Long Island was completely awakened by the scolding in the early morning.
Most of the Buddy and the front United States icon Soldier Boy, separated by the black wrought iron gate, were noisy.
One is an old gangster with a bad temper who has lived for almost a hundred years, and the other is a mutant dog who has awakened super intelligence and has an unforgiving mouth.
One person and one dog were spitting in the snow, attacking each other's most unspeakable sore spots, and no one was willing to take a step back.
Just when Soldier Boy was racking his brains and preparing to continue typing out a few curse words Russia learned from World War II, the thick wooden door of the villa was pushed open from the inside.
Lynn walked out slowly wearing a gray housecoat and holding a wooden spatula dipped in butter.
He glanced at Soldier Boy, who looked like a homeless man outside the door, and then looked down at Buddy, who was grinning and his hair was standing on end, with a helpless smile on his face.
"Okay Buddy, don't yell at the door, it won't disturb the neighbors."
Lynn walked down the steps and patted Big Golden Retriever on the head, "Go back and wash your paws. Your rice bowl is already filled with beef and two freshly cooked omelettes."
When I heard the fried egg Wagyu meat, Buddy's angry dog face turned cloudy and clear in an instant.
It triumphantly raised its chin at Soldier Boy outside the door, its eyes full of mockery of a winner.
The meaning couldn't be more obvious: Look, I have a hot breakfast to eat, so you can just drink the northwest wind outside.
Buddy swung his tail, walked back into the house with his head held high and his chest held high with a step that he didn't recognize.
Outside the gate, Soldier Boy looked at the dead dog's leaving figure and was so angry that his teeth itched. But then, the smell of bacon and fried eggs wafting out from the half-open door of the villa directly made his stomach let out an earth-shattering roar.
Lynn walked to Iron Gate and looked at the old guy through the railing.
The tattered windbreaker I picked up from nowhere was covered in dirt, and my bare legs turned purple from the cold wind that was more than ten degrees below zero. My hair was as messy as a bird's nest, and there was an obvious dark blue under my eyes.
"It seems that the accommodation conditions in the sewer are average and they didn't provide you with any decent breakfast."
Lynn's tone was calm, not sarcastic, just stating a fact.
Soldier Boy blushed and subconsciously wanted to puff up his chest and retort a few words to maintain the dignity of a tough guy.
But the overbearing smell of bacon penetrated his nose, causing him to swallow the harsh words that came to his lips.
"I... I was just passing by."
Soldier Boy stammered a lame excuse, but glanced into the room uncontrollably, "I think this door is quite strong, so I stopped and leaned against it."
Lynn did not expose his ridiculous self-esteem.
He casually pressed the combination lock next to the door.
With a soft sound, the wrought iron door that Soldier Boy dared not dismantle just now, no matter how hard he tried, slowly opened to both sides.
Soldier Boy was stunned, and he looked at Lynn in disbelief.
He thought the other party would take the opportunity to humiliate him severely, or simply shut him out, but he didn't expect the door to open so easily.
Before he could take a step inside, Lynn turned to look at John who was clearing snow not far away.
"John, go to the utility room and get another snow shovel."
John stopped moving. Although he was a little reluctant, he still walked to the utility room obediently, walked out with a spare wide-mouth snow shovel, and threw it at Soldier Boy's feet with an expressionless face.
The shovel hit the snow with a muffled sound.
Lynn pointed to the uncleared driveway on the left side of the yard and raised his chin at Soldier Boy.
"Since you have the strength to quarrel with the dog at the door, it means you are not hungry enough to walk. There are no idlers here. Go and clean up the driveway on the left, and sweep away the remaining snow on the edge of Lawn."
Lynn turned around and walked into the house while explaining without looking back.
"When you're done, go to the sink at the back door and wash your hands clean. Also, throw the rag under your windbreaker into the trash can. There are clean old clothes on the shelf at the back door. Find one to change into. When you're done, go into the kitchen. There's your breakfast on the table."
The door of the villa was closed, blocking the cold outside into the yard again.
Soldier Boy stood blankly in the snow, looking at the red plastic snow shovel at his feet.
He has held a gun, held a shield, and lifted a tank in his life, but he has never done the housework of clearing the snow in the yard.
In his day, this kind of work was usually done by paying poor boys from the neighborhood.
But for some reason, after listening to Lynn's unceremonious arrangement just now, the tense mood full of vigilance and hostility in his heart miraculously relaxed.
There is no alms from superiors, and no sarcastic and sinister ridicule.
It's a very pure exchange: work, and then eat.
This made him feel very at ease and at least preserved his poor self-esteem.
Soldier Boy took a deep breath and bent down to pick up the snow shovel.
He walked to the left lane, followed John's example, and began to push the snow to the side of the road one by one.
The yard became quiet, and the only sound that could be heard was the rustling of two snow shovels on the concrete floor.
Two people with blond hair and blue eyes, one large and one small, were cleaning their own area a few meters apart.
John works very quickly, and his power is controlled very accurately. Each shovel can bring up a large amount of snow, and it will never damage the road below.
Soldier Boy was a little uncomfortable at first, and I almost crushed the plastic handle of the snow shovel.
But he quickly adjusted his intensity and repeated the action of pushing the snow.
The cold wind blew on my face, but my body gradually warmed up due to labor.
Soldier Boy turned his head and secretly glanced at the nine-year-old boy next to him who was also immersed in work.
He suddenly felt that this feeling was wonderful, there was no spotlight, no fighting, and no intrigues.
Just clearing snow in a quiet yard in the early morning after it snows.
It took about twenty minutes to clear the snow from both lanes.
John knocked the snow shovel in his hand, shook off the remaining snow, then turned and walked towards the back door of the villa.
Seeing this, Soldier Boy quickly imitated his example, leaning the snow shovel against the wall, following closely behind the little figure, stepping on the swept road, and walked together towards Backyard, where the smell of food was wafting.