FATHERLY ADVICE


"Dad...uh...,"

Atti was blushing hard. It was hard to tell, through the downy white fur along his face and muzzle, but there were other ways a father noticed. The way he had his hands clasped together anxiously, wringing his fingers. The way he kept his tail low and tensed. His father could smell the heat rushing to his son's face.

Atti had a good relationship with his father. His father had made an effort to be present in Atti's youth. It was often hard to find bonding time during the workweek, between school and work -- but he made sure to try and be available during any 'off' days they had, taking an interest in Atti's hobbies and play, whether outside with his friends, or indoors playing video games.

Thus, his father noticed right away the peculiar anxiety and shyness that had seized the boy. He only smiled at first, in response. Atti was getting old enough now. He would start developing new and exciting thoughts and feelings. He would start keeping secrets. And he would start becoming reticent to talk to or ask his father about them.

Father closed his laptop and set it aside on the coffee table nearby, subtly letting Atti know that he had his undivided attention, "Yes, Atti? Did you want to talk to me about something?"

Had he met a girl? A boy? Were they other canids, he wondered--or maybe he had found a human who'd caught his eye.

"Yeah," Atti said, mincing his fingers gingerly, "Do you...uhh...ever get...intrusive thoughts?"

'Intrusive thoughts'. That was such a practised and technical term. Was it something Atti had read online?

The question had thrown off Father's expectations. He rubbed a forearm, tilting his head in thought. In truth--the question had worried him, just a little. Was Atti feeling all right, mentally?

"That's kind of a vague question. I think everyone sometimes feels like they are distracted by their thoughts. What kind of thoughts are you talking about? *Violent* thoughts? *Negative* thoughts?"

...and then, because he knew that Atti _was_ getting to be about that age, "...*Sexual* thoughts?"

"I'm....I'm not sure?" Atti replied honestly.

"Do you want to tell me a little about them?"

At this, Atti blushed even harder. It was clear that he wanted to, but the shyness was holding him back.

"It's all right. You don't have to, if you don't want to," Father replied softly. And this seemed to help. Somehow, knowing that he didn't _need_ to say anything made Atti feel a little more confident in his own agency, even though it was still embarrassing to talk about.

"I..uhh...sometimes....just feel like...peeing," Atti said, and then haltingly, "Or...pooping."

Father had to suppress a tiny smile. He wanted Atti to know that he was listening seriously, "Uh-huh...?" he asked, inviting him to continue.

"I don't mean, like, when I need to go to the bathroom!" Atti replied, a little flustered, realizing how weird the statement had sounded, "I mean like---just at the most *random* times!"

"Random, like when?" Father asked calmly. He was no longer concerned. He knew exactly what Atti was feeling, but wanted to let his son continue controlling the narrative. It looked like he needed to get it off his chest.

"Like---when I'm trying to go to bed at night. When I'm out with my friends. In the middle of class. Like seriously, sometimes it feels like I think about it *all the time*!" Atti was getting animated now, losing his blush. Letting the stress out through his words, "It's seriously hard to focus, sometimes. I worry sometimes that if I'm not careful, I'm going to piss or crap my pants." he finished, blushing again at the last part. There was the real worry. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his friends or classmates.

"Do--," Father started, before Atti interrupted with another burst of agitated words.

"Like, seriously! And I don't know who else I can ask. Like, am I seriously supposed to just go up to my friends and be like, 'Hey guys, do any of you feel like you want to just randomly pee or poop -all- the time?'"

Atti breathed deeply, looking like some of his stress was spent.

Father patted the empty seat cushion next to him, inviting his son to sit. Without a second of hesitation, he did so. Shy, breathing deeply, listening.

"Atti-boy, if I don't look too surprised, it's because it's probably happening to more of your classmates than you realize. Well, your canid ones, anyway."

Atti shuddered softly. Was that true?

"Your body is going through changes as you shed the last of your puppy years and are becoming a grown dog. These feelings you're talking about--it's a primal urge. A weird throwback to our ancient ancestors, before our human co-species helped us learn to walk on two legs. Use speech. That sort of thing. Its your body trying to tell you that you should start 'spreading your scent' to attract a mate. Or to claim your favorite spaces."

There was something so calm and soothing about the way Father spoke that seemed to dispel a lot of the anxiety and embarrassment that Atti had been feeling he simply sighed deeply as he took all it in.

"Uhh...does...does that still -work-? Like...attracting a mate? And like, what am I supposed to *do* then? Are canids like me just supposed to live like this all the time now?" he asked, with a little worry and curiosity. Although Father couldn't help but mentally note that the order in which he had asked the questions probably revealed a lot about where his son's priorities lie.

"You learn restraint," Father replied coolly, wistfully remembering his own youth, "It's harder when you're still young, but you grow out of it. Just remember Atti-Boy that if you accidentally get a little pee or poop in your pants here or there, it's not your fault. It's harder at bedtime when you're asleep. You've heard of 'wet dreams', right? I think that happens to humies, too, if I recall correctly...," Father replied dreamily. He was absentmindedly fidgeting with the marriage-stone on his collar. Atti couldn't help but wonder if 'spreading his scent' was how his mother and father had met.

"Really? But, like that doesn't sound like I remember...," Atti said, trying to recall the details from his health classes in school.

"Wait--aren't they teaching you any of this in your health classes? What am I signing all those 'growth and development' permission slips for?" Father asked, chastising Atti playfully, as though the pup perhaps just hadn't been paying attention.

"I -do- pay attention! But it's all a bunch of humie stuff about growing hair!"

"Well, aren't they teaching you about 'using protection'?"

Atti blushed only slightly, "Well--yeah?" he asked curiously, because he wasn't sure why the topic was relevant, "That's like...a condom?"

Father rolled his eyes, "Oh, my word. Your mother and I need to have a word at the next PTA meeting. If they're going to have these human and canid co-ed schools, they really need to have more canid teachers."

Atti splayed his ears, "What do you mean?"

Father pushed aside his critical thoughts about the school and smiled, "If you feel like you're having trouble controlling those 'intrusive thoughts' about peeing and pooping, you can 'use protection'. There are some underwear you can wear that will help keep your pants clean and dry if anything slips out."

Atti bristled his short whiskers, "Like a diaper?" The question was filled with curiosity, and a little bit of anxiety.

Father nodded, "Kind of, yeah. But a little bigger. They can be a little unfamiliar to put on. When -I- was your age in my canid health classes, they had us practice putting them on *each other*. That was how I met your mother."

Atti cringed, but giggled, "Oh my gosh! That's so weird!"

Father got to his feet, "C'mon. Let's go to my room."

Atti got to his feet dutifully after, "Okay. Umm--," he hesitated to ask the question, but Father knew what was on his mind.

"I think I still have a few bags of 'protection' tucked away somewhere from when I was in school. I haven't needed them in ages. You can have them, if you want. I'll show you how they go on--and if you think you'd like more, I'm sure your mother can help you find more."

Father began ascending the stairs, and Atti followed happily behind, "Thanks, Dad. I'm really glad I said something,"

"Me too, Atti-Boy. You're a good boy."

Atti wagged.