The whimpering wakes me up. The whines fills my ears and once I yawn, I open my mouth, about to join in the cries, but then the comfortable, rather musty smell of newspaper and the comfortable scent of my mom and my brothers and sisters drifts to my nose. I blink once, calm down, pull my paws underneath my head, and don't cry.

Just as I'm about to drift back off to sleep, I get picked up like I'm weightless. A big hand clamps down on me and I end up dangling in the air. I fold up hind legs in fear, my tail curls up between my legs, and I start to whimper, but I hear a booming, "Now there, who's a good puppy?" and I stop crying.

It's just Mr. Figgins. Mr. Figgins is a big, big... what are they called? Oh, humans. He has big teeth, a wide smile, and large eyes and I can't see in color but I think he's darker. His hair is balding but he's nice enough and he always remembers to feed me (and my brothers and sisters). My siblings are complaining about being hungry below me, and Mr. Figgins seems to understand. He puts me back into the pen with my brothers and sisters, and claps a heavy hand on my head, scratching me behind my ears.

I wait now, my tail wagging in anticipation as the scent of food fills the air. Mr. Figgins sets down a bowl and my brothers and sisters are clambering through, fighting for food. It's just canned, soft food but ever since my siblings and I were weaned off mom and started trying thisawesome soft food, we've been fighting for every bite we can get. Mr. Figgins laughs playfully with his booming laugh, but I don't pay attention to it as I try to beat the competition. I barely get any food—just a little big of mush—and I yelp hungrily off in the corner as I watch my siblings inhale the food.

"Hey little guy!" comes a friendly, unfamiliar voice, and before I know what's happened, I've been picked up again. It's not Mr. Figgins who's holding me though—I can tell because the new person doesn't have the lingering smell of curry, the way Mr. Figgins does (I know it's curry because Mrs. Figgins has said he smells like curry before and it smells spicy). The new guy smells like coffee (which I've smelled when Mr. Figgins is having a slow morning) and like perfume, except it's not the perfume that female humans use so it probably is perfume for male humans. His voice also sounds different than Mr. Figgins's voice, but is less thick and more refined.

Putting together the facts that a) I don't know who this new human is, b) I'm hungry and all my brothers and sisters have eaten all the food leaving my stomach still growling, and c) I just want to go back to sleep, I open my mouth and start to bawl.

"Why are you doing this? Do you have food? Who are you?" I cry, but I don't think the human understands me because he just laughs and scratches my ears. He sits down on the floor, his legs underneath him, with me in his lap. I curve up my head to look at him, pressing my cold nose into his hand, and he laughs some more. The new human has curly, dark hair and funny looking... I think they're called eyebrows, and a loud, happy laugh. He smiles at me and his teeth are pretty white I think, and... Oh, that feels good.

Fingers are scratching the stretch of fur on my neck and I arch into it with a whine. The human chuckles and moves his hand down my back and touches my paws. I usually don't like it when humans touch my feet but he's petting me so nicely I'll make an exception.

"Kurt!" the human says, as I'm arching into his hand. "Sweetheart, come look at this one."

There are footsteps and I look up to see another human coming in. This human is very pale with funny hair and big lips. I'm not very good at reading human expressions but I don't think he's happy because he's not smiling. He smells like vanilla and peaches.

"Blaine," Kurt says, in a tone I think is annoyed. "Blaine, come on. They smell," he wrinkles up his nose in what I would guess is disgust. "Blaine, let's go home. A dog is the last thing we need." He turns to leave, but Mr. Figgins pulls him back.

Mr. Figgins claps a hand on Kurt. "Kurt Hummel! It is good to see you! I have heard so much about your successes at the theater. But was it not your dream to go to Broadway?"

"Well, I'm still planning on it," Kurt says nervously. He runs a hand through his hair. "Blaine and I just have to save up enough money so we can go to New York and then I'll start auditions. I mean, NYU and grad school were such amazing opportunities but I have debts to pay off and Blaine and I are kind of settled in Lima for the time being. It's just less expensive. Plus, my dad and my stepmom are here so it makes things easier with seeing them."

Mr. Figgins nods understandingly. I put my attention back on the nice human... what's his name? Oh yeah, that's right. Blaine.

Blaine looks at me with adoring eyes.

"Aren't you a good boy?" he coos, running a finger underneath my jaw. I yawn at that moment (because I'm tired and I want to sleep as I've mentioned), but Blaine thinks it's the most adorable thing in the world and starts awww-ing and goes completely googoo gaga on me. "Kurt, justlook at him!"

Kurt is stepping through Mr. Figgins kitchen and around the pen with my brothers and sisters like it's the dirtiest place he's ever been. He has these tall, tall things on his feet and he wrinkles his nose again. "Blaine, for the last time-"

"Ignore your boots, Kurt! Come here," Blaine interrupts him.

"Blaine, I'll have you know that these are the latest Marc Jacobs boots," Kurt stars, but Blaine doesn't let him finish again.

"Look at him!" Blaine blurts. He picks me up and presses me against his cheek. I make a noise of protest and yawn again, and Blaine freaks out even more. He kisses me on the head and scratches my ears some more. "Please, please, please, please, please?"

