Yes.

It takes you a couple of hours to get to Starchild's camp. And you are greeted warmly by Moondance. She's a tall, skinny woman with straight blonde hair all the way down to her knees, wearing bellbottoms and a frilly shirt. Two smells **** your nose. One is unmistakably marijuana. You had a roommate in college who reeked of the stuff. And the other is coming from Moondance. You don't know what it is, but you know that you like it.

One shower and a set of borrowed clothes later, you're sitting around the fire, telling Starchild and Moondance your story while wolfing down your fourth plate of food. The two hippies exchange looks with each other when you've finished and nod sagely. They spout off some mumbo-jumbo about heeding the calls of nature and embracing your spirit animal. It might be the marijuana smoke, but you find yourself believing that it might be possible. And yet, doubt still rears it's head. How did you get here so quickly? What happened to that flaming dog? Why are you so hungry and thirsty? Something is definitely wrong here.

Putting down your plate, you thank the pair of them before retiring to the tent that Starchild set up for you, on the other side of the camp, opposite their camper van. You fall into a restless sleep, before waking up in a feverish sweat. You walk off to the edge of the camp to relieve yourself, when you hear something.

"Starchild, we can't." It's Moondance. You can hear her voice as if she is standing right next to you, even though you know that they're both in their van. "You've brought someone here. What if he hears us?"

"Then we'll be quiet." Comes the reply, followed by a soft kiss. "You remember what that square doctor said. Tonight's the night where you'll have an egg ready for a baby. That's why we came out here, to make this baby as nature intended. Wild and free."

The pause hangs in the air and you feel your temper starting to rise. The bitch is ovulating. Your mind tells you. That's why her scent is so intoxicating. And how dare that whelp try to breed her. She's your bitch. She's yours to breed. It should be your pups that she carries.

Wait. Why are you thinking like this? You've never met this woman before in your life. You have no claim over her or who's child she carries. You push back against that primal urge and take deep breaths to try and steady yourself.

"Alright. Give me your baby, Starchild."

The rage fills you again and you snarl angrily.