ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2010-01-29 09:40 am
ratherastory) wrote2010-01-29 09:40 am
Entry tags:
Take Me Home —Part 17
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,667 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 16
One more outsider POV, and next chapter is All About Dean, for those of you who've been patiently waiting. After this there will be a lot more back-and-forth.
*****
In spite of Mallory's optimism, it's kind of touch-and-go with Sam for a while. She spends the night forcing fluids into him with an IV drip, and quickly finds that she has to resort to a sedative in spite of the pneumonia, because he keeps wriggling and trying to jump down first from the exam table and then away from the x-ray machine. Even sedated, he keeps looking first at her, then at the door, as though he has somewhere pressing to be and doesn't really have time to deal with this injury nonsense, occasionally whining at her as though asking her to let him out again.
“Sorry, buddy. We have to get you all fixed up before you can go anywhere.”
His tail thumps once, but she feels oddly guilty when his big hazel eyes land on her with a look that's oddly reproachful. They're an odd colour for a dog of his breed and colouring, but expressive, limpid and full of trust and affection.
She discovers a myriad of hidden cuts and lacerations under the thick black coat, shaves away the fur around each one, meticulously cleans them out and stitches up the worst ones. The foreleg has a hairline fracture, the x-rays reveal that but no other visible internal injuries, which is a mercy. She really didn't want to have to euthanize Sammy, as she's started thinking of him, and too much internal bleeding would have made that the more merciful option. She cleans out the pads of Sammy's feet, smears antibiotic ointment on them, wraps up the broken leg with a lightweight cast, and then busies herself gently brushing the burrs, matts and tangles out of the thick coat, cutting away at it mercilessly with a pair of scissors where the snarls are too much for the brush. By the time she's done, he's looking a hundred times better, the coat smooth and silky to the touch.
At 6am Jenny brings her a very large mug of black coffee, just as she's finishing up.
“I have never loved you more than at this moment,” Mallory thinks she might stick her entire head in the mug if she could.
Jenny has brushed her hair at this point, and in spite of her interrupted night of sleep looks incredibly hot in her dressing gown, a dishcloth hanging over one shoulder. Mallory knows she looks like roadkill after being up all night, but Jenny slides an arm around her waist as though she's irresistible. “You're falling for this one, aren't you? I recognize the look,” she says with an affectionate roll of her eyes. “Should I worry that you're going to replace me?”
“Sammy's a boy, so you're safe.”
“Eww! That's so wrong!” Jenny pulls the dishcloth from her shoulder and snaps it at her.
“Okay, it came out sounding worse than what I meant. Sue me, I've been up all night caring for a sick dog,” she sticks her tongue out at Jenny, then buries her nose in her coffee mug, inhaling the rich aroma with gratitude approaching bliss.
“You can't keep every dog you rescue, honey.”
She sighs. “I know. It's just... Sammy's special, you know? They're not all special.” She reaches out to pet him, and he struggles upright, shoves a wet nose into the palm of her hand. “Someone has to be looking for him: no way this is an abused dog. He's way too sociable. He's gotta be lost.”
“So how did he get all the way out here?”
“Good question. It's like we're living 'The Incredible Journey' or something. I think he's been walking a hell of a long way.”
“Living what?”
“Didn't you read as a kid? You know, the story about the two dogs and the cat that made their way home through the Canadian wilderness?”
Jenny rolls her eyes. “Canada? No. Wasn't there a movie about that with Michael J. Fox in the nineties? The cat was a total bitch.”
“You're a heathen. I don't know why I put up with you.”
“It must be the barn-burning sex,” Jenny nuzzles her neck, and she laughs.
“That must be it,” she agrees. “Stop that, I'm exhausted and as much fun as it would be to let you seduce me, I'm not quite done with Sam.”
“Far be it for me to interfere with veterinary medicine in progress. So you want to keep him? It's okay if you do. He's a good dog,” Jenny smiles as Sam's tail thumps on the table again in response to the familiar words, “and he deserves a good break, after coming all this way.” She reaches out to pat the dog, and gets a lick and a happy grin for her efforts. “Wow, he really is friendly.”
