After the feather-threat incident, the atmosphere in Travis and Carlton's apartment shifted. Every creak in the floorboards? A potential pigeon spy. Every flapping curtain? Possible avian recon. Buttermilk had enemies now — feathery, passive-aggressive enemies with excellent aerial advantage.
And that's when Travis said the words Carlton would never forget:
> "We're hiring a bodyguard for our dog."
Carlton put down his coffee slowly. "Say that again. Just so I know we've officially lost touch with reality."
Travis nodded solemnly. "Pigeons don't play. We need Bark Security."
---
The Interview Process
Hiring personal protection for a poodle was harder than expected. Carlton, in charge of logistics, created a spreadsheet called BarkGuard Candidates.xlsx. It had three columns:
Dog's Name
Intimidation Rating (1–10)
Able to Restrain Themselves Around Sausages (Y/N)
After a few failed interviews (one Chihuahua with anger issues, a bloodhound with narcolepsy, and a Great Dane who refused to acknowledge Buttermilk because "she's too mainstream"), they met… Meatloaf.
Meatloaf was a former K-9 unit, part Rottweiler, part tank. His neck was thicker than Carlton's thigh. He wore a tiny earpiece, a black doggie vest, and had one scar across his nose, which he said was "classified."
Buttermilk immediately peed on his paw.
He didn't flinch.
Travis whispered, "We've found him."
---
Meatloaf's Method
From Day One, Meatloaf transformed the apartment into a security compound.
The couch became a "surveillance outpost."
The kitchen window: "eastern perimeter."
The cat next door? "Unconfirmed threat. Code Tabby."
The Roomba? "Suspicious movement. Watchlisted."
Meatloaf would do patrol laps every thirty minutes, pausing only to drink protein shakes from a dog bowl labeled BULK MODE. He barked only once a day — low and meaningful, usually during sunsets.
Buttermilk, meanwhile, treated him like a chewable yoga mat.
Carlton, half-terrified, half-impressed, asked him one night, "Do you even sleep?"
Meatloaf responded, "I wait."
---
The Park Incident
It happened on Day 4 of Meatloaf's watch.
They were at the park. Carlton was sipping his turmeric latte. Travis was filming Buttermilk pretending to meditate next to a koi pond. Meatloaf sat at alert nearby, wearing doggy aviators.
Then: fluttering.
Feathers.
A pigeon landed 20 feet away. Then another. And another.
Soon, an entire battalion of city pigeons assembled on a tree branch, staring. Silent. Judging.
Carlton dropped his latte. "Oh my god. They're here."
Meatloaf rose slowly. He turned his head toward the leader pigeon — a fat, grey bird with a scar over its left eye. Their gazes locked.
What happened next was not a bark.
Not a lunge.
It was… a stare-down.
Thirty seconds of silent tension between dog and bird.
Then the pigeon cooed once. Meatloaf nodded back. And the birds… dispersed.
Travis blinked. "What just happened?"
Meatloaf adjusted his vest. "Diplomacy."
---
Back at Home
Carlton now slept better. Travis felt safe enough to take Buttermilk to an off-leash juice bar. Buttermilk wore a new sweater that read Guarded But Glowing.
They even gave Meatloaf his own room. He filled it with resistance bands, tactical chew toys, and a dartboard with the Roomba's face taped on it.
At dinner, Carlton raised a glass. "To Meatloaf, who kept us from being dive-bombed by justice-seeking pigeons."
Travis added, "And to Buttermilk, the only dog I know with a poodle-sized SWAT team."
Buttermilk barked once.
Meatloaf nodded solemnly.
---