NCIS is property of CBS and its creators
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
NCIS agent Timothy McGee was out walking his German Shepherd, Jethro, when Jethro abruptly stopped. "What is it, boy?"
Jethro whined and began pulling towards the nearby alley. Tim tugged firmly on the leash. "No, Jethro, you can't go off chasing cats."
Jethro refused to budge. Tim peered down the alley. He didn't see any cats. He didn't see anything. It was a late February afternoon, and the alley was already shadowed in darkness. The streetlight didn't penetrate.
Tim tugged the leash again. "C'mon, Jethro, let's go."
Still the dog refused to budge. Tim tugged a third time in vain. Jethro wasn't usually this stubborn. Sure, he'd go off after cats, but usually a firm tug from Tim would get him back on track. Maybe he sensed something. He was, after all, a highly trained military dog. Wishing he had his gun, Tim peered into the alley again. Was that movement over by the dumpster.
Tim pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and held it ready to dial before moving cautiously into the alley. Jethro, however, threw caution to the wind, bounding into the alley and nosing at a pile of newspapers.
"Jethro, leave it!" The dog ignored him, continuing to sniff at the papers. Suddenly, they shifted, and a head poked out. Jethro gave a joyful bark, and the head gave a little whimper back.
Tim moved closer until he could make out the shape of a dog, a Boston terrier by the look of it, though its ears had been cropped and its muzzle was elongated, so it looked like a little pit bull in a tuxedo. It saw him and moved forward. It stopped a few feet from him and rolled onto its back, exposing its belly. Tim got the feeling, though, that it wasn't so much in submission as it was asking for a belly rub.
Tim ignored it—her, he could now see—and impatiently tugged the leash. "Jethro, let's go, now!"
Instead, Jethro went up to the dog and licked her belly. Tim expected her to react, but she just wriggled.
Tim was highly annoyed. This wasn't like Jethro. "Jethro, let's go," he said firmly, putting as much force as he could into the command.
Jethro just sat and looked a Tim balefully. "Jethro, come on." Jethro looked pointedly at the dog.
"Jethro, we are not taking her with us. She'll be fine." He started to tug on the leash again, but stopped, partly moved by Jethro's puppy dog eyes staring up at him, partly by the Boston terrier's, who'd sat up and was now looking at him as well, and partly by another set of puppy dog eyes he could almost see in his head. "But, Timmy, you just can't leave her," he could almost hear Abby say.
"But I already have a dog," he protested in his head.
"Yes, and Jethro needs a friend," Mental Abby countered. "Just look at them. They're so cute!"
Tim looked. They were, indeed, cute. Jethro was nuzzling the smaller dog, and she nuzzled him back. He sighed. "Alright, fine, but just for the night. She goes to rescue in the morning." Jethro barked joyfully, the little dog wagged her little stump of a tail, and he could almost hear Abby clapping in his head.
Having made the decision, Tim was at a loss how to get her home. Finally, he picked her up and tucked her under his arm. Fortunately, she wasn't very heavy, and once Jethro sensed they weren't leaving her behind, he trotted willingly next to Tim back to the apartment.
Once there, he set her down and took a closer look at her. She had a white head and blue eyes, one of which was red and swollen. Her head, chest, and legs were brown with dirt, and Tim figured the rest of her was probably filthy as well; it was just hard to tell with the black coat. She was skinny, and a thick crust covered her muzzle and ears. She didn't seem to be sick, though, or have fleas, and Tim figured he'd lucked out in that department.
As soon as Tim set her down, she leapt up on the couch and settled down. "Hey, hey," Tim said. "Off the furniture." She ignored him and settled in more comfotably.
"Off." Tim went over to the couch and firmly removed her. She immediately jumped up again. "Off." he repeated, removing her again. She seemed to understand him and grudgingly conceded, going over to Jethro's dog bed instead, and nosing him over so she could settle in. "Little diva," Tim muttered.
He went to get some food for both dogs, taking down a spare bowl and filling it with a small amount of kibble. Who knew when she'd last eaten, and he didn't want her to gorge herself. Both dogs immediately dove into their food. The Boston terrier finished first and nosed Jethro out of the way so she could finish his dinner as well. Jethro just sat there and looked mournfully at Tim.
"Little diva," he repeated. He pulled her away from Jethro's bowl and thought about where to keep her. He finally decided on the bath room, figuring it was easy to clean in case of any accidents (he didn't know if she was house broken), and he could keep her separate from Jethro. Although Tim figured Jethro had probably already been exposed to anything she was carrying. Fortunately, he was up-to-date on his shots.
He shut her in the bathroom with a bowl of water and a puppy pad and got ready for bed. "Bedtime, Jethro." Jethro, however, had planted himself in front of the bathroom door and wouldn't move. "Jethro, come on," Tim urged.
