The Best Laid Plans...

"Harliquin!" Hanna called a name out and the zombie turned, somehow knowing that Hanna was addressing him even though the name was new. Though, considering, most of the time the names were new. It was a warm spring morning, and the birds were singing in the tree above the zombie's head. They had gone out and taken a day to themselves, and they were now seated by a lake. Hanna had been throwing stones and jabbering on about this and that the last time the zombie had been paying any attention to Hanna, but like it always was when Hanna began to ramble, the zombie eventually lost track of the conversation and just tuned it all out.

Now, though, Hanna was not throwing rocks. He was kneeling on the ground, beckoning a stray dog closer. The dog was rather large and of no specific breed, and looked cautious of the hyperactive man. When said man pulled a piece of bacon out of his pocket – the zombie had told him not to keep it, that he would attract something dangerous with that in his pocket and Hanna had simply replied with the fact that bacon was a little hug from god and he would eat it before anything could smell it – the dog trotted over, taking the bacon with a delighted bark. Hanna scratched the dog's ear softly, and before he knew it, the dog had both paws on Hanna's chest, licking his face, and Hanna was on his back, laughing hysterically.

"Hanna, are you sure that dog is safe?" The zombie asked, striding over. Hanna couldn't speak for a moment, for he was laughing too hard and the dog was still licking his face enthusiastically. Hanna pressed the dog back with his forearm and wiped his face on his sleeve, chest still heaving with giggles.

"He won't bite anyone!" Hanna proclaimed, effectively answering the question and not answering the question at the same time. "I saw let's call him Joel."

"We can't keep it, Hanna." The zombie watched Hanna pet the dog between his legs affectionately, with the dog just going along for the ride because wherever Hanna just scratched felt so good his foot had started moving.

"Mrs. Blaney probably won't mind, and we can keep him quiet, and I bet Lamont can get us dog food cheep and we can train him to be our guard dog and help us with ghosts and vampires and I bet Toni would love to spend time with Joel and she can help take him on walks…"

"We can't keep it." The zombie repeated, and this time, his words attracted Hanna's attention. Both the man and the dog were making the same face, and the zombie couldn't figure out which one did the 'kicked puppy' face better. "Hanna, you know we can't logically keep a dog in your apartment. It's too small."

Hanna looked ready to protest, but the dog attracted both their attentions. He was sniffling his way over to the zombie, and then quietly nuzzled the undead man's hand. When said undead man reached down to pat the dog, thinking that maybe, okay, if he was going to get that face from both of them they might be able to figure something out, the dog reached up and surprisingly, bit down. With a yank, the dog was off, the hand and left forearm of the zombie in his mouth. The zombie looked at Hanna, raising an eyebrow as if saying you said he wouldn't bite.

"Hahaha, he wants to play!" Hanna laughed, half explaining, before taking off after the dog. This was exactly what the dog wanted, and the canine fled, barking through the arm like he was laughing as hard as Hanna was.

Hanna chased him into a crowded area, where the dog ducked under legs and managed to generally frighten people. The paranormal investigator followed, trying his hardest to keep up and not run into people. The dog ducked between two strollers, and in Hanna's attempt to avoid them, he managed to topple right into the lake.

It was only when a green hand extended toward Hanna that he pulled himself to his feet. The investigator was dripping and had algae hanging off his shirt, which the zombie lightly picked off with the remaining hand.

"Thanks, Geraldo. C'mon, let's catch that dog and get your hand back, yeah?"

~*~

An hour later, and they were still armless and dog-less. It was also pouring down rain in buckets, and they were the only ones remaining in the park. Hanna was doing circles around the lake, chasing the wet dog and the wet arm. His laughter rung across the empty grass, reaching his zombie friend, who had sheltered under a wooden overhang that was made for people who didn't want to get wet.

"HA!" Hanna's triumphant cry echoed across the water, and the zombie saw him trekking over with the squirming wet mutt clutched in his arms. He resembled a small child carrying a cat, with his arms around the dog's middle and all four legs dangling like strings on a waiting kite. When he got close enough, however, the zombie shook his head and forced back a smile.

"Hanna, where is my arm?"

"What? Aw man." Hanna let the dog slide out of his arms and bent down to open the dog's mouth and check to see if it swallowed the arm. Somewhere along the way, the zombie mused, Hanna must have taken his eyes off the dog long enough for the arm to be hidden, and he hadn't noticed that the dog lacked the prize. Now Hanna was soaked through, so was the dog, and there was still a missing arm somewhere in the part.

"C'mon, Joel, now you gotta show me where you hid the arm." Hanna coaxed, having checked that the arm wasn't on the dog's, er, person. Joel barked and took off toward a bush, and Hanna followed, shouting and laughing and not really caring that it was raining even harder.

When Joel finally led Hanna to the arm – after a quick pee break and another lap or ten around the lake – the rain was letting up and the sun was setting. Hanna was heading over to his zombie friend's dry spot with the arm in hand. Said arm was wet and slightly disgusting, but Hanna didn't seem to care. The dog followed at his heels, occasionally bouncing up to take the arm back.

"Hey, look, I found it!" Hanna held the arm aloft, the green fingers drooping.

"Yes, Hanna, you did. Now, let's go home and have dinner."

"Can we have baked potatoes? C'mon, Joel, Michelin is going to fix dinner!"

"Hanna."

~*~

The next morning, Toni came into the theatre and found a very lonely dog tied to the stage with a note on its collar and a bowl of food and water nearby. The note was written in the Hanna's scrawl, with a few wet spots around the edges.

Dear Toni,

This is Joel. I don't know what kind of dog he is, but he's a good dog. DaVinci and I found him at the park yesterday, but we can't keep him. Not only does my apartment not allow pets, but he kinda stole Pinocchio's arm and ran off with it. He was just playing, but… you know about first impressions.

If you can't keep him, can you at least find him a good home?

~Hanna

PS. He likes bacon.

Toni looked at the hopeless, slightly wet creature on her stage and smiled. At least she'd have company come the full moon.