Kurt looks skeptically at him, his eyebrows arching. "Blaine, come on, really? Aren't you a little old for this?"

Blaine just juts out his lip and opens his eyes impossibly wide. He blinks at Kurt and pulls me close to his chest. He's really warm and I can feel his heartbeat thumping and I'm getting sleepier. "Please Kurt?" He drawls out his "please" and displays me up to Kurt again.

"Blaine, I think the puppy phase for most boys is around the age of eight," Kurt says airily. "You're eighteen years late, dear."

"I asked for a dog every Christmas until I was seventeen," Blaine says forlornly, fiddling with my paws. I'm so exhausted, I just want to sleep. Or eat. But I think they're talking about me, so maybe I should pay attention. "And my father always said that I wouldn't take proper care of it and my mom always said that animals were too filthy, and I swore that when I grew up I would become the next Dog Whisperer and adopt hundreds of them." He laughs bitterly, and runs a finger over my nose. His hand smells like peanut butter (Mr. Figgins has given peanut butter sometimes in a toy, so I know what it is), so I lick his hand, and his eyes widen.

"Please, Kurt? For me?" Blaine is nearly begging—all he would have to do more is lay flat on the floor like Mom does when she wants food, and he'd be perfect. "Please? I've always wanted a dog, and I swear I'll take good care of him. He's a good breed too—Labrador Retrievers are supposed to be so friendly and they don't shed as much as some breeds and he loves me, see?" I lick his hand to get more of the peanut butter taste off. I've decided I like Blaine.

Kurt's eyes are softening even though his mouth is still in a grim line. I don't know how I feel about Kurt yet.

With a sigh, he complies to Blaine's wishes.

"Fine," he says shortly, "I will appease the immature six year old in you and let you get a puppy. Though I don't know why. Living with you and your energy and your bad habits and your puppy dog eyes is like already having a dog. But you need to make sure to walk him, buy his food, take him to the vet, give him baths-"

Kurt's not finished talking when Blaine stands up, and runs up to him, giving him a bold—what do humans call it again?—oh yeah, kiss, right on the lips. I have to say, I'm a little bit surprised. I think that's what humans do to their mates, and Kurt and Blaine don't look anything like Mr. Figgins and Mrs. Figgins—they look more like two Mr. Figgins even though both of them have lighter skin. Maybe Kurt and Blaine are two malemates?

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Blaine babbles repeatedly, jumping up and down. I'm getting slightly dizzy, but I like Blaine so I don't complain too much. But before I know what's going on, Blaine thrusts me into Kurt's hands, who winces as he tries to touch me minimally.

"Blaine, Blaine," I hear the distress in Kurt's voice as he tries to figure out how to hold me. I'm whimpering and dangling precariously from one of Kurt's hands, before Blaine grabs me again, and nestles me into his chest.

"Here, Kurt. Pet him," Blaine says, pushing me up to Kurt, but thankfully not handing him to me again. I don't want to die. "Shh," he quiets me, trying to get me to stop crying, and I listen.

Kurt's fingers touch me gently, and I hear the wonder in his voice. "He's so soft." He sounds a little bit surprised, and I whine and push my head further into Blaine's arm. "Okay, Blaine, but you better not be asking me for anything for Christmas, alright?"

"I'll consider it an early Christmas gift," Blaine says happily, "given in September." He presses another kiss to Kurt's cheek, and I see Mr. Figgins look uncomfortable out of the corner of my eye, but shrug it off.

"How much do we owe you?" Kurt is asking Mr. Figgins. He pulls a cloth something out of his pants pocket.

"For you?" Mr. Figgins says loudly, "no, for you, this one is free!"

Kurt and Blaine look shocked, but Mr. Figgins continues. "After all that money that you two have donated to McKinley for the Glee Club, please consider him a gift. It's just another one of Nia's babies, she will have more puppies in the future."

"No, we can't do that," Kurt is shaking his head fervently, "please Mr. Figgins. Just tell us how much."

"Just keep donating and supporting the Glee Club!" Mr. Figgins replies. "It has come so far since you were at McKinley, Kurt, and I am just happy that you were one of the original members."

They argue for a little longer, but finally Kurt and Blaine just agree to keep giving money to McKinley—whatever that is—and Blaine leaves Mr. Figgin's house, still carrying me.

What? I start crying. What is going on? Why am I leaving Mom? What about my brothers and sisters? Where are they taking me?

A barrage of unfamiliar scents bombard me from every direction. I've only been outside twice, and I don't recognize the smells drifting through the air. I whimper loudly and Blaine shushes me, pushing me into his jacket where it's warm and dark.

It helps calm me down a little bit, but I'm still nervous and keep crying softly.

"Poor puppy," Blaine soothes as I start shaking. I hear several noises but I don't know what's going on, and then there's a loud roar, and I nearly wet myself. "Oh gosh, Kurt, I think he got scared by the sound of the engine."

