Analog SFF, July-August 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  I shook my head. “No. If you'd seen her—no. She really is that ill.” I took the fresh instruments and set back to work on Blossom. “And I'll bet Curious got hurt trying to go and see her. Maybe there really was a cave-in sometime, and he couldn't get through."

  “But then why wasn't he upset?"

  I shook my head again, baffled.

  “Do you think Stranger is trapped then, at Ernest's place?” Tegan asked.

  I thought of that underwater labyrinth, which Howard and I had once explored with diving gear. There were tunnels and passages everywhere.

  “I don't think so,” I said. “She may be cut off from Howard's pond, but there ought to be lots of other places she could go. I think she stayed there because she liked Ernest. They seem to understand each other."

  Ernest had blithely mentioned having conversations with Stranger, which I had dismissed out of hand along with his flying saucers. But what if those conversations had been real? Maybe Stranger had requested me by name.

  “Dr. Clayton?"

  I started, nearly dropping my instruments again. It was Kami.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “but there's an emergency here."

  * * * *

  I was even more startled when I found that the emergency was none other than Ernest Davenport himself, sitting on a chair in the exam room with a small cardboard box in his lap. His face was ashen, and he looked ill.

  “What's happened, Ernest?” I asked.

  “It's Tootsie's first litter,” he said hoarsely, looking down at the box. “She wouldn't feed them—kept trying to get away from them—I put her in a box with them so she'd have to take care of them—my fault—"

  “Take it easy, Ernest,” I said. “Here, let me see."

  I took the box from him and looked inside. Three newborn puppies lay on a rumpled towel, mewling and squirming. Two of them looked fine. The third struggled feebly to move, bleeding freely from a completely severed hind leg. I pulled the injured puppy out of the box to examine it more closely, and Tegan gasped, and turned pale as a sheet.

  “Tootsie's a good dog,” Ernest said miserably. “Always has been. But she wouldn't have anything to do with her pups. There were five, you know. She killed the other two. Why would she do that, doc? Why would she turn against them?"

  “It just happens sometimes, Ernest,” I said, putting pressure on the gaping wound. “It was her first litter, you said. She probably just didn't understand what was happening, and didn't know what the puppies were. If this happens again with one of your dogs, you'll want to separate them and bottle-feed the pups. Or at least only put them with the mother to nurse when you can supervise them."

  “But I thought mother dogs always knew what to do,” Ernest said. “All my other dogs did."

  “Most of them do know. But some dogs just aren't cut out to be mothers, Ernest. It isn't Tootsie's fault, but it would really be best not to breed her again.” I stopped, thinking of that freewheeling interbreeding mass of wiener dogs. There was no way Tootsie was going to avoid being bred in that environment. Would Ernest let me spay her? He'd always refused my spay-and-neuter advice before, with much the same polite but dismissive attitude that I expressed toward magnets and aluminum.

  “What about this little one, doc? Has it got any hope?"

  “Maybe,” I answered doubtfully. The external damage was severe, and there might be internal injuries as well. “I'll do what I can, Ernest."

  In the treatment room Tegan assisted me with the injured pup, standing white faced and silent while I tied off blood vessels and sutured the tiny stump of the leg. When we were finished she washed the instruments just as silently, but slowly the color began to come back into her face, and she looked better. As I put together a package of puppy formula and bottles for Ernest to take home, I wondered what had been wrong. Blood did not bother Tegan, and she had dealt with plenty of injured puppies, but something about this case seemed to have disturbed her deeply.

  Ernest looked horrified when I presented him with the bottles and formula. “You have to feed them how often? For how long?” he said, aghast. “I don't know, doc. I don't think I can do it; I really don't.” He was practically shaking with distress.

  I sighed, mentally saying good-bye to sleep for the next week. “Never mind then, Ernest. I'll see to them."

  “Thank you, doc,” Ernest said gratefully. “Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me."

  “You're welcome.” I hesitated, then decided this was too good an opportunity to miss. “It would mean a lot to me if you had Tootsie spayed, Ernest. So this doesn't happen again."

