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#hunting dog
claypigeonpottery · 5 months
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the unicorn tapestries won the poll, but not by much!
the video of the mug spinning at the end if the timelapse does this piece better justice than the pictures, mugs are hard to photograph
I decided one of the hounds from the other tapestries could break free too
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mammalianmammals · 2 months
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African Wild Dog aka Cape Hunting Dog (Lycaon pictus) in hot pursuit of an impala, family Canidae, Kruger National Park, South Africa.
ENDANGERED.
photograph by Chris Jolley @cdj_photo
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wctruitt · 3 months
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Sometimes him lip gits stuck behind him big ol toof
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oliversrarebooks · 2 months
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Hunting Dog Part One: Lowell's Mistake
Masterlist
This is a spinoff of The Rare Bookseller! It takes place in the same world, but you don't have to have read Bookseller to understand this story.
April 1922
TW: human auction, capture, drugging
Oh, he'd hit the absolute motherlode.
Lowell couldn't believe that the tip he'd received at the speakeasy had actually panned out. He'd spent all night in surveillance observing the vampires  -- and there was no question that they were vampires -- bustling in and out of the old but well-kept mansion. With a specially crafted scent to disguise the smell of his blood and the moon nearly full, it hadn't been difficult to conceal himself in an a gnarled oak tree and confirm that this was likely the infamous, elusive auction house.
He watched cars and carriages arrive and depart, well-dressed vampires chatting on the porch, struggling humans being dragged into a basement entrance, and clearly enthralled individuals carrying out trash and carrying in crates of supplies, their sleepwalking movements and glassy eyes apparent even from a distance. If this wasn't the auction house itself, it was certainly a major hotbed of vampire activity, more than worth his time.
Every vampire hunter worth his salt dreamed of finding and taking down the auction house. Between all the thralls the hunter's guild had rescued over the years, they had a very good idea of what the interior was like, how they processed humans, and what kind of clientele frequented the place. But no thrall knew where it was located -- about an hour away from the city by carriage, somewhere secluded in the countryside, memories far too vague to have any success locating it. The vampires were careful to make sure that the thralls were unconscious, drugged, or hypnotized while taking them to and from the cursed place.
Lowell hadn't thought much of the alcohol drenched, barely lucid man who had stumbled into the speakeasy that night, until he claimed that he had escaped from a fledgeling vampire. Purchased at the auction for a thousand dollars, a pitiful sum for a human life, the poor thrall had managed to get free in just two months' time. His memory of the auction house had proved shockingly clear, giving Lowell the final few clues he needed to track the place down.
And now, it was within his sights, that wretched house of misery where humans were bought and sold like meat at a butcher's. Even now, within those walls, innocent victims were having their minds spirited away, their wills bent towards serving monstrous masters, their very lives stolen from them.
All there was to do was wait until sunup, when he'd have all the advantages against sluggish vampires who could not flee outdoors. He briefly toyed with the idea of gathering more hunters and returning the next day, before discarding it. The security around the auction house, especially as the sun began to rise and the vampires retreated within, appeared to be minimal. It was obvious that they counted on secrecy and remoteness as their main way of keeping humans out -- the security was no doubt focused instead on keeping humans in.
And if the allure of being the vampire hunter to destroy the notorious auction house was clouding his judgement a tad... well, you didn't get to be a hunter with this many dustings under your belt without a lot of confidence and a lot of risks.
Once the sun had crested the hills and the vampires had all either left or gone back within, the only souls remaining outside the mansion were some unfortunate thralls enlisted as guards. While they had clearly been chosen for strength and size, their slow reactions were no match for a hunter in possession of his full faculties. Lowell quickly dispatched the guard near the basement door with a sedative dart, liberating the poor man of his keys and entering the building. He used a small block of wood to prop the door open, a trick he'd learned from well-seasoned hunters to always leave himself an escape route.
The vast majority of vampire manors Lowell had entered were ornate and packed wall-to-wall with furniture and collectibles suiting the vampire's particular desires, an expression of their innate possessiveness. Lowell knew for sure that he was in the auction house and no ordinary manor the second he laid eyes on the hallway -- painted white, free of obstruction, sterile, resembling a hospital or military base.
It was deathly quiet, so Lowell took extra care that his footsteps did not make noise against the polished wood floor, lest he alert any vampire that happened to be awake. He passed a few rooms, cautiously peering in with weapons drawn. One was an infirmary, one was a shower, one seemed to be an office, another couple were occupied primarily by padded chairs with leather restraints. 
