"Dad, I don't want to talk." Henry knew it was a lame thing to say, but he couldn't think of anything else.
"No, sit down, Junior." Dr. Jones motioned towards the extra chair in his office. Indy dejectedly removed a few books from the chair before sitting.
"Now, why don't you want to go?" Dr. Jones took off his glasses and set them down on the desk, next to his pipe.
"I want to stay home." Henry stated flatly, removing his fedora and twirling it in his hands.
"That doesn't answer my question, Junior."
"Indy's really sick. I don't want to leave him alone." Henry sighed. This was a pathetic conversation. He knew his dad would think the same, so why was he bothering to tell him why he was worried?
"You want to delay our trip to Egypt indefinitely, because of a dog?"
Saw that response coming from a mile away.
"Just until he's better." Henry said stubbornly.
"Son, has it ever occurred to you that he might not get better?" Dr. Jones picked up his pipe and set about lighting it.
Henry didn't reply verbally, but he offered his father a defiant scowl.
"Henry, we both know that Indiana is getting old." Dr. Jones said carefully. "He won't live forever. You'll have to get used to that fact eventually."
"I'm not ready yet, Dad." Henry growled. "He's just sick. He's not sick."
Dr. Jones took a thoughtful breath from his pipe. "We'll see."
"Mr. Anderson can't take care of him this time." Henry begged.
"Why in Heaven's name not?" Dr. Jones glared at his son.
"He doesn't know how to!"
"Son. He's taken care of Indiana every time we've been away from home for the last five years. What makes this time any different?" Dr. Jones put his glasses back on and began reading from the book he'd set aside when Henry had entered the office.
"Indy's sick, Dad. He needs special treatment."
"Because, of course, you are a veterinarian." Dr. Jones murmured, not looking up.
"This is exactly what you did with Mom!" Henry stood, walking to the door. "I don't know if you're in denial or what, but Indy's going to die if we leave him here."
That got Dr. Jones's attention. He looked up over his glasses. "Don't you speak to me that way, Junior."
Henry was about to shoot back a nasty retort, but he bit his tongue. This wasn't helping the dog.
"Indiana is thirteen years old, Henry." Dr. Jones stated coldly. "He is not a young dog any more."
"Right, so we can't risk leaving him alone." Henry stormed from the office and would have slammed the door had he not heard his father's next words,
"Don't you do it!"
Henry walked through the dimly lit hallway towards the kitchen where he could hear the family dog whining softly to himself.
"Easy, boy." Henry crouched down beside the mutt, running his teenaged hands through the dog's matted fur. Indy let out another low whimper before lifting his old head to look at Henry through blurred eyes.
Henry realized his own vision was becoming blurred and he hastily wiped the fast-coming tears from his eyes, though a few fell onto the aged dog's coat.
"Good boy, Indy. Good boy." Henry gave the dog a soft pat on his side before standing to get a bowl of water for his patient. "Good dog." He repeated every time the animal voiced his pain.
Henry returned to the dog's side with a generous helping of water. "I have to pack now." He whispered, ruffling the dog's fur. "Get well."
But even as Henry left the kitchen, he knew that Indiana was not going to get well. He was the one who had been in denial, not his father. Indiana wasn't sick. He was sick.