Bear checks the area under the table once more. Nothing there. He watched closely when Glasses Man started touching all those other tasties. Would more be dropped to the floor? Unfortunately no…but he still has his special food cache. Well hidden.
And later, when the humans were busy elsewhere, he will visit his hidey-hole and have a delicious snack!
(From "Coffee, Tea, and Sympathy")
"Well?" Finch asks anxiously, his face permanently creased in worry lines. Reese suspects his employer has been hovering near the library entrance since he and Bear left; the older man is definitely distressed.
"He's empty. Got to be…"
"Poor dog. He looks so unhappy…" Finch crouches before Bear and gently smoothes the hair on the canine's neck, crooning reassurances over and over. Then moving more decisively, he runs his hands on either side of the dog's flanks and under the belly, pressing firmly into the muscles here and there.
"What are you doing, Finch?" Reese asks, as Bear stands stoically, his head down, ears spread, and back hunched - a classic image of a dog in misery. Even the sound of his Alpha's voice doesn't illicit his normal devotion.
"I've been reading up on his symptoms, Mr. Reese. And one thing mentioned frequently is something called bloat. Or torsion. It happens in particular to large breeds and is very dangerous; in fact, it's the second leading killer of dogs after cancer. Fatal if not treated in time…" He completes his examination by pushing gently on Bears abdomen, but evidently satisfied with whatever he found, or didn't, rises awkwardly to his feet again. "I don't feel any tightness - though that doesn't necessarily mean…" his voice trails off.
…
Now that Glasses Man is through touching him, Bear walks carefully to his bed and with a sigh lies down. His tummy is still sore, but not hurting as much as before. He's already thrown up his supper and that much needed walk into the back alley helped relieve most of the unruliness in his bowels. He closes his eyes and lets the sound of the humans talking wash over him.
Maybe he can get some sleep now…
…
"So you don't think it's…what you called it, bloat? But it's got to be something he ingested, coming on this quick," Reese responds. "Food poisoning? Maybe he ate something spoiled."
Finch purses his lips. "Perhaps. Though a dog's stomach acid is far more potent than that of a human and can normally digest what a person can't. Besides, where would he find something like that? But I agree; it's almost as though it's a poison, and..." he glances at the sleeping dog, "… if he were still distressed, I'd run him by the emergency vet, no matter that it would cause some issues with our cover."
He catches the ex-op also staring at Bear. Familiarity with his employee's mannerisms tells him Reese is just as worried as he is about the dog, though the ex-op hides it better. "I wonder if there is something he may have found in the library that's causing this."
"Like rat poison?" Reese asks, then shakes his head. "But we never used any, Finch. That mouser you brought in here months ago did a good job eliminating the vermin."
"But what if it was already here…put here by prior occupants of the building?"
Reese rubs his chin. "Wouldn't the cat have gotten into it too…if it was that appetizing?" An image of Charlie the mouser came to mind, the feline assassin in the library staring Finch down after having dumped a newly killed rodent on the main computer keyboard. He thought his fastidious boss was going to have a heart attack then and there…perhaps not so much because of the poorly departed rat - though the older man definitely abhorred dead things - but that a carcass was desecrating his pristine computer area.
"Well, cat fanciers will tell you that a feline is too intelligent to touch anything poisonous. You know, "Cats rule, dogs drool…"
"If this is a case of poisoning we need to find and identify it before taking him to the vet!" He starts toward the back of the chamber, then stops. "And Finch, what is that smell? I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a field of cloves…!"
"Bel Ami by Hermès," Finch answers. Then at Reese's raised eyebrow, "Cologne. I didn't have any Febreze and Bears…accident…made the atmosphere in here rather unbearable."
"Un-bear-able… A joke, Finch. Not bad…" And Reese quirks a brittle smile at the older man.
"Really. I should have volunteered to take him out and let you clean up the mess! He is your dog...!" Finch huffs, limping to a stack of boxes to peer behind them.
"We share Finch," Reese calls out after him. "For better or for worse… "
…
He's miserable…and not just because of his sore tummy. It's that his body had betrayed him, and going against every instinct, he was forced to eliminate inside the den. His Den! Where he and the pack live! What a shame that brings forth.
He had met his pack mates at the door and had anxiously scanned their expressions, the rancid odor in the library continually bringing his transgression to the forefront of his mind. He worried what their reactions might be. Would he be banned? Thrown out of the den…or worse, banned from the pack altogether? His anxiety made his tummy hurt ever worse, and before he could analyze any of it, he'd had to rush past the humans, down the stairs to the alley behind the building, his Alpha in pursuit.
He had held out for as long as he could, instinctively choosing the most odiferous area he could find quickly so his own scent would not be so noticeable. And that happened to be near the dumpster used by the Chinese Takeout. Once his bowels were emptied he had immediately felt better…other than the soreness the cramping had left behind.
And the anxiety at not knowing how the Alpha would react to this offense.
