eyes looked to the ceiling in thought. He stated, “I don’t want to go outside because we just went to the dentist yesterday, and that took too long.”

Dexter recalled the long queue in the office yesterday. Outdated magazines, the same fish going around the aquarium over and over, but at least his son’s game was entertaining enough. Even two people had the same gadgets too, one of them being an adult as well. “Well, how about we go out for a picnic then?” He suggested.

The young wolf’s tail thumped against the bed as he shot a smile at his father, “Sure! Ya cooking dad?” That excitement was something Dexter admired; the appreciation for qualities not relating to being a soldier. It further eased his guilt of being away from home, especially if Miles never felt he had left.

He gave him a thumbs up, “Yep, gonna take a shower first. You still know where the picnic blanket is?”

“Yep, bottom of the storage room,” he shut down his device and charged it on the bedside drawer. “Any meat you want me to thaw out?”

“Hmmm,” Dexter mimicked his motion earlier, looking at the ceiling. He noticed that the lightbulb was old and should replace it after lunch. But going back to what they would eat. Something that his son would like and not too hard to cook. And after a moment he asked of him to, “Defrost the sausage in the microwave then set the picnic blanket outside, alright?”

“Sure dad,” he made his way out. Miles would hug him if he hadn’t just exercised, but he saluted him instead.

It was always heartwarming to see his son do it, even if it was improper and felt off. Dexter gave him a proper one and ruffled his head before he went off, “Three minutes on high for defrosting, remember.”

“Got it dad,” his son went down the stairs while he went for a shower.

Several minutes later, Dexter went down the stairs in a homey outfit that allowed his body to breathe more. And he heard Miles going in and out of the backdoor, presumably preparing the picnic blanket. It had been quite some time since they cleaned the lawn but at least it was summer so it wouldn’t be too difficult for him. He remembered the grill next to it, which got his tail and ears perked, only to droop as he had no charcoal to use. He ought to buy more the next time he goes out.

As Dexter went into the kitchen, Miles stepped out with their plates and cutlery. He noticed the sausages on a plate right in front of the microwave, and went over and began defrosting it. While the microwave hummed, he himself did too while going through the fridge.

“Hey son,” Dexter called, “what else do you want for lunch?” He turned towards the door as he got out some leftover chicken, several greens and veggies, and mayonnaise.

The door swung open with Miles’ head peeking in. “How about that microwaveable poutine?” There was an innocent smile on his face with widening eyes. The same trick he did back at the grocery two weekends ago.

Dexter laughed, “Sure son. As long as you eat your vegetables.”

“Ha, no vegetable can scare me. I’m not like the other kids.” He proclaimed. And as a parent, Dexter was proud of that. Plus it meant he would have a healthier lifestyle in the future. But that’s hoping he would outgrow his sugartooth.

“Ha, you’re my son alright.” And he got the frozen plastic packaging from the freezer and lined it up next to the microwave. “Can you go get the bread and iced tea powder in the pantry, please?”

Miles walked in formal-like, shot him a salute, “Yes sir!” And marched to the pantry which was a step away.

Dexter chuckled, which was followed by the long microwave beep. He got the metallic tongs hanging above it and put the lukewarm sausage packing back onto its plate then beside the stove. Afterwards, he reviewed the frozen packaging with its simple instructions being: put the container on a plate, then cook it for ten minutes on high setting, and serve. If only mobile devices were that simple, he thought.

“Alright, poutine’s in the microwave,” he began cooking it and made sure the timer was on for ten minutes and not one minute. Now for the next part, actual cooking.

“Thanks dad,” Miles stepped out with a bagged bread loaf on one hand, and a plastic container of sugar tea mix on the other.

“While you’re here son, why don’t you make the iced tea too; One tablespoon for a pitcher,” he remarked while heating up the stove.

“Got it,” and he saw his son place the items on the counter and went to the fridge.

