Someone shared a cowboy wolf on Twitter and I thought "wow, how did they get my exact mental self-image"? So I wrote a little story sketch to go along with it, as suggested by my buddy  wolfynumz. Enjoy! (It's not porn - i swear)

Synopsis: A rogue gunslinging Dr. Belvins needs help with an important mission. Who's willing to help?

Wordcount: 2200

Poster by me. Cowboy wolf pic by... idk, someone on twitter.

---

1. Secure

“COUNTY JAIL”

The words etched in red paint on the wall of the jailhouse were old and faded like everything else in this sunbaked land. On this side of the building there was a narrow wooden door adorned with a blackened iron padlock. A row of tiny, barred windows wrapped around the building. The brown wolf counted the windows as he approached. Two on this side. Two around the back. At least four cells meant four potential recruits.

By now, Belvins could feel the intense sun drying out his nose. Waves of heat rippled from the cracked dirt beneath his bare paws. He dearly missed his boots and hat. That, plus the absence of coffee, plus the lack of hospitality on the part of his host, made it a “top ten worst mornings in the wild west” kind of morning.

He stopped for a moment to shake his legs, repositioning the leg irons that chafed his ankle fur. He was naked except for a pair of canvas shorts. A length of chain connected his hands, bound behind his back, to his ankles, cuffed too tight for comfort. Even the chain itself was a few inches too short. Perhaps it was made for a smaller species of criminal.

“No funny business, wolf,” a voice barked from behind. “Move it.”

“Trying to keep my paws from fallin’ off,” the brown-furred wolf muttered.

“I said move it.”

“Alright, alright. You cuffed ‘em too tight. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Just give me a goddamn reason.” Belvins felt the cold barrel of a Colt Navy 38 against his back fur.

“No sir.” Belvins gritted his teeth, his ears pinned to his head. No point arguing with the constabulary. He wouldn’t be the first arrestee to be shot dead for being mouthy out here, and he wouldn’t be the last either.

***

Up close, the jailhouse could have easily passed for a log cabin. Belvins watched the deputy — a skinny gray fox who’s a head shorter than himself — open the padlock with a ring of keys fastened to his belt.

Once the door was open, the deputy turned to face Belvins, pistol in hand. “Get,” he ordered.

Belvins ducked under the doorframe. The air inside was dense and putrid and blazingly hot. It smelled like old urine and rotten eggs that have been baking for hours. The wolf wrinkled his nose as he turned to face the deputy. “Aw hell—”

The deputy grabbed the wolf’s shoulder and shoved him into the nearest open cell. Belvins fell face-first into hard dirt and he could instantly taste blood in his muzzle. He flipped himself on his back with his cuffed hands. Before his eyes could adjust to the darkness of the cell, the deputy had already shut the door.

“Hey, aren't you gonna unlock me?” Belvins yelled at the retreating silhouette of the fox deputy.

The only response he got was the fading sounds of boots against gravel.

Now would be a really good time for a cup of coffee.

***

With practiced precision, the wiry wolf lay on his side and scrunched his knees up to his chest. He looped his cuffed wrists under his tail and around his ass and pulled them across his thighs and footpaws. The chains tensed against his shins and for a split second he thought his wrists would break. But then they came loose, and Belvins had his hands in front of him once again.

It took another half minute for the wolf to undo the handcuffs with the segment of wire he’d hidden in a patch of matted fur under his tail.

As the saying goes: this wasn’t his first rodeo.

---

2. Contain

At last, with all the chains removed, the brown wolf sat up and scanned the cell. No wider than a large desk, the cell had a pile of hay in one corner and a bucket in the opposite corner. Both reeked of piss, but the bucket had a significantly richer olfactory history that was plainly apparent to the wolf’s sensitive nose. The function of each amenity can thus be ascertained.

Belvins chose to sit in the dirt.

“What’s yer name, boy?” A sandpapery voice rose from one of the cells.

“Who’s talking?” the brown-furred wolf grumbled.

“I asked you first, boy.”