The laundry room and kitchen each had a couple of dazed thralls doing chores. In each case, Lowell shut the door again before they noticed, if they were even capable of noticing. The guild would have a lot of work on their hands rehabilitating all of these thralls once he cleaned out the vampires, that was for certain.
Truthfully, Lowell didn't have a lot of patience for thralls himself. He felt compassion for innocent victims, and tried to rescue them when possible, but when it came to rehabilitating them... he couldn't stand their foggy, dazed expressions, their nervous flinching, the way they laced their speech with 'sirs' and empty courtesies. He especially hated to hear freed thralls begging for the touch of a cruel master, longing for fangs in their neck even months after rescue. So many of them who tried to live on their own ended up back in the sway of a vampire within a  year or less. Once easy prey, always easy prey.
Lowell was eternally thankful that he was a predator instead.
Rounding the corner, he encountered the first vampire, a drowsy, scrawny thing stationed in front of a double door. It was beyond obvious that he'd never encountered a threat before -- even with his vampiric reflexes, he was far too slow to react before Lowell was on top of him, hand pressing to his mouth to stifle his cry, a sure hand driving a wooden stake straight through his heart.
It was easy. This had all been easy so far. Too easy, for such a legendary place. He knew he shouldn't let his guard down as the dusted vampire had.
But maybe this would be easy. After all, it was clear that the vampires were only concerned about humans escaping, not humans infiltrating. And despite their enhanced strength and senses and their many supernatural powers, vampires weren't especially clever compared to humans. Undeath and immortality made them stagnate -- most vampires were eternally stuck in their ways, and that made them careless and unimaginative. Lowell couldn't help the rush of pleasure that came with beating the vampires right in their own territory.
He quietly pushed open the double door, crossbow at the ready, cracking it just slightly with a doorstop. It was a long, dark hallway, and the scattered noises Lowell could hear didn't sound like vampires. It sounded like soft breathing, quiet snoring, the occasional mutter or sob. It was pitch black, and Lowell had to risk lighting a match, its flickering light revealing iron-barred cells. 
Holding cells for the poor humans waiting to be processed into thralls, just as he'd expected. The motherlode, indeed. Most of the humans seemed to be either asleep or unresponsive as he passed their cells. It was just as well, because it meant they couldn't raise an alarm. 
"Ah --" 
Lowell could see his matchlight reflected in a pair of terrified eyes, hands gripping the bars of her cell. "Shhh, be quiet," he said.
"Sorry," she said in a voice so quiet that he could barely hear her. "Are you... you're not a vampire, are you? Are you here to rescue us?"
"Yes," he said, with a swell of pride. "That's the idea."
"Oh, thank you, thank you. They told me I was going to be taken and hypnotized tomorrow night -- and I've been so scared -- I want to go home, please -- "
"All right, all right, keep your voice down and let me do my work."
"Of course," she said, slinking back into the shadows. "Thank you, thank you."
As Lowell approached the other end of the hall, he could see another pair of double doors, and considered his options. The doors hadn't been locked against his entry, but if the vampires were concerned about potential thralls escaping, they might lock the doors to prevent exit. If he tried them, he'd be likely to alert the vampire guard that may be lurking on the other side, who could fetch backup.
Too risky. He'd have to go back the way he came. 
But when he turned around and reached the door he had entered, he found it shut tight.
No -- he had certainly left it propped open. There was no way it had closed without him hearing it, not unless --
Shit, they were onto him.
He dropped his match, snuffing it out with his foot while preparing his crossbow. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his nerves steady. There might not be many vampires in the auction house at this hour. This wasn't even the worst situation he'd ever been in. He'd fight his way through them and have an amazing story to tell the guild once they showed up here to help with the cleanup.
Several tense moments passed as the hunter readied his weapons and reassured himself of his impending victory.
The double doors at both ends of the hall slammed open, and the electric lights overhead flashed on and off in quick succession -- with his eyes acclimated to the darkness, he was blinded, shooting his bow half on instinct. He shot one in the shoulder -- saw another crumble to dust -- before cold hands wrapped around his arms, forcing his crossbow to drop and pinning him against a vampire.
Vampires weren't any more clever than humans, but they were strong. Even the weakest looking vampire was stronger than any ordinary human. That's why hunters relied on skill and surprise, because their odds were so poor when it came to hand-to-hand combat.
This was it, then. He'd fucked up, and this was how he died. It was happening so fast. He'd had this nightmare so many times, and he braced himself for a knife in his gut or a snap of his neck. At least he'd died bravely. The way he always wanted to go out, really, fighting the goddamn leeches.
But then a damp cloth was pressed against his face, a cloth with a thick chemical smell. His eyes widened as he realized that he was going to be subjected to a fate far worse than death.
