From: "sister polyhymnia" Date: Mon, 01 Sep 2003 14:46:33 -0700 Subject: Dog Days Source: direct TITLE: Dog Days AUTHOR: polyhymnia ADDRESS: polyhymnia999@hotmail.com FEEDBACK: Anytime. CATEGORY: Queequeg!Fic; QPOV, H DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer, Ephemeral; anywhere else please ask RATING: G SPOILER WARNING: Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose SUMMARY: Doggie did a bad bad thing DISCLAIMER: I hereby disclaim, disavow, disinherit, disinvest and distance myself from any ownership of the characters Scully and Queequeg. They are CC's, and my using them is a mark of my admiration for him and for the actors who brought them to life, nothing more. DEDICATION: To bcfan and sampiper, for reminding me this week of the delights of QueequegFic. And to Si-Koo, the bag o' bark across the street, for reminding me of compassion for those whose only language is a very loud barking noise at 5am. *************************** Dog Days, by polyhymnia *************************** There were times when, despite the neverending grind and the constant ego-bashing, all his long days of training and field duty seemed to be worth every moment. He had toughened up, developing from an undisciplined young pup into a seasoned veteran. He had realized abilities he had never suspected, and had the good fortune now to be employed in a job where he was expected to use them. Praise was readily forthcoming when he succeeded and punishment rarely severe when it did come, which was not often. He enjoyed his job and put too much effort into it to mess up. At this moment, he was busy following a direct order, and his chest puffed with pride at the knowledge that he was the only one entrusted with such an important task. "Stay. *Guard*." And so he was staying and guarding with all his eight pounds of might. Eyes locked on the door, he pulled his backbone up and sat straighter, ears at the ready. It was almost time for Lap's return. You had to be alert every moment. You never knew when-- *click* The door's lock slid slowly back, and the handle turned. He quickly assessed the situation. Lap always threw the door wide open and immediately kicked her hooves away, chanting sacred intonations as she did so. This person was entering very quietly and had not even opened the door yet. This could not be Lap. This could only be-- Yipe! He dove behind the sofa, out of the line of sight of the intruder as the door opened wider. A male Lap came through the door, followed by another. Their fur was black, and unlike his own Lap, they had fur all over their faces instead of pale skin. Only their eyes showed. They moved silently, and one of them held out a short metal Fetch with a dull sheen. The other had a flat, sharp Fetch tucked into his belt. As he watched, trembling, the first Lap relaxed and said, "Dude, nobody's home." "Get the bedroom." The second Lap replied. "I'll stay out here and watch." At the word "Stay", his heart sank as he remembered his duty. He had failed in staying and guarding, and would be punished most severely. Perhaps even--his chin wobbled miserably at the prospect--going without his nightly sacramental spoonful of Ben & Jerry's. Lap had carefully explained its Divine properties to him, and he was a willing convert. How would he ever get to the Great Kennel without it? Cowering behind the big sofa, he considered his options: A: Stay hidden and possibly survive. Grovel later. B: Come out and make friends C: Kill the thugs and leave their carcasses as a gift for Lap He remembered that Lap had enjoyed the last carcass he had presented her so much that she had made him her own personal guard. How wonderful to present her with two more, and such fine, fit ones! Of course, he had to stop shaking and get his paws under him first. He had to make a plan and stick to it. He wasn't a ridiculously small and cute Pomeranian for nothing. *************************** At last it was done. He dragged his weary self back into the apartment, surveyed his gift, and thought happily that all was well. Venturing into Lap's Sacred Chamber, he climbed on top of the pile of Lap's discarded skins, proof positive of her Divinity, and allowed himself the humble service of guarding them. *************************** Dana had had better days. Mulder's wronged-innocent act was driving her insane, Skinner had actually growled at her, they were down to decaf by the time she got a coffee break, and she had come home to a ransacked apartment with two injured intruders in it. At least her dog still loved her. He frisked happily on her lap as she sat on the couch, sipping a cup of tea the policewoman had thoughtfully made for her. "So let me get this straight," Detective Peters said, scratching under her hatband with the end of her pencil. She glanced down at her notebook. "You say you found John Doe and Richard Roe huddled together crying in pain, unable to walk because their Achilles' tendons had been bitten through?" "Yes, that's about it." "And it was a giant hairy armadillo in battle gear that attacked them, Dr. Scully?" Peters continued, staring suspiciously into her own cup of tea before raising her eyes to Dana's once more. "I don't know what more to tell you, Detective. That's what they said. Before they begged me to call 911." "Ma'am, I have to ask...could your dog act as a witness?" "Him? Oh, he was asleep in my laundry hamper the whole time." _____________________________________ "My darling girl, when are you going to understand that "normal" is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage." --Aunt Frances Owens, "Practical Magic" THE TRUTH IS STILL OUT THERE: http://www.geocities.com/polyhymnia999