Belvins hated dealing with these petty criminal types. At any opportunity, they always tried to assert dominance. But, given his current predicament and his need for men (not like that), he had no other choice but to play nice.

“Belvins,” the wolf finally said. “Jimmy.”

“Bel-vins.” The speaker cleared his throat. “Ain’t never heard a Jimmy Belvins before.”

“Doctor Jimmy Belvins.” He couldn’t resist flicking his tail as he spoke.

“A damned doctor. Yer cut off the wrong leg or something?”

“Not that kind of doctor.”

“What kind, then?”

“You first.”

“Well I ain’t no doctor,” the rough voice said. “But you can call me Clyde.”

Belvins cracked a smile. Once you get a man to answer your questions, he’s already yours. The rest is art. “What are you in for, Clyde?”

“Cattle rustling.” Clyde spat and Belvins could hear the ping of the dry spit against the wall. “Allegedly.”

“That’s a capital felony. You’re gonna hang.”

“Fuck you, Belvins. I ain’t no capital felon. I got a cons-tit-utional right to a fair trial.” He spat again.

“There’s not a fair judge in the entire Southern District Court. I’ll pray for you, Clyde.” Belvins couldn’t resist swishing his tail in the dirt, and he hoped Clyde couldn’t hear him.

The voice didn’t respond. Belvins sat and planned what to say. Twenty minutes of silence passed before Belvins opened his muzzle again. “Want to know why I’m here?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Yeah you do. I’m here as an agent of the Federal Government of these United States to serve a warrant against Sheriff Andrews of Simcoe County, dead or alive. He just happened to get me first.”

“Bull fucking shit.” Clyde laughed. “Yer lyin’ son of a bitch. You’re no fed. I bet you ain’t even a doctor.”

“Believe me or don’t. Doesn’t change the facts.”

Clyde spat once more. Belvins heard the rustling of straw, followed by the thrumming of claws against the wood. Tap tap tap tap. Louder. Quieter. Louder again. Each round of tapping was punctuated by the droning of the flies in the jailhouse. Belvins sat and waited.

This went on for nearly an hour. Finally, Clyde cleared his throat. “Belvins?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You’re serious about the warrant?”

“What about it?”

“I can help you,” Clyde said. “Cut a deal with me. My life for the Sheriff’s.”

“What happened to fair trial, Clyde?”

“I don’t wanna hang.”

Belvins grinned. “Alright. But you have to help me get out of here.”

***

“What’s the plan?” the gruff voice hollered.

“Wait for dinner.”

“Then what?”

“Kill the deputy, take his gun, eat dinner, and then get the hell out of dodge.”

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“Of course. We’re waiting for sundown, then I’ll show you how to pick a lock.”

---

3. Protect

Belvins did not lay eyes on his interlocutor until after the escape. To his surprise, the (alleged) cattle rustler wasn’t a giant grizzled hunk of muscle. Instead, Clyde was a thin mustelid of sorts, barely five-four in height, covered in scars across his face and shoulders. In the moonlight, huddled in the shadows behind the jailhouse, Belvins could barely make out the letters HT tattooed on the bridge of Clyde’s muzzle. These letters alleviated the wolf’s concerns about the morality of his plan.

Belvins grabbed a large stone and handed it to the mustelid. In his own hand, wrapped around his wrist, was the chain and cuffs that once held him captive. “Free as a bird,” the wolf said. “Now you help me.”

“What do I get out of it?”

Belvins shrugged. “You get to hold up your bargain.”

“Yeah, but I could just leave. You can’t stop me.”

“That wouldn’t be very nice.”

“Nope.”

“What do you want, then?” Belvins asked curtly.

Clyde looked at the starry sky. Belvins followed his gaze. A cloud had moved to cover the moon, which made it the perfect time to dash across town.

“Whatever bounty you get from the government,” Clyde whispered, “I get half.”

Belvins shrugged again. “Halfies it is.”