Dexter grabbed the nearby bottle of cooking oil and put a dab of it on the pan. He spun the handle around so it smeared the entire surface. Miles, on the other hand, fetched a spoon from the cupboards and opened the package of powdered iced tea. He could smell the zesty lemon flavor they bought and didn’t expect it to be that strong.

        “One spoonful,” Miles dictated his action, pouring it down the container and stirring at a rather fast pace. He wanted to see the dark brown vortex, giggling when he did.

        Dexter placed three of the thawed sausages on the pan, making it sizzle on the oil. It had a meaty smell to it, enough to make his canid tongue drool. There were herbs in it too that brought out the freshness. It was enough to overturn the artificial smell of the powdered iced tea. While he let one side cook, he got a clean plate for the sausages and placed two sheets of paper towel on it.

        “Oh yeah, I’ll get the tray,” Miles went past him and checked below the counters for said tray.

        They actually had three of them, back when he hosted a party for his friends. He never got to use it afterwards because he would rather do it outside than his own home. Especially with Miles here, he wouldn’t want to get any impressions or pick up any bad habits. Back to his cooking though, he turned the sausages over, revealing the browned side and letting it sizzle again.

        While that cooked, Dexter got himself a small bowl and placed it beside, and opened a container of the leftover chicken. He shredded the meat by hand and tossed the bones into the nearby bin. Those white strips of meat went into the bowl and slathered in mayonnaise, salt and pepper to taste. Miles returned with the dust-covered tray with a floral pattern in the middle. He rinsed it over the sink and dried it with the provided towel.

        “Thanks son,” he checked if each sausage was cooked thoroughly. And they were, masterfully he may add, but that was his ego talking. “Can you get the biscuits in the pantry too? Was thinking of having that with gravy.”

        “Sure dad,” Miles went back into the room and returned before long, placing the small yet thick pieces of bread beside the loaf.

A funny thought came to Dexter that he felt inclined to share with him, “Son,” he got his attention while plating the sausages, “Did you know that in the Mid-East, Chase tried to make homemade biscuit and gravy with toast?” He rolled it around so the tissue could soak up all the oil, then threw it away after.

        Miles scoffed, shooting him an awkward look, “How’d it taste?”

        “Bad,” he said nonchalantly, “bad enough to make sure he is banned from the kitchen.”

        “Is that why we always have takeout whenever he babysits?”

        Dexter laughed, “Mhm. Don’t tell him I told you about this alright?”

        “Don’t worry, I won’t.” And the father and son shared a good laugh. Dexter’s tail wagged, appreciating these small moments. It reminded him of another thought in the military; what he and his son would do when he came home. This was how he’d picture the picnic, or at least it was getting to that. Still, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

        “Now let me show you how your old man does it,” he was able to retrieve the flour from his cupboards. A mental note for next time: get absolutely everything he would need for cooking to save up on energy. “After all,” he turns to Miles whose wags sync with his, “there are two types of people you befriend in the military; the cooks and the doctors.”

        “I think I get the cooks, but why the doctors?” Miles asked.

        “They’ll give you good food while you recover. And are more empathetic than cold. Being a good soldier is about making friends, son.” Dexter poured some flour into the sausage-oil pan and began stirring with the spatula. “I’m sorry for having to ask you again son, but can you please get me the full-cream milk from the fridge?” He added a bit of oil and more flour into it.

        “It’s no problem dad,” Miles did so, already passing the blue carton after shutting the door.

        His little story seemed to have piqued his interest because he was beside him, watching milk getting poured into the dark brown mixture turning to its light gravy color. “This is how it’s done,” Dexter said.

        “Oooooh,” Miles turned to him, “can I try some?”

        “Sure, have the bread ready,” he stirred faster until the flour clumps had dissolved into the sauce. He could hear Miles getting a small chunk of bread then presented it beside the pan.

        Miles was eager to try; his eyes followed the gravy-tipped spatula smear its brown sauce onto his chunk of bread. He and his father could smell the sausage aroma off of it but subtle, and much more invigorating. This would go well with the sausage, the young wolf thought, but Dexter with all his experience would prefer it on the biscuits. And the breadchunk was smeared with gravy, which immediately entered Miles’ mouth a moment after the spatula left.