Mallory bites her lip, feeling her eyes prick for no reason she can figure out. “Yeah,” she says sadly. “I just don't know if he wants to be kept.”
“First things first,” Jenny gives her a reassuring squeeze. “Make sure he doesn't belong to anyone, so you're not disappointed.”
“I'll check with the local pounds and the sheriff's office, see if anyone has reported a lost dog matching Sam's description. Are you sure you're okay with keeping him if no one claims him? He's a big dog, and young, too. It means we'll have him a good long time. Ten years, minimum, probably closer to fifteen.”
“It's fine. I wouldn't have shacked up with a veterinarian if I didn't think we'd end up with more pets than we know what to do with. Why don't you go shower —I can keep an eye on the doggie for that long, I'm sure. Then you can make me those blueberry pancakes you promised.”
“Memory of an elephant,” Mallory grumbles, but agrees anyway. There's nothing to do now but keep Sam comfortable until he starts to heal. She and Jenny load him into one of the roomy cages she keeps in the room for boarding and for small animals that need to stay at the surgery overnight or longer, and after making short work of a bowl of water, Sam puts his head down on his uninjured paw, the other leg sticking out incongruously, encased in its blue cast, and falls asleep with a contented sigh.
The first inquiries don't turn up any information on Sam. He hasn't been reported to local authorities, and inquiries on internet forums don't turn up anything either, which is surprising, given that he's definitely a show-quality dog. After a few days of food, rest and adequate hydration, she's sure that he's purebred, and a beautiful specimen to boot. He won't be able to qualify for shows now, not with all the abuse he's sustained, but he'll definitely be wanted for breeding. Unless the colour of his eyes disqualifies him, but she's pretty sure it won't. None of the Groenendael websites mention a “Sam,” though, and so she decides that, however unlikely it is, he's never been properly registered. It could happen. He could also come from a more disreputable breeder, she theorizes, but in that case she's pretty sure she doesn't want to track them down.
For a couple of weeks she allows herself to become complacent. Sam improves steadily, and is pleased as punch when she removes the cast, limping around the house on the weakened limb with unabashed enthusiasm. He immediately lays claim to the foot of their bed, which annoys her and makes Jenny laugh uproariously. He and Jenny become thick as thieves in a conspiracy to make him the most spoiled dog in the world, and her girlfriend is all too happy to sneak him unhealthy food under the table, let him sleep on the sofa, and generally spoil him rotten. Sam is a sweet, affectionate dog, doesn't get underfoot, and is surprisingly easy to train, making her suspect that he's either of above-average intelligence, or someone has already trained him in the past, and he quickly becomes a fixture in the clinic, a favourite with the children who come in with their parents and sick pets. He's happy to submit to their pats, to 'shake hands' and 'roll over' and perform a myriad of little tricks to make them laugh, all the while giving them his wide, easy doggy grin.
All in all, it's ideal, and it's all too easy to forget her feeling from that first night, that Sam isn't really here for the long run. After all, feelings are irrational, and it's not like dogs have much by way of long-term motivations. Give him a good home here, with plenty of food and love, and he'll forget he was ever trying to get somewhere else, that he had someone else in his life to love.
Still, she's not surprised to get up one morning to find the foot of the bed abandoned, the door to the kitchen open, and Sam nowhere to be found. Once she's spent half the morning out looking for him, she gives into the inevitable, and returns home to cry in her girlfriend's arms. Jenny strokes her hair.
“I'm sorry, babe. I know you loved him.”
“He wasn't mine, though. He never was, and I knew it, and I just didn't want to believe it,” she says finally, scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve cuff.
“I know you don't want to hear it right now, but we can get another dog, eventually. One who'll be all yours. Or how about a cat? Cats are nice, and they walk themselves. Plus, way less drool.”
She smiles through her tears. “Yeah. A cat. That'd be good.”
Jenny kisses her. “Cat it is. We'll call it Schroedinger,” she decides, and they both laugh.
After that, losing Sam seems just a little bit more bearable.
