Buddy, Shooter, Striker, Zack

The group of four canines, all Golden Retrievers, all related. Their father, Buddy, led the group into a wide section of alleyway, where they would carry out their game. While they'de come across a basketball hoop sooner or later back in these alleyways, Buddy decided to stop here to play a nice game of "tag frisbee," a nice special that he himself had come up with.
Perking his drooping auds, he peered around, and then gave a bark to his three sons. Shooter usually played on Buddy's team, while the other two played on their own. But sometimes they switched it up, with whomever wanted a challenge playing just by themself. Buddy often enjoyed playing that way, since his sons weren't as experienced as he was.
Gaining a slight grin on his maw, the golden canine carried a blue and red streaked fisbee into the center of the domain, and then Shooter stepped to one side, with Striker and Zach on the opposite. Bending his front end down to the hard ground, Buddy suddenly sprung up, sending the colorful frisbee flying off. Right afterwards, he bolted in it's direction, determined to gain another win.

"Get it get it!" Zack howled out as it went zooming toward Striker, who skillfully leapt upward to catch it firmly in his jaws. Once he realized it was securely adjusted, he swung his body around and began running along the far side of the tall wall, eager to get to the goal side.

Meanwhile, Buddy had continued running, chasing after his one son as Striker ran off toward the other end. "Sick 'em, Shooter!" he barked out loudly, giving chase with powerful strides.
Just then, Shooter came shooting out of nowhere, like a bullet from a gun. He quickly gave his brother a tag, and emitted a cry of success as Striker dropped the frisbee. "Got ya!" Shooter yipped, happy with himself. And just before Striker reached the goal, too.

Yes, these weren't your average canines-- they could play sports better than humans could.

Fly

Now here was a sight. The young male, a border collie, came trotting forth his tail waving merrily. Suddenly he saw four others and he yipped and ran towards the nearest one, Striker. He pounced on him, a black and white ball of fluff. He was about a year old now, so he was at that gangily tall age and was all play. "Yeah! We got you!" He said. He had no idea what they were playing, but it involved running and a frisbee. Who could not want a frisbee? He sat down, his tongue lolling revealing where a human had hole punched his tongue. The center part of his nose was missing and his vision wasn't what it should be but he still enjoyed to play. Especially now when human kids weren't around.

Buddy, Shooter, Striker, Zack

Striker was about to turn around when the Border collie suddenly sprang and hopped onto him, sending him down onto the ground. "Who's there?" he barked out quickly, slipping as he wobbled up to his paws again. He spun around, eyes locking onto the unknown canine's frame. "Who're you?" he yipped, tilting his head. His own banner was waving, beating at the air with powerful strides.

This whole ordeal had definitly grabbed the attention of the fellow retrievers, bringing them over to check out what was going on-- especially Buddy. He carried his frame over quickly, auds pricked, though very alert. He sat back on his haunches though, awaiting the other to answer Striker's question before he would ask his own.

The other two strode over briskly, surrounding the Border collie. Both curious, both serious, both wound-up and ready for another game.

Fly

He laughed and batted at Striker with a massive paw. "The names Fly. Whats your name?" His tail wagged to and fro on the ground as he sat, trying to sit perfectly still. Yes, he was hyper active and he was trying his hardest to focus on Striker but the male kept going in and out of focus. The Shadow Lurkers didn't know about Flys disabilities, no one did he kept it well hidden with lots of practice. But there were times when things got worse and he could barely walk without running into something. His eyes turned to Buddy and his body quivered in excitement. "Wow you all look alike!" Which was true. It really didn't help that they were all golden retrievers and related. It messed up poor Fly even more.

Buddy, Shooter, Striker, Zack

All four of the retrievers had no clue what this dog was doing, but evidently, he couldn't stay focused too well.
"Striker," the golden pooch replied with a wide grin of pride. Son of the great Air Bud, the greatest, and only, canine althete in the world. At least to ever play sports, anyway, like Buddy had.

Buddy caught sight of his son's prideful look, and felt his spirits rise. "Alike, indeed," he began, glancing at everyone, "but different in so many ways." he finished, drawing in a deep breath.

"I'm Shooter," another canine piped up quickly, wagging his own tail. This dog's activeness was penetrating Shooter, and now he could feel his bones shiver with excitement.
"And I'm Zack." the last one finally pitched in, all quite proud of their unique heritage. Being Buddy's sons gave them the top advantage from everybody else. They had learned the basics of sports at a very young age, and were already beginning to play as well as their father. Lucky them, of course.

Fly

He grinned at them all. He had never seen golden retrievers, the closet he had ever gotten was a golden retriever wolf cross named....Named....Uh.....Crap what was his name? Jake! Thats it his name was Jake, another member of the Lurkers. "I'm Fly." Wait, had he already said that? Dammit! He couldn't remember. He spun around suddenly and leaped ontop of a garbage can, balancing on top of it perfectly-well for a moment. Suddenly the grey can tipped and the young dog yelped as both it and he fell to the ground with a loud crash. With a sheepish grin he watched them again. "So whatcha doin?" Play it cool, nothing happened. Right? RIGHT?!?!

,hr> Buddy, Shooter, Striker, Zack

Striker tilted his head at the dog's reply, wondering why he said his name again. Strange... But it wasn't his place to ask. He simply sat there, awaiting his turn to speak.

Buddy sat there cooly, with a small grin forming on his doggish lips. "You already said that... But no worries--" "We were playin' tag frisbee!" Shooter suddenly piped up, cutting Buddy off from finishing the rest of his sentence.
Buddy gave his son a look but shook his head. Oh well. "Are you okay?" he asked sheepishly, finally remembering that the wound-up canine had fallen off of the trash can.

Zack was now standing, tail wagging powerfully in the air. So much excitement coursed through his veins, but he was slightly taken aback as Fly landed on the ground, along with the can, that had made a loud crashing noise. He quickly began looking around, realizing that the loud noise could very well attract unwanted attention-- in particular, humans! They had all heard of the ones around here, and most stories didn't sound too nice.