The sun reached its highest peak in the summer sky, beating down on the darkened roof tiles. Loki, Hera, and Zena surrounded me; the enormous hounds pant sporadically, dark coats of fur not bothering to aid their bodies as they cooled.

From what I can remember, my youthful body was miniscule compared to the beasts’. My bare, tiny feet remained in the dirt with my butt planted on the chipped, wooden deck. But my hands traveled across Loki’s weezing, wrinkly Boxer nose, the other filing through the dark fur of Hera’s back. Zena stood, watching me like a pup of her own.

    “Nicole!” a thick, Austrian accent bellowed, followed by the screeching sound of a sliding door. Hera was the first to move, eyes catching the window’s glare and immediately seeking the light, her small nub of a tail moving as much as it could. This was no surprise, for the Rottie was not an intelligent beast. But that didn’t stop me from giggling, chubby chipmunk cheeks bulging as Hera continued to chase her shadow.

Grandpa waited beyond the glass, beckoning me into our home. Zena guided me, letting my small body lean against her as she pushed. It was as if she was shepherding a small lamb, keeping true to her German breed. The other beasts followed the scent.

Upon entering the ranch, I was hit with a wave of formal German. Brigitte, a visiting friend, did not know my weak English tongue. Grandpa had taught me how to use the new translator, but my grandfather’s passion-filled voice would trump any existing technology.

“Ohh, so süß.” Brigitte chimed, trying to match my immortal smile.

    Oma, my grandmother, stirred, and took a silver-rimmed ceramic bowl from the cupboard. She hovered around the kitchen counter, taking the flattened spoon in hand and shoveling a heavy, thick substance onto my plate. It was a dumpling. I loved dumplings. I loved carbs. My chubby cheeks grew exponentially as I took the plate from Oma’s hands and headed for the table. I was stopped by a stern, motherly voice.

    “Nicole, what do you say?” Mother tsked, frowning.

    Fearing that she would take away the delicacy, I sighed and spoke over my shoulder. “Thank you, Oma and Brigitte.”

    Immediately, Brigitte smiled, having understood that much.

    Once again, the house was filled with loud accents and my mother’s failed attempts at recalling her unused dialect. I blocked this out, retreating to the comfort of my imagination.

    Using my fork, I cracked open the fragile dumpling and exposed its soft, orange core. The apricot was a familiar sight, so I was far from surprised. However, the flavor was foreign to my untouched taste buds. I took the first bite, savoring the starchy layer of dense dumpling. It was tart. But I was in love with it. Flakes of sweet breadcrumbs and powdered sugar coated and danced across my tongue.

    “Like it?” Grandpa asked from his own, signature chair.

    I nodded, apricot juice dribbling from my rounded cheeks.

    He handed me a napkin.

Sooner or later, a beast approached. It snuck its head out from beneath the table, resting its wet snout on my thigh. My feet dangled from the chair, barely colliding with the coarse fur of Hera’s chest. Brown eyes pleaded up at me, melting my self control.

Checking first for a potential witness, I took a neglected bread crumb from my plate. As my hand slid under the table, Hera grew intrigued.  

    “Gentle,” I whispered. And a wet, large tongue swept up the bread crumb without hesitation. Of course, this action acted as a beacon. Loki woke from her slumber and Zena had abandoned the kitchen entirely. Luckily, I had plenty of crumbs to please those brown eyes.

Finally, Grandpa glanced up from his plate and frowned, eyes widening as I fed the pleading beasts. He saw the joy on my face and paused. He did not say a word.