A Gift (1/2)
Scout liked children. Not in the gooey, evil aunt sort of way, with the cheek pinching, and the agonizing visits, but in a deeper, fonder sort of way. It was a very unique relationship, like some very important part of him had just stopped maturing after the age of six, and being around children helped him get back in touch with that part of himself. He would, more often than not, wind up acting more like a child than an adult when he was around them. A direct consequence of this was that children loved the Scout puppy. Oh, did they love the Scout puppy. Given this bit of information, it would make sense that, in any circumstance, day-care supervisor would be Scout’s dream job. And it was, the newly undergraduate Samoyed thought, the dream job. He had thought so since the interview, Matilda Ursus, the owner of the day-care, looking at him with an air of both deep thought, and heightened playfulness. Scout was almost afraid that the bear would reprimand him for something, though he couldn’t imagine what, and he shrunk away from the older woman, thirty years and five, the air that exists between a strict parent and a child. 
His phone had rang scarcely more than five minutes out the door with the news that he had been hired, and Scout, smiling, let himself indulge in a few minutes of harmless tail wagging as he walked home.
That had been three weeks earlier, and Scout had settled into the patterns of day-care management with surprising speed and enthusiasm. He impressed even Ms. Ursus, not that she would let him know that, but, nonetheless, he was a true child at heart, and knew the way to get others like him to obey. That, surprisingly, was all he did for the first three weeks, enforce the edicts of Queen Matilda, there simply wasn’t much work that needed to be done. The bear did almost all of the work herself. All the cooking, most of the cleaning, all the diaper changes, bathing, and clothing of the children was handled by her. Most of the time Matilda set Scout to do what she called entertaining the children, by which she meant playing with the children, with which Scout was more than happy to comply, once he was sure that it wasn’t some kind of secret test, of course. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him: keep the children, about twenty of them, ranging from age two to nine, occupied, and they won’t get into any mischief. It seemed too good to be true. 
It was on the Friday of the third week. Scout had just finished tucking in the last of the overnight children. Each child had a bunk to themselves, the beds spaced evenly along three of the walls, but there was also a communal pit bed in the middle, a thickly padded depression in which a few of the children could snuggle together if they so desired. Scout had been dealing with a particularly squirmy little tiger cub named Nicky. She was in that very special group of little girls that assumed that, if they made life miserable for the adults that were keeping them, their own material ambitions would be met. She was of the mind that, if she kept the entire dormitory awake all night, Scout would give in to her demands of a later bedtime, and extra TV privileges. She was wrong.
“Nicky, listen to me. Be quiet, and go to sleep. Or else,” the Scout Samoyed just let that hang there, not that it did much.
The tiger cub rolled her eyes so hard that she might have looked back, inside of her head, “Or else what?”
Scout had been ready for that. He pulled a little red pacifier from his pants pocket and waved it casually in her face, the little tigress’s eyes going wide, “or else this, Nicky. Now be a good girl, and go to sleep.”
She pouted, and mumbled under her breath as Scout stood and left, but she did lie down in her bunk. Nicky was a quarrelsome cub, sure, but she was the exception, not the rule, and Scout thought over the fond memories, and occasional nip marks, that he had gained over the past few weeks.
Miss Ursus, in that silent way of hers, walked up behind Scout as he hit the light switch, and quietly closed the gaily painted door to the overnight room. He turned, and nearly walked right into the bear, much larger and more bulky than him. 
“Oh, heh. Hey, Matilda, what are you doing here?”
She smiled at him, a big, caretaker smile, like she was reassuring a small child, “Do I need a reason to watch my favorite Samoyed puppy work?” She liked to call him puppy, even assured him that it helped the children become acclimated to having him around. Normally he would have found the name embarrassing, but it had caught on, the children had started using it, and it fit him. Scout did, after all, have many of the mannerisms of a puppy. 
“Oh, uh, yeah. I just tucked everyone in, lights out was just a minute ago.”
She nodded, grinning, “Yes, I saw. You’ve done very well, these past few weeks.”
“Oh, thanks boss,” he said in a very cartoony way. 