  Ernest usually looked maddeningly blank when I said the S-word, but today he looked thoughtful. “It might be a good idea, at that,” he said. “People are funny about that sort of thing."

  Had Ernest actually said it might be a good idea? I stood gaping at him.

  “See, I was talking to the alien, Miss Stranger, that is,” Ernest went on, “and she said that her and me, we're alike. I couldn't figure it for a while, but then while I was driving here it came to me, and I knew what she meant. Say, doc, could I put up a notice on your bulletin board?"

  “You were talking to Stranger?” I blurted out. “Today?"

  Ernest nodded. Tegan, who had already busied herself feeding the puppies, looked up at this, her eyes wide.

  “How is she?” I said anxiously. “How did she look? How did she act?"

  Ernest considered for a moment. “Happier,” he said at last. “She was worried about her egg, but now she knows it'll be all right."

  “She does? Are you sure? Did you see the egg?"

  “No, no. The egg, it's not for me.” He leaned toward me and said conspiratorially, “It comes from spending too much time around those folks from Los Alamos, I expect. They glowed in the dark, you know."

  “Oh,” I said blankly. “But about Stranger. Shouldn't I come out to check on her tonight?"

  “Oh yes, doc. I was just about to tell you, that's what Miss Stranger said. She asked if you could come by tonight."

  I nodded. “I'll be there. I'd like to bring Tegan too, if that's all right with you."

  “Oh, that's fine,” he said, as casually as if he'd never kept his home a secret. “I'll see you tonight, then. And what about that bulletin board, doc?"

  What the devil did the bulletin board have to do with anything? “Excuse me?"

  “I could put up a notice there, couldn't I?"

  “Oh! Yes, of course. Of course."

  “Thank you, doc. It's good to be prepared, you know. Thanks for minding them pups.” He strode briskly out of the treatment room, and was gone. Tegan, feeding a puppy, thoughtfully watched him go.

  * * * *

  On the drive to Ernest's that night, Tegan said abruptly, “He didn't post a notice, you know."

  “What?"

  “On the bulletin board. Ernest didn't post a notice. Do you suppose he's putting something together now, to post later?"

  “I suppose so,” I said a little blankly.

  “Don't you wonder what he's going to put up there? Maybe he's gotten into magnet sales; he'd be a natural, after all. Or he's starting a UFO experiences club."

  “I didn't really think about it,” I confessed. “I'm still in shock about being allowed to spay Tootsie."

  “It is wonderful, isn't it? I'm so glad he agreed. Just imagine how awful it would be if Tootsie had more puppies.” Tegan's hands tightened in her lap, and she shivered. “What you said was so right, Michael. That she's a good dog, but not cut out to be a mother. It's so simple. It's funny I never thought of things that way before. It explains a lot."

  “Explains what?” I asked.

  “Oh—my family.” Tegan looked down at her lap. “My trip home."

  She certainly had my full attention now. “Did you want to talk about it?” I asked cautiously.

  “Yes, actually. It doesn't seem so hard anymore.” She took a breath. “I went to see my mother, Michael. I hadn't seen her sin
ce I was fifteen. She threw me out of the house then, and told me never to come back."

  “What? But why?"

  “I dyed my hair. Purple, I think it was."

  “She threw you out because of your hair?"

  Tegan nodded. “I suppose it was the last straw for her. Everything I did seemed to upset her, really. I went to stay with my grandmother while I waited for her to cool off. Only she didn't, and I didn't ever go back home."

  “But—what about your father?"

  She shrugged. “I never knew him. Anyway, a while back my grandmother found out that my mother had cancer. She'd had it for a long time, and now she was dying. So I went to see her, to say good-bye. I didn't want to upset her, so I covered up my tattoos, dyed my hair back to its natural color, did everything I could to be normal. But it didn't work. She refused to even see me. I stayed close by, in case she changed her mind, but she never did."

  “You mean she died, without ever speaking to you?"

  Tegan nodded. “I was having a lot of trouble dealing with it. Well, I expect you noticed. But I think I see it now. You said some dogs simply weren't cut out to be mothers. I expect some people aren't either, and it isn't their fault, is it?"