Capture. They were going to capture him, and with vampires, that only meant one thing -- they were going to try and make him into a thrall. A nightmare worse than death, one that he'd never even let himself entertain. 
He saw the cruel grins of the vampires surrounding him as two of them held him tightly restrained and another pushed the cloth firm against his face. He held his breath, thrashing, hoping for an opening to escape, even as their grip held firm.
A vampire with the appearance of a young, innocent woman was standing nearby, watching the scene, yawning wide. "Nice work," she said. "Worth staying up late for."
"Are you sure you don't want to kill him? I mean, he just dusted Tim," said the vampire holding the cloth.
"He's too valuable to kill. A hunter turned thrall will make a fine prize. I know just the right buyer, too."
No! No, he couldn't let it happen. That would never happen. He couldn't be a mindlessly adoring pet to some prideful, cruel monster. He couldn't fawn and offer his blood and call a vampire 'sir'. That couldn't be him. He'd rather die, he'd so much rather die.
He wasn't fucking prey.
But his struggles were fruitless, especially as more vampires surrounded him and helped to immobilize him. He couldn't hold his breath forever, and he was forced to gulp down the noxious drug along with the air he needed. His head started to spin, his extremities going numb.
He had to get free, right now, before it was too late.
But as he began to sag in the vampires' arms, his limbs heavy and his eyelids beginning to droop against his will, he knew in his heart it already was too late. He was growing exhausted, the drugged cloth slowly but surely putting him under, and his fight to wrench himself from the vampires' grasp had now transitioned into a fight to keep himself awake. 
"That's a good hunter," cooed the young woman, petting his hair, and he was too drowsy to move his head away. "Just go right to sleep. I'll take such good care of you."
"You won't. Whatever you're planning... it won't work," he said with all of the fire he could muster, his voice muffled by the cloth. "You might have caught me, but you're not going to turn me into some pathetic, simpering thrall."
"Oh, I'll do that and more," she said, her sugary voice growing more sinister. "By the time I'm through with you, you'll be nothing more than an eager little puppy of a thrall, laying at a vampire's feet and begging to be fed on."
The thought sickened him. He thrashed weakly, one last vain attempt to get free, but it was beyond hopeless. The urge to just shut his eyes and go to sleep was so strong, and every blink made it harder for him to open his eyes again. But he couldn't sleep, couldn't let the bloodsuckers take his mind.
"Aww, is the mighty hunter getting sleepy?" She scratched lightly at his scalp, a gesture which might be affectionate under different circumstances. "Go to sleep," she sang in a mocking lullaby, "go to sleep, go to sleep, little hunter..."
"No... don't..." His head sagged forward into the cloth, his vision blurring, his eyelids fluttering.
"Off to dreamland with you now, little hunter-thrall. You'll feel so much better after a little nap. And once you wake up, we're going to have so much fun together."
Lowell could do nothing but groan, defeated, as his eyes closed and refused to open again. His mind began to drift far away as he sank helplessly into a drugged sleep.
Masterlist
I'm not sure how many parts this side story will have, but knowing me, too many.
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bones-n-bookles · 8 months
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Flint and Ember treeing
@losech
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losech · 6 days
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High visibility hunting dog collar. 1.5" neon orange webbing with 3/4" neon yellow stripe and 1" flags. Stainless hardware.
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huntingdogjouno · 13 days
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"I couldn't include this in my introduction since it would be oddly embarrassing, but if you enjoy pineapple on pizza DO NOT interact with me. Stay away. Disgraceful."
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theplaguedogs · 8 months
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zanderism · 4 months
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good boy | daniels, wv
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northernvikinggirl · 9 months
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My beloved Nero turned 2 years old the 16th of May. A happy birthdayboy ❤️
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anomia-sama · 2 years
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HI !! i just found your blog and followed and i'm so excited to read your works !!!!! i was wondering i could get a scenario (in english!) about Saigiku Jōno falling in love with a regular civilian (someone without an ability)? and his s/o is the opposite of him, very sweet and naive. i think it'd be really interesting to read about this!!!
thank you so much and have a good day/night!! take care ♥️♥️
Hi dear, thank you so so soooo much for your kind words, I really hope you would accept my sincere apologies for making you wait so long. Unfortunately I had a bad moment in my life, so I neglected for a while this blog, but now I'm here and I want to start from your LOVELY request! I love Jōno, he's one of my favorite characters and I crave writing about him! I hope you enjoy it. <3
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Pairing: Jōno Saigiku x Reader
Warning: Gender neutral reader (they/them), probably uncorrect english, Jōno being Jōno.