Then Matilda did something that Scout had never seen her do before. She put one hand on one of his shoulders, and turned him around toward the door again. She pressed up against him from behind, the bulk of the bear nearly pressing him against the door. “Look inside, sweetie,” she said, Scout turning his cheeks to look at her, sweetie? Since when did she start calling me sweetie? But the bear was adamant, and did not get out of his way, so he looked. “What do you see?” she asked, in a soothing, motherly way.
He saw cubs. Otter, fox, dragon, tiger, wolf and skunk. Twenty of them, at least, all sleeping soundly and snuggled deep in cloth. So peaceful, “I see… cubs?” he said, confused.
She smiled, “Aren’t they peaceful?” 
“Heh, yeah. Real peaceful,” Scout said, rubbing the numerous bite wounds he had accumulated. 
“No, really. Look at them,” she came right up next to Scout, her warm, thickly furred breast, covered only by her blouse, pressed against his back. Then she did something unprecedented. Scout hadn’t ever seen her be physical before, with him or any of the children, except when one was being squirmy during a diaper change, or the like. Nonetheless, the thirty five year old bear came right up against him, and wrapped one of her furry, heavily muscled arms around his upper body in something resembling a hug. It took Scout a moment to comprehend that this was even happening, and it would of taken another for him to think it over, but this was not given to him, “look, silly,” she said, and nosed the back of his head. “So perfect.”
Scout was starting to really feel the awkwardness of the situation, puppy? Hugging? Is she… hitting on me? He thought, trying to politely shoo her away, but the bear wasn’t in the hint taking mood, and continued to hold him snug against her soft fur.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” She was almost purring with satisfaction. Scout had never seen this side of her, a deep, parental passion that seemed as natural as he could ask for. After that, the purring bear asked something unprecedented, “Would you ever consider… joining them, if you could?”
Join them!? He was starting to run cold, this conversation having, in the course of three sentences, gone from lukewarm, every day office speech, to crazy, where the hell did this come from speak, a dialect that was as foreign to Scout as Zulu. The Samoyed thawed a little inside, how much could it hurt me to tell the truth, after all, and he did, “I… uh, well, I guess I would,” his eloquence failed him, the rising quagmire of touchy-feely interactions was beyond him, and he amended himself, “Yeah. Yeah I would… I mean, just to be free and innocent again…”
He trailed off, feeling some of the long forgotten baby puppy bubbling up inside of him, giving him that embarrassed, fuzzy feeling that he only ever got while doing something that was much too young for someone of his age. Scout could feel the bear perk up, humming with enjoyment, until, finally, Scout had had enough.
“Err, Mrs. Ursus, will you please let go of me? Please?” She either didn’t hear him, or didn’t listen. She only kept on humming, nosing the back of his head, and even secured her grip on him by wrapping her other arm around his lower torso. 
“I knew you were the one…” she said, creeping out the young dog even further, “right when you walked into your interview… Someone who just never stopped being a pup.”
Wait, what? Scout was known for his childish antics. Nothing bad, or violent, mind you, just that he never quite settled down, a jumping little dynamo of energy, the kind that school teachers dread. He had always been like that, but an overgrown pup? Quite the jump in context, Scout thought. 
He wriggled a bit in the bear’s embrace, trying to get enough room to free himself, but Matilda beat him to the punch, she grabbed his shoulder with her opposite hand, and turned him around to face her, then, in a single motion, she pulled his face two inches deep into her thick, dark fur. She wasn’t restraining him so much as hugging him, a warm, loving embrace, and, despite his best attempts, the puppy in Scout couldn’t help but rejoice at this tender hearted hug. Scout’s active mind, however, was much less amenable, and he started to struggle. With not a moment’s notice, Matilda shuddered all over, bent down, put one tree branch of an arm between his legs, and, with no effort at all, hoisted him up and over her shoulder as though he weighted no more than the toddlers she cared for on a daily basis. 
He bounced up and down as she walked, giddy, bouncing steps down the long hallway to the right of the large play room. It was the one that, Scout knew, led first to the store room, next was Matilda’s bedroom, and the third he had never seen, he had been told it was under renovation.
