Chapter 7: Dog talk

No one appreciates the very special genius of your conversation as the dog does. ~Christopher Morley

McGee drove to his apartment in a daze back after a whole afternoon at the vet. He even ignored Jethro's barking insistently in his ear. He dumped the backpack with the leftovers of their day in the park on the kitchen counter and dragged his sorry ass to his bathroom.

He shed his clothing that smelled of dog and blood onto the floor, turning on the water. He stepped under the spray, eager to wash away the grime of the day. He felt deeply tired, but there still was a small sense of satisfaction boiling in the pit of his stomach that made a silly smile appear on his face.

He closed his eyes as he thought about the beautiful Grace, her dimples and her gray bluish eyes. How she gently touched the fur of the wounded dog at the same time that she carefully explained what she was doing, easing his mind along the procedure. He insisted to settle the bill of the vet, but Grace insisted that she was working pro bono on Freckles' case. He agreed despite his reservations.

His mind wandered to those delicate fingers, unadorned of rings, delicate wrists at the end of pale arms and…

"Oh… down boy."

He blinked under the water as he felt a familiar reaction on his body, showing that he was still alive despite his half joking promise/threat of becoming a monk.

Maybe there is someone out there for him.

The thought brought a grin to his lips, making him hurry in his shower, eager to check the card Grace had given him, just in case he became worried about Freckles and decided to call her to come check on the dog. She had even written her cell phone on the back of the card.

She told him he could call her anytime.

Maybe he would.

He left the shower and wrapped himself on a towel, joyfully whistling a tune he had heard somewhere in the past. As he came to his living room, he smiled at the scene he found: Jethro had grabbed one of his toys, a small puppy shaped one and was licking it carefully as a new dad would wash a newborn.

He sat down on the computer chair in front of the dog, watching the strange behavior of his dog, aware that something had changed for his companion. A small switch had been flicked that turned the happy playing puppy from that morning into the worried father he had before himself.

"She really rocked your world, uhm, Jethro?"

Jethro stopped the tongue bath and looked up at McGee, whimpering softly and hugging the toy with its front paws.

McGee chuckled and left the chair, sitting on the floor beside the dog. As soon as he was given the chance, Jethro crawled a few inches and rested its head on McGee's leg, the puppy toy still firmly between his front paws.

"I think it's instinctive, isn't it? Either in dogs or men, sometimes you just know she's the one. You look at her and say, yep, that's the lady who will have my puppies, right? And your life is never the same again, because you become a mess. You can't eat; you can't sleep. All you can do is think of her and … puppies. And puppy making. And puppy practicing. After all, perfection comes only with practice. And if you want beautiful puppies, you need beautiful a beautiful lady… with gorgeous gray blue eyes and dimples and … all you can think is… puppies."

He looked down and found Jethro staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"You think that I completely lost it, don't you?"

Jethro yawned.

"Yep. I lost it." He chuckled. "And I'm enjoying every single minute of it."