        Dexter chuckled, wondering, “How is it?” He stirred some more for good measure.

        “Hot!” Miles stomped but insisted with a thumbs up as he chewed. “Mmmm good,” he said with his mouth full.

        “Don’t chew and talk at the same time, sonny,” he reminded him.

        Miles nodded as he kept chewing and cooing in delight.

        That would give Chase a run for his money, Dexter thought. “Alright, move aside son, it’s hot like you said,” he gestured Miles to step aside, did so, as he moved the pan over the plate of chunk bread and smother it in gravy. He tried to be artistic about it, pouring in a pattern by swirling towards the middle. It wasn’t impressive but it was a good start. His son was impressed by it though, reacting with ‘wow’ as his eyes traced the swirl. And that’s all that mattered to him about it.

        “That’s cool,” Miles said. Then the microwave beeped and both turned to it.

        “I’ll get it,” Dexter got the oven mitts. Miles followed with his excitement shaking him as they approached his poutine. The older wolf could smell the artificial gravy and cheese curds that were akin to stale food in the military but reheated. Miles didn’t seem to mind, already opening the microwave for him. That artificial smell was more pronounced and he was certain he had eaten this before back in the far east. He would swear that this was poutine served in the barracks cafeteria. The same brand. The same amount of serving.

        Before he could comment on how mediocre it was, his son tapped the counter, “It looks so good.” And Dexter reserved himself to a chuckle as he grabbed the hot plate with his mitts and rested it just in front.

        “Just let it cool for two minutes alright? Don’t want ya getting burnt, son.”

        “Yes dad.” And he remained there looking at the generic poutine dish, which to his son was a four-star restaurant cuisine. The gravy was nearly whitish because of the cheese curds mixing with it, and the fries looked soggy. It wasn’t really poutine but more like mashed potatoes without mashing it. Still, he wouldn’t want to hurt his son’s feelings because he was ravenous looking at it.

        Dexter then went back to prepping the next few dishes. He got the bowl with the chicken spread and started putting them between slices of loaves for their sandwich. Miles watched him quietly, with his tongue out. He taught him the importance of adding salt and pepper to enhance flavor and depth in any food. Even mentioned how they were life savers in a combat environment.

        And he even had another thing to say about the military cuisine, “Which is why MREs come with salt and pepper, because of how bland they can be.”

        “But Chase told me it’s microwaved food but with water instead,” Miles commented.

        “Well, you get bored of it when you have it almost everyday,” Dexter went on, “Salt and pepper go a long way, son. And we can always find ourselves buying some spices there anyways. The Easterners have their exotic powder like saffron, and salt that’s pink.”

        “Pink salt? How is that different from regular salt?”

        “It’s saltier.” Dexter laughed.

        Miles too, “Can you bring some when you come back next time, dad?”

        “Sure son, I’ll bring us a lot of spices and food that we can try cooking at home.” He rinsed and dried a free hand then rubbed his son’s head. “But no backsies okay?”

        “Sir, no, sir!” Miles shot him an informal salute. God bless his young sweet heart. His mother would’ve loved him growing up like this. He still misses her everyday. There was a smile as he finished the second sandwich which was enough. They already had that ‘poutine’, three sausages, two sandwiches, biscuits and gravy, and he still had a salad to mix up.

        “Alright son, you can start putting these on the picnic blanket, but please use the oven mitts for your poutine alright?” Dexter stared and twitched his muzzle at the cloth gloves.

        “Sir, yes, sir,” Miles started moving the sausages, and biscuits and gravy first. He didn’t have a hard time opening the door, so Dexter started making the salad. The vegetables were washed first andthe knife afterwards, and he got the cutting board. When Miles stepped in, he flaired with a few knife tricks to impress him before he started chopping the tomato.