"I'm sorry, Blaine, I can't do anything about it," is the curt reply, and then my stomach is uncomfortably shifting and it feels like the ground is moving underneath me. I cuddle up closer to Blaine, who keeps fingering my ears and trying to calm me down.

"I'm gonna turn on some music. Maybe it'll help calm the little guy down," Blaine says, and this sound—no, these sounds I've never heard before fill whatever we're in.

They're beautiful, wondrous sounds. With glorious notes and ranges, and I don't know what it is, but it's incredible. I stop crying to listen, and peek my head out of Blaine's jacket.

"Kurt, I think he likes it," Blaine says excitedly. "I think he likes music!"

"Well, he is our new dog," Kurt smirks, as I sniff the air in the thing we're in. It has seats and Kurt is holding something that looks like a really big frisbee and the world around us is shifting and moving really quickly.

I start crying again.

"Shh, buddy," Blaine comforts me. "It's okay! It's okay little puppy."

"Is that his name then?" Kurt lets out a bark of laughter. "Puppy?"

"Don't be silly," Blaine says, grinning cheekily at Kurt. "Let's brainstorm."

"Hmm," Kurt creases his forehead. "How about... Madonna? She's a world-wide icon and an inspiration to young boys and girls everywhere."

"Kurt," Blaine replies, his voice sounding exasperated, "the dog is a boy."

"What do you suggest then?" Kurt asks, his eyes still focused ahead and his hands gripping the frisbee.

"I don't know... Lucky? Buddy?" Blaine sounds out the names in his mouth.

Oh God, they're not naming me either one of those. Please no.

"Those are such generic names, Blaine," Kurt says, "those aren't a good fit for a dog at all. If he's going to be our dog, he should be an equal to us and as he likes music, his name should be a musical icon."

"Elvis?" Blaine says, scrunching one eye. "Bon Jovi?"

Kurt makes an impatient, flustered noise in his throat.

"No, and no," he bites back, a little bit snarkily I have to say.

Blaine hums, and taps his fingers own his knee.

"You know what? We can just decide later." Blaine tells Kurt. "He doesn't need a name right away."

"True," Kurt says, a little bit stiffly. I still don't know if I like him or not but Blaine likes him and I like Blaine, so maybe I should like Kurt too. "That's very true, Blaine. I think we should probably stop at the pet store later, by the way, to get some supplies."

"Mhmm," Blaine says absently. He fiddles with a button with his free hand and the beautiful noises get louder.

I'd like to be under the sea

In an octopus's garden in the shade

He'd let us in, knows where we've been

In his octopus's garden in the shade

Enthralled, I start whining and crying. My tail is wagging and I sit up in Blaine's lap to listen to more of the beautiful sounds.

"The Beatles?" Blaine asks, looking intrigued. "You like the Beatles, little guy?"

I whine and look up at him, pushing my nose into his hand. Kurt looks over, his eyebrows raised in interest.

I'd ask my friends to come and see

An octopus's garden with me

I'd like to be under the sea

In an octopus's garden in the shade

"Our new friend has interesting music choice," Kurt notes lightly, "not personally my favorite, but still, not bad either."

"Are you kidding?" Blaine blurts excitedly. I've noticed that Blaine gets excited a lot. "This used to be my favorite Beatles song when I was a kid. I had my dad burn this CD that only had this song on it, over and over and over. You know that this is one of the only songs Ringo wrote?"

"Really?" Kurt notes offhandedly. He doesn't sound as excited as Blaine.

"Yes," Blaine goes on, "Ringo was my favorite Beatle. I used to swear that I would grow up and go in the whole Yellow Submarine and go to the octopus's garden."

We would be warm below the storm

In our little hideaway beneath the waves

Resting our head on the sea bed

In an octopus's garden near a cave

"So adventurous at such a young age," Kurt says, his voice lined with affection. "Little Explorer Blaine Anderson. But really, Ringo was your favorite Beatle? I always thought he was the ugliest. That nose was just awful."

"He was unique," Blaine stresses. "And plus, his eyes were the closest shade to yours."

Kurt's face gets rather dark and he stammers. "Oh Blaine, always marching to the beat of a different drum."

"Well, you seem to like it, Kurt Hummel. And I have to say, you don't always comply with society either," Blaine teases.

"I like to keep things interesting," Kurt taps Blaine on the nose with one finger while his other hand is still on the giant frisbee thing.

"I know," Blaine says with a grin, "that's why I married you."

We would be so happy you and me

No one there would tell us what to do

I'd like to be under the sea

In an octopus's garden with you

"Hmm, I love you," Kurt smiles back.

"I love you too," Blaine replies automatically, absentmindedly fondling my ears.

"Ringo." Blaine tries out the name in his mouth. The sounds still roll over me and I bark softly in contentment. A lot has happened today, but these two humans seem to be okay even though Kurt thinks I'm dirty.

"Ringo. It has a nice sound to it," Blaine says. "Ringo." I bark again, and Blaine laughs. "Looks like he's chosen his name."

"Well, Ringo," Kurt sighs as the thing we're in rolls to a stop. He reaches over and gingerly touches one of my ears. "Welcome home."