***

They scurried along the shadows of the buildings to the edge of the town, and from there they ran down the old mining road until their throat tasted like blood. They sat behind the warped chassis of an old wagon to rest. Belvins rubbed his footpaws as he complained about the rough gravel on his bare pawpads. The mustelid said nothing.

When Belvins exhaled, he could faintly see his breath rise into the cool night air. Patchy clouds covered most of the stars. The moon was two handpaws above the southern horizon. Which, being mid July, told Belvins that they still had a solid six hours before sunrise.

On foot it would take them at least three hours to get to the abandoned house. This meant he had only three hours to do his work before the sun came up and the deputies came looking.

Belvins stood up. “Let’s go,” he said. “We have ground to cover.”

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Weapons stash, courtesy of the US Marshals. We’re gonna need firepower if we want to take on the crooked Sheriff, don’t you agree?”

***

The actual trip took just over four hours. By then the moon was huge and yellow and hung over the rim of the earth like a gigantic yolk. They’d spent the last hour trudging through dried cattails along an old riverbed. Now, upon witnessing the abandoned two-storey house that loomed over the rotted dock posts like a monolithic elder god watching his subjects, Belvins could see that Clyde was having second thoughts.

“This is it,” the wolf said preemptively. “Let’s grab the guns and head back.”

“Y-you go. I’ll stand watch.” The mustelid’s voice seemed a fifth higher in pitch. His ears were pinned to his head.

“Suit yourself.”

Belvins hopped atop the ledge in front of the door — the entryway steps had already rotted away. The hinges squeaked as he pushed it open. He entered, ears perked. His tail had its characteristic flick.

It was pitch black inside. Belvins felt his way along the dusty walls of the foyer until he found the kitchen. There, enough light came through the partially-boarded window for the wolf to see. In the middle of the kitchen was a round table, with two stacks of paperboard boxes where the chairs should be. Atop the table lay an arched piece of metal, a notepad, a magnifying glass, and a snub-nosed revolver.

The wolf pocketed the gun and turned for the door.

“Come,” Belvins hollered at the cattle rustler. “Take your pick. Got clean clothes too.”

“Bring ‘em out!” Clyde hollered back.

“Too heavy. Come. You ain’t scared, are ya?”

Belvins watched the short mustelid spring to his feet and jog over to the door. Clyde hopped up the ledge and gave the wolf an angry glance, followed by the clearing of his throat. “Watch your mouth, wolf.”

Belvins smiled. “Alright, my bad.”

***

The darkness of the foyer gave the wolf enough time and space to draw his pistol. He signaled for Clyde to turn into the kitchen, which the mustelid quickly obliged. Then he backed away and raised his weapon.

Clyde froze at the sight of the gun. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Don’t do nothin’ stupid now. Hands over your head and turn around.”

“Fuck you, wolf.” The mustelid snarled, although it was a cuter, high pitched, non-apex snarl. That of a cornered animal. But he did as he was told and folded his palms over his ears and turned to face the table.

“Alright. You see the big iron collar on the table? You’re going to put it around your neck, very very slowly.”

Belvins watched Clyde pick up the chunk of metal. Veins were popping from his forearms. If there was a wet towel on the mustelid’s head it would’ve been steaming by now.

“Slowly…”

The collar clicked around the mustelid’s neck. Instantly, Clyde’s muscles relaxed and his hands fell to his sides.

A wide grin crept across Belvins’ face. He pocketed the weapon. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Clyde said in a monotone voice.

“Why don’t you do five jumping jacks for me?”

Clyde jumped up and down with his arms flailing.

“See that magnifying glass on the table?” Belvins walked up behind the mustelid. “Why don’t you pick it up and lick it like a lollipop?”

The mustelid grabbed the magnifying glass and began licking at a steady beat. Belvins leaned in to study him. Even in the faint moonlight, Belvins could see that his eyes were unfocused. He booped Clyde’s nose. No response. Then he ran his claw down the animal’s muzzle bridge. Nothing. It was as if he had no ability to do anything without being told.

In other words, the experiment was a smashing success.

One down, many more to go.