  “No,” I said quietly. “No, it isn't."

  * * * *

  Ernest was waiting for us outside his trailer, and in the moonlight we could see a multitude of little dark shapes lurking in the shadows behind him. I got out of the truck cautiously, cringing back against it when the dogs charged and the gunshots went off. Tegan prudently waited for the furor to die down before exiting the truck.

  “Thanks for coming, doc, Miss Tegan,” Ernest said, holstering his gun and giving us a friendly wave of his flashlight. “How's the little pup doing?"

  “He's holding on so far,” I said, hoping that this was still true. Aaron was taking care of the puppies until I got back, and I was rather nervous about how well he was going to manage. It would really be best if I weren't gone for very long. “We're ready to go, Ernest, if you are."

  Ernest nodded amiably and set out, flashlight in hand and little Topaz at his heel. Tegan and I followed behind them. I'd expected to have to push hard to keep up with Ernest, but tonight he was setting a much slower pace, probably, I imagined, out of deference to my gasping struggle last night. We toiled up the long hill, and at long last crested it and started down the other side. The huge pool lay below us, still and silent. I hurried to the edge, Tegan beside me, and stared out over the water.

  * * * *

  “Where is she?” Tegan whispered.

  “I don't know. Ernest?"

  He was settled behind us on a nearby rock, with Topaz curled up beside him. “She's coming,” he said. “Give her a minute."

  A very short time later the water rippled, and Stranger lifted her head above the surface.

  I almost cried out. She looked terrible, all skin and protruding bones, much worse than she had looked even last night. I splashed into the pool, trying to reach her, but she pulled away from me.

  “Please, Stranger,” I said, holding out a hand. “Let me help you."

  “She says you can't help her, doc,” Ernest said placidly from behind me. “There's nothing wrong with her that needs curing."

  I spun around to face him. “What do you mean? Look at her!"

  He chuckled. “Ah, she knows she looks like hell. But it's not sickness, see? She's old, that's all. There's nothing to be done for that."

  “You don't know that,” I cried, but Tegan was suddenly in the water beside me, reaching out to take my arm.

  “I think he does know,” she said. “Look."

  I looked at Stranger. Her great beautiful eyes were looking past me, her gaze fixed on Ernest, and the fronds around her face rippled in the air as if they were flowing through water. She turned her head slightly then, to look at me, and I felt weak and dizzy.

  “She's really talking to him?” I whispered to Tegan. “He understands her?"

  “Yes,” Tegan breathed.

  Stranger lowered her head beneath the water, then lifted it again. Her egg was cradled within a myriad of fronds.

  “She wants you to take care of the egg,” Ernest said, “because she won't be able to. It's her time, and she's dying. All you got to do is keep the egg wet, till it hatches. It won't be long, just a couple of days. The baby, it's already bonded to you, from the last time you were here."

  Stranger swam up to me and carefully pushed the egg into my arms. Numbly, I took it.

  With a swirl of fronds, Stranger turned and dove beneath the surface. The water rippled behind her, and then was still. She was gone.

  * * * *

  Ernest brought in his notice the next morning, and pinned it to the bulletin board. It was Saturday, always the busiest day of the week since we closed early, and I didn't get a chance to look at it till all the appointments were done.

  TO GIVE AWAY TO GOOD HOMES, A WHOLE BUNCH OF CUTE LITTLE DOGS. CONTACT DR. CLAYTON IF YOU'RE INTERESTED.

  “What does he mean, contact Dr. Clayton?” I sputtered to Tegan. “What have I got to do with this?"

  “Well, Ernest doesn't have a phone, does he?” Tegan said reasonably. “It's not as if anyone can contact him."

  “He could have at least asked me if it was all right to use my name,” I grumbled. “Aren't I doing enough for him already, feeding all those puppies round the clock?"

  Tegan gave me a look and I flushed. All right, so Aaron and Tegan had done almost all the feedings so far. I fully intended to do my share, as soon as I got the time.

  “Seriously, though,” Tegan said, “why in the world is he giving away his dogs? I mean, he adores every one of them."

