Allistor didn’t want to ask, but they needed some sellable rare items.  “Any of the guns in the safe an antique?  Or something special?”

Sam glared at him for a minute when he realized why Allistor was asking.  Then he sighed.  “You’re right.  There’s an old flintlock from the early 1800s.  It’s no good to us.   Might as well use it to trade for something that’ll help us.   There’s also an early colt pistol.  But… if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep that one. To remember him by.”

Allistor held up both hands.  “Hey, man.  Everything here is yours as far as I’m concerned.  I’ll take whatever you’re willing to donate to help the community, and thank you sincerely.  But anything here you want for yourself is yours, no question.”

Sam put a beefy hand on Allistor’s shoulder, tears still threatening to fall from his eyes.  “You’re a good kid.” He sniffed, wiping both eyes with the palm of his hand.  “Now, let’s go get that trailer moved up here.”

“I got that.  You uh… spend a little quality time in here.  I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”  Allistor left Sam in the garage and walked around back.  There was a gravel drive that led around to a wide pad where the trailer was parked.   Allistor removed the blocks from under the wheels and the hitch and placed them carefully at the front of the trailer.  It was a top of the line transport trailer with steel mesh sides and a winch at the front for pulling cars up onto it.  The back end had two small ramps that could be folded out, and a wider ramp in between.  All three could be dropped out for loading things like the ATVs or furniture.

He spent a few minutes admiring the thing, giving Sam some time to collect himself.  As he waited, a rustling sound reached him.  His head jerked around to where he thought the sound had originated.  Across the yard that stretched out about fifty yards behind both the house and garage, the tree line was still dark.  The sun hadn’t risen high enough to clear the trees and shed light through the canopy.

The sound came again, and Allistor unslung the shotgun from his shoulder.  A moment later, a dog shot out from the underbrush, heading toward the house.  Not a canid, an actual Earth dog.  A chocolate lab, Allistor thought.   He called out, then whistled.  The dog faltered midstride as it turned to look at him.

A second later, three canids emerged from the brush, hot on the trail of the dog.  The lab yelped and picked up speed, changing direction toward the garage.  Allistor shouted, “Sam!  Canids!”

He raised his weapon and sighted on the lead canid.  It was twenty yards or so behind the lab, but its superior muscle mass and six legs allowed it to gain on its prey.  Allistor led it a bit and fired.