Scout wanted to struggle, he really did, but the constant lurching up and down of her walk, and the internal war that he fought against the bubbly sensations kept him meek and obedient. Just as the Samoyed had concluded that he was probably being taken to the bear’s bedroom, for reasons he didn’t want to think about, the bear, bobbing along, walked right past the second door, mechanically turning the knob on the door to the room that was apparently under renovation.
It wasn’t under renovation, that was for sure, it was, for all intents and purposes, complete. Completely complete. Spotless, except for a light layer of dust. Scout couldn’t see much, his head faced backward, and he could only turn his head so far, but what he saw startled him. 
He was in a nursery. Immediately to the right, upon entering, was a long counter with a laminated plastic top, the same texture of one of those plastic park tables. Over in one corner was a very, very large crib, about the size of a double bed, and it had red and white painted bars that might have been an inch thick. Scout was having trouble taking this all in when the bear switched his position adeptly, swinging him down into a lengthwise pose, legs out to one side, held under the knees, and his head out the other, held just below the shoulders. She gently, though swiftly layed him out on the plastic coated counter, and Scout, having regained his composition, immediately started to squirm.
The bear, with strength and practiced ease, arrested his roll with one hand planted firmly on his right shoulder, the on closest to the wall, and kept him pressed against the counter, helpless.
“W-what are you doing? Let me up!” He said, wrapping two hands around her restraining paw and trying to get it off of his chest. His two arms still weren’t a match for her one, and all his struggles were in vain. The bear then reached with her free hand, and grabbed something that looked like the buckle of a seatbelt, pulling it across the counter and snapped it in place on the other side, effectively strapping him down to the table, “Gah, what the hell? Get me out of this!,” the bear ignoired him quite readily, and the dog’s attentions, and hands, immediately shot to the heavily padded strap, exactly the reaction that the bear had been expecting. In his haste, Scout had not seen the two attatched cuffs, warm fabric on the inside, hard, durable plastic on the outside. Ms. Ursus locked the cuff around first one wrist, then the other before Scout even knew what she had done. 
He struggled a bit more, but, his torso arrested, and both hands helplessly locked to his sides, not much of Scout’s initial resistance remained. He gave some token resistance as the caretaker removed her hand from his chest and scratched him on the head, smiling.
“I’m sorry I had to be so direct… It’s only because you had to be so quarrelsome, sweetie, forgive me,” she said, and stopped scratching. Instead she took a large pair of scissors from a drawer under the counter and began cutting his shirt up the seams. Defeated, Scout only sat dejectedly still, not wanting to get caught by the sharp looking blades of the tool. 
Soon she had stripped him almost completely, jeans and Scout T-shirt alike having been cut away and thrown into a nearby trash disposal, leaving him only in his underwear. His cheeks flushed bright pink as his naked fur was exposed, the lightly formed muscles underneath barely visible. As though being naked weren’t enough, the big, motherly bear kept up her coddling and scratches. Without his shirt, he was helpless to protect the numerous, ticklish weak spots along his belly and sides, which Matilda exploited happily. He wiggled and squirmed, unable to escape the sensations, but intended to keep some dignity, however small, by not giving in to laughter. He failed promptly, though, as the momentary distraction revoked his concentration, and let the bubbly childish emotions out. He giggled and snickered as the bear tickled him, and yipped happily when she scratched. 
Eventually the coddling stopped, as did the tickling, for a long enough time that Scout was able to re-establish control of himself, and push the gleeful cub out of the driver’s seat. He opened his mouth to speak, the bear’s head scarcely more than a foot away, kneeling down and sifting through the cupboard, but no words came out of his mouth. Logic told him that, if the bear had taken such lengths to entrap him in this room, it would take more than mere words to get him out. He sighed and tried anyway.
“I… Ms- Miss Ursus?” He said, unsure.
“Yes, sweetie?” She replied, too concentrated on whatever she was searching for to look up.
“W- why are you doing this?” He tried to keep the whine out of his voice, “T… to me?”
