#i just wanted to pet the cute pittie at the vet today but my dog is a bitch

[pemfrost]

My dogs are both dog aggressive so anytime we take a walk or are at the vet and there is another dog we move aside for them to pass. Or, if that isn't an option, we pick up our lil hellhound and carry her past.

Now, if the other dog is like... a spaniel or lab or something I just smile and walk on. BUT, if it's a breed with a 'bad' rep like a rottie, pitt bull, dobie, ext... I always feel the need to like baby talk to them? "Aww, sorry sweetie! My dog doesn't play well with others. I'd totally come pet you if I didn't have her with me." More for their owner's sake, I guess. No, I don't hate your dog, but my dog does.

[dontshootmespence]

Frank the Tank

A/N: An anon request for a comfort fic where the reader comes home and Spencer can tell by her face that she’s had a bad day. Comfort/fluff @coveofmemories

Warnings: Losing a Pet

                                                              -----

You loved your job as a vet tech. You really did. There was almost nothing better than going to work, playing with, feeding and taking care of cute puppies, and then coming home to your boyfriend of two years. But with all the good, came those days where you had to be in the room when someone was losing a member of their family. Today had been a day - three senior dogs needed to be transported over the rainbow bridge, and you were in the room every time, sobbing right alongside the family members. When it came to putting dogs down, you always felt the need to stay in the room with the family; let them know they weren’t alone. But it definitely took a lot out of you. Taking a deep breath, you walked up to the door and slowly turned the knob, the energy completely drained out of you.

“Oh, you had a bad day, didn’t you?” Spencer asked the second you opened the door. He was sitting on the couch reading a book after getting home at around 5 o’clock. Just as he was driving home, you had to go out for an emergency at the office, so at 7 o’clock you were finally able to return home. “What happened?” he asked.

“I had to let three dogs go today,” you sniffled, your eyes filling with emotion as you remembered the babies you’d been with today - a german shepherd, a K9 officer with the FBI as a matter of fact, a poodle, belonging to an elderly couple, and a bulldog, whose owner was a big, burly man you’d never expect to see crying - but he had sobbed as he let go of his best friend - probably the worst out of anyone. Spencer just listened as you recounted your day, gently rubbing your back as you teared up again. “It’s just days like today that make me hate what I do.”

Reaching over, he grabbed your legs and pulled you into his lap, allowing you to  rest your head on his chest. You always found it calming to listen to his heartbeat. “I’m so sorry,” he said, smoothing your hair down while you closed your eyes. “But you do something that takes a lot of compassion to do. You make sure they aren’t in pain anymore and more importantly you make the families feel like they aren’t alone.” 

He always knew just the right thing to say. While these kinds of days came around fairly often unfortunately, you did feel better about helping people through such a difficult time. Plus, this sadness rarely outweighed the good days - the playful pounces on your chest as they came in for the first time, the excitement for treats, the learning commands - it filled your heart with joy. Days like these were just a payment for the rest of it - the universe’s subtle way of balancing things out. “I know,” you sighed. “Thank you. It just all happened at once today.”

Spencer had asked you out two years ago. Within the year, he’d asked you to move in with him. And recently, you’d been talking about getting a dog. “You want to maybe look at dogs?” he asked with a smile. “We’ve been talking about getting one and looking at dogs always makes you happy.”

That made you smile. “Yesssss,” you said. “We’re still thinking of a pittie right?” For the longest time, you’d wanted a pitbull. A friend of yours had one when you were growing up and she was the sweetest dog in existence. Since then, you knew you wanted one of your own eventually, and Spencer seemed to really like the idea of a pitbull. 

“Definitely,” he said, reaching over to the side table to grab his laptop and turn it on. “I really like the gray ones.” You did too, but you tended to have to buy those and you really wanted to adopt. There were so many puppies that were between the ages of 1 and 2 that got thrown to the side for even younger dogs, so the thought of buying a puppy when there were other dogs that needed a home didn’t sit well with you. “If we find one of those that needs adopting, I’m probably going to fall in love with it, but I know you want to adopt.”

As you scrolled through the myriad of pitbull rescues in the area, your sadness from the day’s events slowly slipped away. How could you be sad when you were looking at the adorable faces of so many pitties that needed a home. “Oh my god,” you said, pointing towards a gray one named Lira, “what about her? Click on her.”

Excitedly, Spencer clicked on the picture of the six-year-old female pit. She was beautiful, but when you looked at the bio on her, it said that she wasn’t good with kids and both of you agreed that you’d be getting married and starting a family soon, so whatever dog you did adopt needed to be good with children. A little disappointed, Spencer clicked back and continued to scroll down the page until you found a the cutest mug ever. You clapped and pointed while Spencer clicked on the picture. “Do you realize how big this dog is?” he asked in amazement. Despite the question, you could see on his face that he liked him as much as you did. “His name is Frank.”

“Please tell me that’s short for Frank the Tank,” you laughed. At over 110 pounds, Frank was enormous. He’d been used as a bait dog as a puppy, but had been rescued in a bust. While other puppies from that raid had been adopted out already, Frank was consistently left behind because he was so big.  He was one of the the biggest pitbulls in the state apparently. “It says he’s great with kids. It’s just that parents are scared of him. But he’s mushy. And he thinks he’s a lap dog, and he likes this purple donut toy. He’s only 4. Spence, can we go look at him this weekend? Please!?” you begged, kicking your feet around like a two-year-old. “I wanna go meet Frank.”

He seemed a little hesitant, but the look on your face must’ve changed his mind; you were definitely pouting. “Sure,” he drew out, “We can go meet him this weekend, but we really have to make sure that he’s actually good with kids of all ages before we do anything, because if he’s not good with babies...”

“Then obviously we can’t,” you finished. “I agree. But look, he’s so cute!”

“He really is,” he said, scrolling through the various pictures of Frank with his favorite purple donut toy. “I can’t believe how enormous he is.”

You’d seen an even bigger one on the news. “Have you heard of Hulk?”

“As in the fictional superhero created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, who first appeared in the debut issue of the comic book The Incredible Hulk in May 1962 published by Marvel Comics?” he laughed.

He probably memorized that from somewhere - your big-brained dork. “No, dork. I mean, the over 170-pound pitbull, the largest ever on record.” His mouth dropped open, immediately looking up a picture of one of the largest pitbulls ever recorded. “Apparently he’s one of the sweetest dogs in the world and he’s great with the couple’s young son, so maybe that will mean good things for Frank the Tank.”

“What if his name isn’t Frank the Tank?” he laughed, already liking the moniker you’d given to the dog you didn’t have yet. “You still going to use the full name?” 

“Yes,” you said straight-faced. “He’s 110 pounds. His name is Frank. He’s a tank. He’s Frank the Tank.”