        The cuts were thin for the tomato, while he was more thoughtful for the onions. After de-seeding the endless argument of a fruit or vegetable, he had a handy technique for what was definitely the latter. He picked it up from Sgt. Cormack in the mess hall who learned it from another mess hall chef in the army base down in Ontario. Actually, he would want to show his son this.

        “Miles, you know that cutting onions make you cry, right?” Dexter asked, showing him the onion with the knife just above it.

        “Yep, I saw it in the cartoons,” Miles answered.

        “I will show you a cutting technique so you wouldn’t. And I bestow this knowledge upon you.”

        Miles was visibly invested, now wide eyed and confident he wouldn’t cry himself. His tail swayed sideways, “Show me.”

        Dexter did another twirl with his blade, which Miles wow’d at, then started chopping the onions normally. Each slice filled his son with anticipation, wondering when that special technique would come. But as he shrank the onion into decent rings, Miles noticed that neither he nor his father shed a tear until what remained of the onion was its root.

        “If you cut this part,” Dexter pointed the tip of his blade on the small wooden protrusion with tiny tendrils. “It will make you cry. But if you don’t, then you won’t.” And he passed it to Miles to inspect it better, “Remember, don’t damage it or it’ll make you, y’know...” gesturing a clenched fist against his cheek.

        “Got it,” he inspected it too close to his eye but he had to clarify, “so as long as I don’t cut this root here, I wouldn’t cry?”

        “Nope,” Dexter got another larger bowl and started mixing the vegetables in it. Again, a lot of energy could’ve been saved if he prepped up all of the necessary equipment; being far from the conflict seemed to relax him. While it wasn’t inherently bad, it did make things somewhat inconvenient.

        “That’s cool,” Miles tossed it in the bin. Before he was about to grab the poutine, he hesitated and put on the mitts. And he walked out with it and the two glasses.

        Dexter made sure his son didn’t spill it or anything, pausing until he stepped out and continuing by tossing the salad in its bowl. Added a bit of salt and some pepper and salad dressing from the fridge; their lunch was ready.

        Miles stepped in to get the tray with iced tea, while he got the plate of sandwiches and bowl of salad. They set off together, and Dexter held the door open for his kid who thanked him as they both got into the backyard.

        It was a simple enclosure surrounded by a brown picket fence. There was no need to paint seeing the dark oakwood under the early summer afternoon looked much better. Further beyond it was a decline towards a ravine but the area has fenced paths, and a brick wall along the cliffedge. Across was an inclined forest area that, while it did not have reports of dangerous wildlife, was off limits. Dexter ought to take Miles camping one of these days to teach him necessary survival skills. It wouldn’t be too far from home anyways, a quick walk downwards. Maybe they could even fish because he overheard their neighbors doing it too. Speaking of, he glanced side to side and saw a distant smoke from what looked like a grill. Next time, Dexter hoped, he’d be grilling.

        The duo set their meal down on the blanket which was very inviting to look at. It wasn’t too special, the typical red and white checkered pattern cloth sheet. Miles set up the plates with the cutlery, poutine, and biscuits and gravy outward. Of course the microwaveable would be on the side he’d sit, it was even right next to his plate. While the sausages near the middle which was where the tray with the pitcher and glasses were. There was enough space for the salad on the opposite side of the sausages, and the sandwich just below the middle.

        “Impressive placement, son,” Dexter smiled and applauded. His son went over and hugged him tightly, while he rubbed his forehead. “We’ll do some grilling next time. We could even do it tonight if you want to.”

        “Sure!” His son answered enthusiastically. “Can we have burgers later?” The young tyke hopped as he embraced tighter, “And ice cream?”

        Dexter patted his head, nodding, “Sure but I’ll go out to the market later. If you come along, I’ll let you pick out the flavor.”

        “Deal!”

        

        “We’ll talk about it in the car later. I’m getting hungry,” he loosened his embrace as his son leaned away and towards his side. The young wolf already licked his lips as he stared at that poutine, but he knew better to wait until they said grace.

        Dexter sat down cross-legged, and Miles mimicked his sitting position too and clasped his hands together already.