Notes: It's a bit longer then I expected (it's more a one-shot than a scenario, btw), but I was inspired! It was hard to describe the way he fell in love without any visual expression, but I tried my best. Y/N is a florist!
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✦ Lilac ✦
Your first meeting was a mere coincidence.
It was an early summer afternoon and Jōno was walking down the street leading to the Hunting Dogs headquarter, perfect as always in his uniform and in his calm but rhythmical, elegant, proud pace. He was so upset, arguing with Tetchō-san about how disgusting was the idea to eat butter cookies with mayo on top, and then he suddenly sensed something new. He knew that street pretty well: smells, voices, sounds, people, he walked up and down that road so many times it had no secrets for him. But that day... that day something different caught his attention, strong enough to interrupt him from harshly scolding Tetchō-san. There was a new fragrance in the air, a caress to his heightened senses, a sweet and intoxicating scent. Jasmine, yes. The bold, unmistakeable and intense smell of jasmine flowers. But also... pink geraniums, so delicate, and roses too. A pleasant symphony of lilies and delphinium. He stopped his walk, slowly tilting his head toward the source of that beautiful smell.
 «...You need flowers?» Tetchō-san asked, confused.
 «What?»
 «You stopped in front of the new flower shop.»
 «I know where the hell I stopped, shut up.»
The new flower shop, huh? It was the only one in the entire neighborhood and the crowd around the little store (Jōno heard an annoying interweaving of voices and heartbeats) showed how well it was welcomed by the inhabitants. But there was still something out of tune in that moltitude of environmental stimuli, something he didn't fully understand. A peaceful heartbeat, different from the others, a deep scent that had nothing to do with flowers. He heard a crystal-clear laughter, the most lovely sound he heard in a while, and then some hesitant steps getting closer and closer. When you talked to him, his brain went blank for a second o two.
And that was the scariest thing he ever felt in his young yet dangerous life.
 «Good afternoon, sir.»
Your voice pierced his mind and then exploded in his nerves. His hearing was delicate and sharp, he always said everything has it's own internal music: an interweaving of tones, rhythms, vocal inclinations that defines its pleasantness. Your voice was something out of any competition. It was an auditory paradise.
«I'm glad to meet you, people here keep talking about you. Since it is the open day, please, accept this as a little gift. I hope to see you soon in my shop, I'll wait for you.»
You put something in his and Tetchō's hands, and Jōno was sure you were smiling (he just felt it, like a shiver down his spine), then you went back to your customers. He was totally unreadable, in that moment, an inscrutable mask on his face, a calm attitude despite the strange feeling he was experiencing. He just approached your gift to his nose, gently holding it in his fingers, and deep inhaled.
 «A white rose. It's nice.» Tetchō-san commented.
A white rose. His mind ran fast.
Purity. Innocence. Reverence. Humilty.
Flower language never fails.
«Yeah, nice. Let's go, we're late.»
Jōno started walking again, but for a second a soft smile, so distant from his usual grin, appeared on his soft lips.
******
It’s been exactly six weeks since that day.
And today is the day.
Jōno sits all by himself in a lonely table at his favourite cafè. Goddamn, he loves that place. It's never too crowded, so he can rest his head in peace, they have his favourite coffee, some desserts he truly likes, and it's right in front of the flower shop. He doesn't wear his uniform, today, he took some free days after a long and difficult hunt. Well, it was an interesting hunt, he enjoyed every single moment of it and had a lot of fun torturing his prey, but now he really needs some time to recharge. He needs to stay away from his work environment, from the stress the other Hunting Dogs use to cause him, and as close as possible to something pleasant. He doesn't stalk you, he really doesn't. He genuinely likes to sit in that cafè and hear you talk with your customers, laugh with them, chant while you water the flowers. Listening to the variation of your heartbeat and of your breath jut makes him feel in peace. But today it will be different.
Today is the day, yes.
He finishes his coffee slowly, then he leaves a generous tip on the table and patiently wait for the moment you greet your last customer, before heading to the flower store. His entry is marked by the soft sound of his hearring, and he can hear you murmur something to a bouquet of peonies. He chuckles quietly, thinking it's kinda cute, but you notice him and Jōno can clearly hear your heart beating suddenly faster. He embarassed you, huh?
«Good... good evening, sir, I didn't hear you coming, my apologies!»
But Jōno isn't upset at all. He slowly walks with elegant pace among the flowers and his fingers soflty caresses some purple orchids. He's so calm, so unreachable, so ethereal...
«Is it true? Does speaking to plants help them grow faster?»
You violently blush at his insidious question. You hide your face behind a hand and laugh.