Matilda, on a precedent breaking roll, leaned down and gave Scout an affectionate kiss on the forehead, he had seen her do it to many a crying toddler, “Trust me, sweetie, this is for your own good.”
That was when Scout saw it. His jaw dropped open at the first sign, and his eyes must have gone wide as platters as his brain tried to comprehend what they saw. The older bear had picked out what appeared to be… no. No. WAS a very large, exceptionally thick diaper, printed with light turquoise paw prints running along the plastic backing. One more swipe of the scissors, and Scout’s boxers, his last remaining garment, was shredded.
Scout thrashed in his bonds, tried to sit up, she stopped him with a restraining knee on his chest, tried to flail his legs, she caught them in one arm, then lifted him up, and, when she lowered him again, the table was considerably softer, and more comfortable.
This newfound padding would have comforted him, if it weren’t for the fact that he was helpless, on the verge of tears, and being diapered by his fanatical boss! 
She pulled some supplies from another drawer, baby powder, lotion, and… a pacifier? 
“N… no, please,” Scout said, lip quivering visibly, “I… I’ll do anything, please!”
“Stay still,” was her cold, lightly irritated reply. His squirming hindquarters had made diapering him almost impossible and even her long experiences with wriggly babies wasn’t enough. Eventually, instead of giving up and letting him up, as the naïve dog had hoped, she pressed his ankles to the counter, and buckled those in place, too, leaving him completely immobile.
His nakedness didn’t last long after that. He was lotioned, an expensive, baby care brand that smelt faintly of lilac, powdered, also with premium, diaper rash resistant talcum, and, finally, diapered, the thick front of the truly impressive garment being pulled up at the front, pressed snugly against his belly, and taped in place. 
Scout was almost in tears, never confrontational, his fear had turned into humiliation, that, into helplessness, and helplessness, mixed with some input with the child within, had left him at the edge of a truly house-waking bawl. Matilda, of course, would have none of this, and she was well equipped to deal with a squalling baby. Just as the piercing cry was about to ring out and, most likely, wake the dormitory just three rooms over, the caretaker’s secret weapon, the pacifier, pushed home between the puppy’s teeth, and sat snugly against his muzzle. Dejected, Scout suckled on it, red faced, and nearly dead of shame.
Scout whined, and squirmed in his bonds, but there was no hope at all. Matilda had thought this all out in advance, and the Samoyed was helpless as a result. He was, to use a slightly ironic metaphor, like a doll in her paws. The big bear had gone over to a closet in one corner, and sifted through it for a minute.
“A-ha,” she said, finding whatever she was looking for, and came back to the counter with the tied down pup, hiding it from his view, “close your eyes, little one,” he whined, but obeyed, able to do little else. Sight deprived, he relied on sensation to determine whatever it was she was doing to him, and felt the oddest things in the two minutes it took. First he felt her take one of his paws in her hands, and force a silky mitten onto it, then the other. The process was repeated on his feet. He felt a deep, sinking sensation of foreboding as he opened his eyes, and looked to his paws. 
The mittens, and matching booties, were the same color as his fur, though the resemblance stopped there. His paws were constricted into tight little balls inside, claws useless against the heavily padded silk lining. Scout whined into the pacifier, one step closer to complete helplessness. 
The bear, with practiced ease, unsnapped the four cuffs and one strap. Had Scout been inclined, he might have fought back, tried to run, thrash, or even squirm. He was not, however, inclined, and, as a result, Matilda picked him up without a fuss. 
He hadn’t cried, small a victory as that was, but, as he was set into the crib, broken, lightly sobbing, she leaned in, once more, and kissed him on the cheek. The bars ascended, and Matilda waved to him, shutting off the light as she left the room. 
Now he cried. It wasn’t as bad as he would remember it, that first night in diapers, but that hardly signified. The pup buried himself in blankets, the gaily embroidered covers cocooning him against his recent experience. He cried himself to sleep, the pacifier long having fallen out, he sucked his thumb. The cub inside had overpowered him, and he woke, crying no less than three times that night, insulated in the heavy, protective sheets and cool night air. At last, he was peaceful.