He clasped his hands in prayer, bowed his head with Miles having done it too. Afterwards, he prayed, “Thank you Lord for this meal we are about to partake. May it give us the strength we need throughout the day. Grace, Amen.” And he opened his eyes to his son already grabbing the fork and knife. “Enjoy,” Dexter gestured to their lunch.

Miles was quick to get the poutine, still hot and smoking as he got the fries and its sauce. He piled it on his plate, followed by an entire sausage which he smothers with the gravy from the biscuits, and some of the salad which he also smothered too.

Dexter had his sausage, got a biscuit with the gravy which he ended up coating the sausage with, some greens, and a chicken sandwich. He poured himself and his son a glass of cold iced tea, took his glass and sipped. It was processed and sweet, but it was ten times better than the mess hall’s watered down juices. This cozy and cold sensation added to the feeling that he was home. With his son chowing down on the poutine; children from a distant neighbor shouting their joy; and even the distant chirps of birds just beyond the ravine.

And he took a bite of the sausage first. It was a soft bite at first, his tongue was greeted by a sweet and herbal flavor, followed by a pepper aftertaste. The flavors intensified with each chew, and it was hot enough to enjoy. He took another bite and followed it with greens which was a good call. The freshness of the vegetables brings up the herbs. His tail thumped as his body relaxed, slouching forward.

“How is it, son?” Dexter noticed him cutting a piece of sausage and having it himself. He let him chew first, good mannerisms right there, and waited for him to swallow. His tail wagged, enjoying it as much as he did.

“That was great!” Miles was already cutting another piece. “We should buy more next time.”

“Sure, no problem. Let’s make a hotdog sandwich as well.”

“With ketchup and mustard? Please?” And another piece went into his son’s mouth.

Dexter smirked, nodding, “Of course son. Maybe some relish too.” And he himself enjoyed another bite.

After a while, “What’s relish?” Miles asked.

“It’s shredded pickle, son. Tastes lightly sour by itself, but it deepens the flavor of any hotdog sandwich.”

“Ooooh, I wanna try that,” Miles tried the salad with gravy.

To Dexter they conflicted in principle and in color, but his son enjoyed it nonetheless. He enjoyed his own salad without the meat sauce. Fresh and flavorful from the tomato and onion.

Miles followed up with the sandwich, and his wagging tail meant he enjoyed it. And he added gravy to it too because why not? As long as he was enjoying it, Dexter thought it’s fine. He even gave the poutine a shot, and it tasted better, but that was because of the other cooked food that accompanied it.

He then wanted to catch up with his son, “Hey Miles.”

The young wolf swallowed another spoonful of poutine. “Yeah dad?”

“How’s school?” A very parent thing to ask, and followed it up with, “How’re your friends?”

Miles smiled and swayed his head as his ears wiggled, “It’s good. Science is hard but Uncle Chase is a great tutor, and he lets me sleepover with Corben and Mackenzie.”

“Who’re Corben and Mackenzie?” These were new names to Dexter, but given how often he’d been away. He doesn’t even know much about his neighbors.

“Corben’s a classmate of mine who lives a few blocks down the road,” he pointed towards a distant house to his left. “And Mackenzie’s this homeschooled neighbor who hangs out with us.”

“Homeschooling?” Not something you heard any day since education is free.

“Yeah,” Miles went on, “we compared our notes and we actually have the same lessons! Made reviewing fun. Especially since Corben’s mom makes great oat bars.”

“How about we have them over next weekend then? Also Mackenzie and his folks too.” Dexter proposed.

Miles clenched and pumped his fists in excitement, “Yes! We’ll be playing Easy Crush Sister together. Maybe we can even have a picnic in the front yard. Corben with his oat bars, and Mackenize with his grape juice.” He pointed to himself and his father, “And us with our hotdogs.”

It was quite touching seeing his son this enthusiastic, nearly shedding a tear. “I like the sound of that, but you said grape juice?” Which in itself was another unpleasant experience during his tours. It was always powdered juice that’s been heavily watered down. It was disgusting water that was chilled. The fur on his back stood, cringing at being dared to chugging it down last year.