  I shrugged. “Maybe he's finally realized he has too many? He's getting older, after all. Maybe he's having trouble keeping up with them all."

  “Maybe,” Tegan said doubtfully. “I think it's strange, though. Ernest's changed so much lately."

  “Tegan,” I said. “He really did understand Stranger, didn't he?"

  She shivered. “Yes."

  “Do you suppose he could understand the sea monsters too?"

  Her eyes widened. “I never thought of that! Would Howard let us bring him out to his place, do you think?"

  “He might. I mean, even if Ernest did tell anyone about the sea monsters, nobody would believe him. It would be perfectly safe."

  “Let's call Howard,” Tegan said.

  But as we turned away from the bulletin board, Mrs. Gallegos burst through the door, her poodle Fluffy clutched in her arms.

  “Oh, Dr. Clayton! You're here! Please help me, Fluffy just collapsed."

  I quickly led her into the exam room and she put Fluffy on the table with shaking hands. The little poodle was utterly still, and I didn't even need my stethoscope to know what had happened, but for Mrs. Gallegos’ sake I pulled it out and listened carefully to Fluffy's chest. The little dog's body was still warm and relaxed, but her heart had stopped beating, her lungs had stopped working.

  “I'm sorry, Mrs. Gallegos. I'm afraid she's gone. I don't think she suffered at all, though. She was very old, and it was her time."

  Like Stranger. I saw again, in my mind, the great beautiful head disappearing under the water. Gently, I stroked Fluffy's limp head, and carried on with the painful questions about what Mrs. Gallegos wanted done with her dog's remains. She had finally decided to bury Fluffy at home when Kami knocked hesitantly at the door.

  “I'm sorry, Dr. Clayton,” she said, “but I thought I ought to tell you. The police are here to see you."

  “Oh,” I said nervously. “Um—put them in the other room, why don't you. Mrs. Gallegos, I'll just go and get Fluffy ready to go for you. I'll be right back."

  As I dug through the boxes in the storage closet, looking for one the right size, my mind was spinning through reasons why the police might be here. Had they finally decided to arrest me over the calf parts incident? Donald Miller, as I recalled, had been very much in favor of that scenario. Had
I forgotten to pay one of my many speeding tickets? Trooper Roger Whitman had given me most of them, passing them out with an unseemly and vindictive pleasure whenever he caught me, but none of the police seemed to understand that I would never make it to all my farm calls without speeding. Suddenly another even worse scenario came to mind, but surely the police would not know, or care, about the very large egg currently residing in an aquarium at my apartment?

  I still hadn't found a box the right size. “Here,” Tegan said, materializing in the closet beside me. “I know just the one. It's sad, really. Every time a cardboard box comes through here, I evaluate it for its coffin potential.” She handed me a sturdy vitamin box, which was indeed the perfect size. We carefully settled Fluffy's body inside it.

  Once I had given the box to Mrs. Gallegos, I could think of no more reasons to delay. I took a deep breath and opened the door to the exam room where the police were waiting. One was a stranger to me, but unhappily the other was Roger Whitman.

  “Ah, Dr. Clayton,” Roger Whitman said. “What a change, to see you without giving you a ticket. But I'm afraid I still have some bad news for you."

  “Bad news?” Every scenario I'd thought of was bad news, so this really didn't clarify things very much.

  He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “I understand you're a close acquaintance of Mr. Ernest Davenport?"

  “Yes,” I said cautiously, wondering what Ernest had to do with anything.

  “I'm sorry to have to inform you, but Mr. Davenport has died."

  “Died?” I said blankly. “But he was just here. He put a notice on my bulletin board."

  “He was found on a park bench, about an hour ago,” the other officer put in. “Apparently, he looked quite peaceful, like he'd just drifted off. He was carrying a card that listed you as the contact person in case of emergency. Do you know of any family members we should notify?"

  “No,” I said. “No, I don't think he had anybody.” Except for the fifty little dogs, of course. What was going to become of them? TO GIVE AWAY, A WHOLE BUNCH OF CUTE LITTLE DOGS. Dear God. Had Ernest known he was going to die?