*****
Part 18
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,667 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 16
One more outsider POV, and next chapter is All About Dean, for those of you who've been patiently waiting. After this there will be a lot more back-and-forth.
In spite of Mallory's optimism, it's kind of touch-and-go with Sam for a while. She spends the night forcing fluids into him with an IV drip, and quickly finds that she has to resort to a sedative in spite of the pneumonia, because he keeps wriggling and trying to jump down first from the exam table and then away from the x-ray machine. Even sedated, he keeps looking first at her, then at the door, as though he has somewhere pressing to be and doesn't really have time to deal with this injury nonsense, occasionally whining at her as though asking her to let him out again.
“Sorry, buddy. We have to get you all fixed up before you can go anywhere.”
His tail thumps once, but she feels oddly guilty when his big hazel eyes land on her with a look that's oddly reproachful. They're an odd colour for a dog of his breed and colouring, but expressive, limpid and full of trust and affection.
She discovers a myriad of hidden cuts and lacerations under the thick black coat, shaves away the fur around each one, meticulously cleans them out and stitches up the worst ones. The foreleg has a hairline fracture, the x-rays reveal that but no other visible internal injuries, which is a mercy. She really didn't want to have to euthanize Sammy, as she's started thinking of him, and too much internal bleeding would have made that the more merciful option. She cleans out the pads of Sammy's feet, smears antibiotic ointment on them, wraps up the broken leg with a lightweight cast, and then busies herself gently brushing the burrs, matts and tangles out of the thick coat, cutting away at it mercilessly with a pair of scissors where the snarls are too much for the brush. By the time she's done, he's looking a hundred times better, the coat smooth and silky to the touch.
At 6am Jenny brings her a very large mug of black coffee, just as she's finishing up.
“I have never loved you more than at this moment,” Mallory thinks she might stick her entire head in the mug if she could.
Jenny has brushed her hair at this point, and in spite of her interrupted night of sleep looks incredibly hot in her dressing gown, a dishcloth hanging over one shoulder. Mallory knows she looks like roadkill after being up all night, but Jenny slides an arm around her waist as though she's irresistible. “You're falling for this one, aren't you? I recognize the look,” she says with an affectionate roll of her eyes. “Should I worry that you're going to replace me?”
“Sammy's a boy, so you're safe.”
“Eww! That's so wrong!” Jenny pulls the dishcloth from her shoulder and snaps it at her.
“Okay, it came out sounding worse than what I meant. Sue me, I've been up all night caring for a sick dog,” she sticks her tongue out at Jenny, then buries her nose in her coffee mug, inhaling the rich aroma with gratitude approaching bliss.
“You can't keep every dog you rescue, honey.”
She sighs. “I know. It's just... Sammy's special, you know? They're not all special.” She reaches out to pet him, and he struggles upright, shoves a wet nose into the palm of her hand. “Someone has to be looking for him: no way this is an abused dog. He's way too sociable. He's gotta be lost.”
“So how did he get all the way out here?”
“Good question. It's like we're living 'The Incredible Journey' or something. I think he's been walking a hell of a long way.”
“Living what?”
“Didn't you read as a kid? You know, the story about the two dogs and the cat that made their way home through the Canadian wilderness?”
Jenny rolls her eyes. “Canada? No. Wasn't there a movie about that with Michael J. Fox in the nineties? The cat was a total bitch.”
“You're a heathen. I don't know why I put up with you.”
“It must be the barn-burning sex,” Jenny nuzzles her neck, and she laughs.
“That must be it,” she agrees. “Stop that, I'm exhausted and as much fun as it would be to let you seduce me, I'm not quite done with Sam.”
“Far be it for me to interfere with veterinary medicine in progress. So you want to keep him? It's okay if you do. He's a good dog,” Jenny smiles as Sam's tail thumps on the table again in response to the familiar words, “and he deserves a good break, after coming all this way.” She reaches out to pat the dog, and gets a lick and a happy grin for her efforts. “Wow, he really is friendly.”
Mallory bites her lip, feeling her eyes prick for no reason she can figure out. “Yeah,” she says sadly. “I just don't know if he wants to be kept.”