“Yep, Mackenzie’s dads grow their own grapes and juice it themselves. They juice a lot of other things. Even banana juice.” Which perplexed Dexter, but Miles continued, “It’s very sweet and without sugar because they added ripe apples into the mix too.”

“Can’t wait to try,” and he found it funny that while recalling the same memory, he washed it away with artificial iced tea. Nonetheless his neighbors were very intriguing, and he was already looking forward to meeting them.

Miles smiled his widest since he saw him in the airport some weeks ago. This memory would be a keeper, Dexter thought. But now, what of his future? He said, “Son, I remembered something.”

“Yeah?” Miles finished the poutine.

He asked him, “Remember when we ate at that French-y restaurant a few years back?”

Miles nodded, scraping the remaining poutine sauce with his fork.

“You said that you plan to be like me,” he chuckled at the young optimism he had then. But he wanted to know, “Do you still plan to be a soldier?” There was guilt sliding up his neck as he remembered his conversation with Chase earlier. Miles was a very remarkable kid with the makings of a soldier. He had to tell him that there were safer endeavors. But the decision would be up to him. Just that he wanted him to know that he would be proud of him, soldier or not.

“Yes, sir,” Miles saluted yet again. “I plan to be like you because you’re the best person I know out there!”

Dexter fought back those tears and exchanged it with a chuckle. Though he wanted to make sure, “I wanted to be clear son. I’m proud of you even if you aren’t a soldier. All I want from you is being my son.” And he let a tear slide down his cheek as he said it.

Miles stood up and rushed to his father’s side to embrace him, Dexter hugged him tightly as well. “I love you, dad,” he said to him.

“I love you too, son,” he whispered back. “You can be whoever you want to be, but through thick and thin you will still be my son who I am proud of.”

“Then I will be a soldier, just like my best dad and friend,” Miles spoke with such glee. And their embrace was accompanied by the thumps of their wagging tails.

“I will train you to be better than me,” Dexter leaned back, gripping his son’s arms who instinctively flexed them. It was great for his age but he could develop him more. The father and son exchanged a grin, with the latter nodding at his statement.

“Does this mean I get to be general?” Miles beamed.

He laughed aloud, rubbing his son’s head, “Not yet sonny, gotta put in the time first.”

“Then I can be general?”

“Yep,” then he turned to their food. “C’mon, let’s finish eating before the food gets cold. And we’ll talk about your daily training. too”

His son’s ears perked with excitement as he sat back down, “Just like the army?”

“Not really,” Dexter thought about it, “because you’re still young to endure the regimens we do. I will scale it as you grow older though, okay sonny?”

“Yes dad!” He saluted him, but Dexter would have to teach him how to do that properly eventually.

“And while I’m away, Chase or another one of my buddies will make sure you get your daily reps done, alright?”

Miles nodded, eating the salad without the gravy to try and take a step forward to having a healthy body. But a thought occurred accompanied by drooped ears, “Does this mean no more sweets?”

“You can still have them, but in moderation.” Dexter gave an example, “Instead of two scoops of ice cream, you get one on a small cone. And it can’t always be chocolate, has to be strawberry or mango.”

“Aw,” he frowned for a moment followed by a chuckle. “Yes sir.”

It was all fun and games now but if his son had the same dedication as he did when he joined the army all those years ago, he’d overtake him at his age. Any doubt he had about his son’s future had been washed away. But if his son changed his mind, then that would be fine too. He started calculating the amount of push-ups he needed to do. Late afternoon jogs after his school for sure. There he realized that all of these moments were excellent opportunities to bond with his son more. He had the same wide grin his son gave him earlier, tail sweeping against the grass.

They continued on with their picnic with Dexter exchanging stories of his childhood so as not to spoil the soldiering experience. And after all that was done, and he and Miles cleaned up the picnic session, a saying occurred to him: Like father, like son, and in his case, like soldiers too.

****