«I swear, sir, I don't always talk to my flowers. But I'm always alone here, sometimes it happens. Anyways, if you really want to know it, yes: showing plant some love and care make it grow stronger and faster, sir.»
The Hunting Dog listens to you silently, charmed by the way you talk about your work and flowers. He show you an enigmatic smile, leisurely reaching the counter.
«Jōno Saigiku. "Sir" sounds a bit too formal.»
He can't see your face but he feels that old shiver running down his spine: he's sure you're smiling again.
«Nice to officially meet you, Jōno-san. I'm Y/N L/N. How may I help you?»
It's not a surprise, but he already knows your name. Again, he's not a stalker, but find secrets and information is a crucial part of his job, so he's pretty good at it. He think nice names fit nice persons, anyways he wisely decides to keep it to himself; Jōno's not comfortable yet with such gentle thoughts about someone so he just smiles and patiently crosses his arm. It's the first time he's alone with you, and you're so close your perfume dulls his senses. Once again his mind goes blank for a second or two and once again he's terrified.
You have in your soft hands a terrible, dangerous weapon.
«Lilac. I need a bouquet of magenta lilac. The prettiest you have, thank you.»
Before you can even move, he already puts some money on the counter. Maybe he's in a hurry, you think, so you're pretty fast to react.
«Of course.»
You disappear for a minute in the backroom and come back with a huge pot of fresh and fragrant lilac. Well, he asked for the prettiest flowers you have and that's exactly what you offer him. You start selecting the best flowers right in front of him and braid them with skilled hands, creating a lovely bouquet in a few seconds. He just listens to you: the way you move your hands, the way you caress every single corolla to find the best one, the way you use your mental scheme and creativity to realize something new. Your heartbeat is so calm it almost sounds like a lullaby.
«Is this for... someone special?»
You ask hesitantly, breaking the silence between you. You don't want to seem too nosey, you're genuinely curious about that man. Does he have a significant one in his life? A partner? A family?
«Maybe. I'm trying to figure it out.»
His answer is laconic, but the grin on his lips make your stomach hurt for a second.
«Well, if it's for someone "maybe" special, let's add a ribbon. What color?»
«I don't know. Any suggestion?»
«I'm not reliable, I would put yellow everywhere. It's my favourite color.»
«Yellow is good.»
You smile at him, and even if he can't see your smile he feels that shiver again. Then, with a satisfy and proud expression on your face, you put a yellow ribbon around the bouquet and you offer it to the young soldier behind the counter.
«Here. The prettiest lilac in town -and trust me, they truly are- with the prettiest yellow ribbon for someone maybe special. I hope they will be happy to recieve such a lovely bouquet.»
He stands in front of you, but against all expectations he didn't take the flowers. Jōno just approaches his face to the bouquet and deep inhales its intoxicating scent. His left index glides through the petals in a gentle touch, a slow and quiet study of your masterpiece that ends with a smile.
«Perfect. You truly are a natural, y/n-san.»
He feels proud of himself whe he hears you holding your breath for a moment. You truly are sensitive to praises, he will remember it (oh yes, he will). Keeping his back straigh, then, Jōno waves his hand in your direction and steps back from the counter.
«Well, I think it's a goodbye. 'Till the next bouquet, of course. It was a pleasure, y/n-san.»
He carefully articulates your name before turning his back and slowly walk away. But your voice suddenly stops him, loud and worried.
«Wait, Jōno-san! Your bouquet.»
You tend your arms holding lilacs in his direction, but he suddenly raises his left hand to interrupt you. You can see an enigmatic smile reflected in the showcase of your flower store.
«No need to worry. I think my lilac bouquet already reached the right person.»
And then he walks out of the door, leaving you confused and surprised at the same time. You hold the bouquet to your chest, an intense frown on your face, and the meaning of his action suddenly hits you with the force of a typhoon.
Lilac. A new love.
You smile.
Yes, flower language truly never fails.
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pwlanier · 1 year
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Percival Leonard Rosseau
(American, 1859–1937)
John's Independence Boy and Tom Draw, 1931
Hindman
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wilczak · 6 months
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By Vadim Gorbatov
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vox-anglosphere · 26 days
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Young architect, Conor Lynch, brings out the countryman in all of us
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amoodybun · 1 year
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Inks for some of the early doggos! 
I think my next big project is gonna just be B+w with maaaybe tones.
All the Dogs so far!
Instagram | Twitter I Tiktok
Inprint  | Redbubble  | Ko-Fi
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bones-n-bookles · 1 year
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Photos from Hunting Laika Breeds of Russia by Vladimir Beregovoy
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