I feel like Hobbits would be that one race that unknowingly domesticates some wargs or something. Like a ranger comes along one day and just sees one of the farmers petting the warg they found and won over with good food and just ‘that’s a warg…’ ‘no no his name is Heather, he’s just a big ol softie’ ‘no that is literally a warg wtf’ ‘is he? Well he’s good at guarding the crops so…’ Heather just sits there all scruffy and tongue lolling.

determamfidd:

holy HECK ems…! This is so perfect, this is amazing. 

I need this. I need Ole Gammer Greenhand and her big happy lollopy puddle of a warg doggo, Heather. 

With his big sad eyes whenever she is cooking, so that he gets the scraps. “Bottomless pit… all right, here you are. I spoil you rotten, y’know that?”

 And his tendency to try and curl up on her tiny lap, even though he can only fit his head and maaaaaaybe his front paws on there. “Ooof! Oh, you big goof. All right, who wants an ear-scratch? Whosagoodboy? Whoosagooboyden! YOU ARE!”

And his goofy, tongue-lolling grin after he has done a good job chasing the birds off the seedlings. “That’s a boy! Good job, Heather.”

And oh yes FINE, sure – and his teeth that can crack an ox’s thighbone in one bite. “Oh, that’s just the dog, that noise – pay it no mind me dears.”

and the ranger sees him and stares.

And Gammer Greenhand notices where the ranger is looking, and waves a tiny, wrinkled hand. “That’s just Heather, the great lummox. He’s a big soft lump, but I keep him for the company, you know? It’s nice t’ have someone to talk to, at my age.”