Instead, Jethro let out a low whine, answered in kind from the other side, then turning into small, excited barks. Jethro barked back. Tim sighed. This could go on all night, and it would upset his neighbors. "Okay, fine," he said, and opened the bathroom door, letting the visitor out. She wagged her tail, and Jethro let out one last, happy bark, before they both padded over to his bed and curled up together.
Tim looked at them fondly. They were cute. He realized with a start that he was actually thinking about keeping her, and pushed that thought away firmly. He didn't want another dog. She'd stay for the night, then in the morning he would call a local rescue.
Tim was awakened in the middle of the night by a piercing scream. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his gun from the nightstand. The scream sounded again, and he realized it wasn't human.
He put his gun down and went into the living room, turning on the light as he went. The Boston was huddled on the bed, writhing in pain, and let out another scream as he watched. Jethro sat close by, clearly worried.
Tim bent down to examine the little dog. Her eye was even more red and swollen and had started oozing—was that blood?
Tim grabbed his cell phone and punched in the number for the emergency vet. "Hi, this is Timothy McGee. I have a dog with a swollen eye that seems to be oozing blood, and she's clearly in great pain."
"Sure, Mr. McGee, you can bring her right in. Is this Jethro?"
"No, it's a stray," he replied.
"Okay, we'll see you shortly."
Carefully, Tim lifted the small dog. She didn't resist, and Tim sighed in relief. He carried her out to the car and carefully laid her down on the back seat. Her screaming had stopped, but she was still whimpering. Tim couldn't help feeling sorry for the poor thing.
At the vet, the techs whisked the Boston Terrier away, and Tim filled out the paperwork while he waited. He wrote down his name and contact information, and the dog's sex, breed and markings, but left the age and name blank.
He handed the paperwork to the receptionist who checked it over. "Dog's name?" She asked.
"She doesn't have one. She's a stray. I just found her tonight. She's going to rescue in the morning."
"I see." The receptionist typed some things into the computer. "Okay, Mr. McGee, you can have a seat. The doctor will be right with you."
Tim sat in the waiting room, finding himself unexpectedly anxious. He wasn't developing feelings for the stray, he told himself. It was just a natural response to an animal in pain. Still, he was already anticipating Jethro's reaction if he didn't bring her home.
Eventually, the doctor came into the waiting room. "Mr. McGee?"
Tim looked up. "Yes?"
"I'm afraid her eye collapsed. She'll need surgery to stabilize it."
"Okay," Tim said immediately. Belatedly, he realized he should ask about the cost, then realized he didn't care. She was in pain, and it needed to be fixed. Period. He didn't even stop to think that most people wouldn't react that way to a stray.
"I'll have the receptionist work up an estimate, and we'll go ahead and prep her. For now, we'll sew the eye shut, but long term you may want to think about removing it."
"Why?" Tim asked.
"Once the eye collapses, vision is impaired. Plus, it looks like this was caused by a sever corneal ulcer which cut most of the way through the eye, further damaging it. It also looks like this may not be the first time this has happened."
"I see."
"You don't have to decide tonight, though. We'll just get her stable for now and talk long term later."
"Okay." Then Tim realized what he was saying. "Wait, she's not my dog. She's just a stray. She's going to rescue in the morning."
The doctor looked at him thoughtfully. "Really? You might want to rethink that. This procedure isn't cheap, but you seem to be willing to go through with it. Unless you've changed your mind?"
Tim shook his head firmly. "I don't care what it costs."
"Then with all the time and money you're about to invest in her, you might consider keeping her long term. She seems like a sweet dog, and if you don't mind my saying so, you seem rather attached."
Tim realized he was right. Yes, he thought of her as a stray, but he thought of her as Jethro's stray, and even as his stray. He realized he'd honestly come to care for her even in the few short hours he'd had her.
Tim sighed, surprised that all the objections he thought he'd had to having another dog failed to occur to him. "I guess you're right. I guess she's my dog now."
The doctor grinned. "Congratulations on your new family member. Do you have a name?"
"Not yet." Tim thought about his interactions with the dog, the way she'd charged into the apartment and made herself at home. He thought about what he'd called her. "Wait, yes, I do. Her name's Diva."
"Diva. That's a good name, and from what I can tell, it suits her. I'm sure you'll take good care of her. She's lucky to have found you."
Tim reflected on the evening, and how a routine walk with Jethro had suddenly chanced his life. "No, Doc, we're lucky to have found her."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A/N: The dog is this story is based on my dog Diva, who was also rescued (though under entirely different circumstances) and also had her eye collapse and later removed. My apologies if I didn't get the medical details quite right.