…
For the next 20 minutes, Reese concentrates on inspecting every inch of his designated search area from the ground to about five feet up. Not that he thinks he'll find anything at that height, but if the dog were to stand on his hind legs he could conceivably reach that high…perhaps take something off a shelf or out of a storage box.
Meanwhile, Finch searches his section near the front of the library, moving aside boxes, broken chairs, and other obstacles. But there is one item he can't move, the old file cabinet tucked away in the corner. And then he realizes that there is no need to move it…
"Mr. Reese…!" He raises his voice to be heard past the book stacks. "You need to see this…"
The ex-op is there is seconds, and leans over his boss who is down on one knee and pulling items out of the six inch space between the cabinet and wall.
"Looks like we found Bears treasure stash," Reese remarks, as Finch hands him a well chewed tennis ball, the squeakless fuzzy toy, a partially gnawed rawhide roll, and a maroon tie in quick succession.
"Your tie, Finch?" Reese grins. "I know you two are a couple, but this is a bit obsessive don't you think?"
Without a word, Finch pulls out a black sock. "Considering the size of that sock, I'd say he's pretty obsessed with you too!"
And then he removes the last item from the cramped space: a battered and torn donut box.
"Oh-oh…not good."
"And that, Mr. Reese, may be the understatement of the year!" Finch responds, pulling apart the box and revealing the chocolate smears within. "Not good indeed."
Reese straightens and automatically holds out his hand to his boss. It's testimony to the geek's level of apprehension that he actually accepts the assistance without thinking; under normal circumstances the older man abhors any acknowledgement of his disabilities and traditionally refuses all physical help.
"How did he get hold of this?" Finch asks absently, inspecting the box more thoroughly as he heads back to the main chamber.
…
Bear lies in his bed and watches the humans return from the bowels of the library. And then notices the items both are holding. The humans have discovered his hidey-hole! His beloved tennis ball…the fur toy… the items he keeps as reminders of his pack. The latter are most important to him.
When the humans disappear for long periods of time, he pulls out the long cloth thing and his Alphas sock to keep him company. Their scent is soothing, reminding him that he's not alone anymore, but a member of a special pack.
He would like retrieve those items now, but getting up takes so much energy. He will lay here and rest until he can approach the humans again…and get his treasures back.
…
"Don't know, Finch. I'd put several days' worth of stale donuts in that box and left it by the coffee pot to take to the dumpster later. When the box disappeared I assumed you'd thrown it away…"
"Focus, John!" His boss was now past apprehension and slipping fast into panic mode. "How many of those chocolate filled donuts do you think were in here?"
"Probably not more than three or four…maybe five...six? They're not very good when stale…" Reese answers in an irritated tone. He feels guilty enough without his boss accusing him of negligence. But he understands Finch's testiness; he's not far from the edge himself. "Would that be enough to make him sick?"
"Dogs don't do well with chocolate, Mr. Reese. They don't metabolize the caffeine and theobromine in chocolate as we do. At best it makes them sick; at worse it can cause seizures and death." Reese flinches at the last word.
Finch glances at Bear, now lying quietly in his bed. "Hopefully the donut shop doesn't use the expensive and more potent chocolate to make its products…"
Reese also focuses his attention on the dog. Bear appears much more relaxed now, not pacing and jittery as he had when the ex-op and Finch first entered the library. The fact that the dogs body had rejected…or rather ejected… the toxins he knows is a good sign.
Though he may never eat another chocolate donut now without remembering how sick Bear had been for those few hours.
...
"Good morning, Finch."
"Likewise Mr. Reese." Finch swivels his chair around to face his employee and accept the hot cup. "So what's my surprise this morning?"
Reese grins. "Sprinkles. And I got the vanilla iced for myself…" He opens the mini box for his boss' inspection.
"No more chocolate?" asks Finch as he plucks out the colorful donut. And pretends he doesn't see Reese stare daggers at him. "Oh, by the way, where did you put that tie we found in Bears stash?"
"On the hallway…ummph…chair," Reese replies around a mouth full of fresh donut. "With the rest of his stuff."
"Well, that's what I thought. But it's gone." Finch looks meaningfully at the chair in question. "All of it."
Both men turn to look at the dog lying peacefully on his bed, ears pricked upright to catch every sound, his eyes bright buttons again and yesterdays drama not even a memory. Bear raises his head and gives his pack members a fond doggy smile.
…
What are the humans saying now?
Well, he can figure that one out easily enough. Glasses Man looked at the chair and then stared at him. His treasures of course…
But he's found another hidey-hole for them now. And he's added one more prize: Alpha's leather glove. It smells so wonderful…!"
.
...End...
.
Note: Bear being sickened from eating chocolate is not total fiction…dogs have been known to die from the effects of the ingredients in chocolate that humans easily metabolize.
Even small amounts of chocolate can cause vomiting and diarrhea in dogs. Truly toxic amounts will induce hyperactivity, tremors, high blood pressure, a rapid heart rate, seizures, respiratory failure, and cardiac arrest.
For a Malinois dog like Bear weighing about 60 lbs, just 3.5 ounces of baking chocolate can cause severe vomiting and diarrhea. :(