“First things first,” Jenny gives her a reassuring squeeze. “Make sure he doesn't belong to anyone, so you're not disappointed.”
“I'll check with the local pounds and the sheriff's office, see if anyone has reported a lost dog matching Sam's description. Are you sure you're okay with keeping him if no one claims him? He's a big dog, and young, too. It means we'll have him a good long time. Ten years, minimum, probably closer to fifteen.”
“It's fine. I wouldn't have shacked up with a veterinarian if I didn't think we'd end up with more pets than we know what to do with. Why don't you go shower —I can keep an eye on the doggie for that long, I'm sure. Then you can make me those blueberry pancakes you promised.”
“Memory of an elephant,” Mallory grumbles, but agrees anyway. There's nothing to do now but keep Sam comfortable until he starts to heal. She and Jenny load him into one of the roomy cages she keeps in the room for boarding and for small animals that need to stay at the surgery overnight or longer, and after making short work of a bowl of water, Sam puts his head down on his uninjured paw, the other leg sticking out incongruously, encased in its blue cast, and falls asleep with a contented sigh.
The first inquiries don't turn up any information on Sam. He hasn't been reported to local authorities, and inquiries on internet forums don't turn up anything either, which is surprising, given that he's definitely a show-quality dog. After a few days of food, rest and adequate hydration, she's sure that he's purebred, and a beautiful specimen to boot. He won't be able to qualify for shows now, not with all the abuse he's sustained, but he'll definitely be wanted for breeding. Unless the colour of his eyes disqualifies him, but she's pretty sure it won't. None of the Groenendael websites mention a “Sam,” though, and so she decides that, however unlikely it is, he's never been properly registered. It could happen. He could also come from a more disreputable breeder, she theorizes, but in that case she's pretty sure she doesn't want to track them down.
For a couple of weeks she allows herself to become complacent. Sam improves steadily, and is pleased as punch when she removes the cast, limping around the house on the weakened limb with unabashed enthusiasm. He immediately lays claim to the foot of their bed, which annoys her and makes Jenny laugh uproariously. He and Jenny become thick as thieves in a conspiracy to make him the most spoiled dog in the world, and her girlfriend is all too happy to sneak him unhealthy food under the table, let him sleep on the sofa, and generally spoil him rotten. Sam is a sweet, affectionate dog, doesn't get underfoot, and is surprisingly easy to train, making her suspect that he's either of above-average intelligence, or someone has already trained him in the past, and he quickly becomes a fixture in the clinic, a favourite with the children who come in with their parents and sick pets. He's happy to submit to their pats, to 'shake hands' and 'roll over' and perform a myriad of little tricks to make them laugh, all the while giving them his wide, easy doggy grin.
All in all, it's ideal, and it's all too easy to forget her feeling from that first night, that Sam isn't really here for the long run. After all, feelings are irrational, and it's not like dogs have much by way of long-term motivations. Give him a good home here, with plenty of food and love, and he'll forget he was ever trying to get somewhere else, that he had someone else in his life to love.
Still, she's not surprised to get up one morning to find the foot of the bed abandoned, the door to the kitchen open, and Sam nowhere to be found. Once she's spent half the morning out looking for him, she gives into the inevitable, and returns home to cry in her girlfriend's arms. Jenny strokes her hair.
“I'm sorry, babe. I know you loved him.”
“He wasn't mine, though. He never was, and I knew it, and I just didn't want to believe it,” she says finally, scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve cuff.
“I know you don't want to hear it right now, but we can get another dog, eventually. One who'll be all yours. Or how about a cat? Cats are nice, and they walk themselves. Plus, way less drool.”
She smiles through her tears. “Yeah. A cat. That'd be good.”
Jenny kisses her. “Cat it is. We'll call it Schroedinger,” she decides, and they both laugh.
After that, losing Sam seems just a little bit more bearable.
Part 18
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I'm so flattered that you're enjoying this story enough to re-read it! *blushes madly*
I love reading Lassie Come-Home or The Incredible Journey on lazy Sundays with a big mug of tea. :)