Chapter 11

A great poet once said 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all'. Well, I've got a news flash for ya'. He was RIGHT.

The fate of the world balances on that saying.

So, here I am, sitting on Fang's bed staring at him. Waiting for him to say ... Something. He'd been sitting there for the last fifteen minutes saying absolutely NOTHING and I'm starting to wonder if he's gone catatonic from the shock of what he's done.

By lying to Max he's taken away her purpose. Her reason to keep fighting. And now, she doesn't care if the world gets saved or not. She'd sit back and let it end right now for all she cares.

And Fang, since he's SO good at thinking things through (Scoffs) has already come up with a plan to rectify this.

Wow, I'm really good at making up stories ... I should write my own book. Maybe a movie... Hmmmm...

If I wrote a movie I would...

HAHA! Just kidding, back to the story...

Although I would like to write a movie some day. I'd be ranked right up there with Peter Jackson, Martin Score-say-ZEE, Robert Zim-eck-uss and John Landis...

(Takes a few minutes to rap mentally with the names of big time Hollywood directors.)

Is he going to move any time soon? Or has he really gone catatonic...

"Fang? You OK?"

He moves and I almost jump out of my skin. "Don't scare me like that!"

He stares at me, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Total, if you're so sure I should tell Max how should I do it?"

I shrug, "Go out, buy her something that smells good, or go dig something up, and give it to her ... Then roll over on your back to show submission and you're scot-free!"

His other eyebrow goes up to be with its twin. "Huh?"

I roll my eyes. Are humanoids really this dumb? Or is it just him... Sometimes I think its just him...

"You apologize, featherbrain... Maybe let her kick your butt..."

He shifts against the bed, making a rather uncomfortable face. "It's not my butt I'm worried about."

I roll my eyes and lay down, propping my chin on my paws. I rub the fabric of his quilt between my thumb and fore-digit and sigh, wondering if he knows this thing is mostly polyester, not cotton. "Wear a cup, I don't know what else to tell you about that..."

He rolls his eyes and goes on the defensive, one of his most used defense mechanisms when he gets into situations that test his emotions.

"Where the heck am I gonna get a cup? I don't play sports!" He runs a hand over his hair, "This is stupid... I'm crazy..." And he gets up and walks out of the room locking himself in the bathroom.

I sigh and look around the guestroom, where he Iggy and the Gasman have been sleeping.

It's untidy, and despite being a talking dog, I'm not that messy a person. That and I know my discussion wasn't over with the Almighty Fang... SO, I jump off the bed and decide to round up all the laundry... YEHAW! ROUND 'EM UP, COWDOG... Mostly because I'm the only one who can get stuff from under the beds without using the broom...

And its times like these when I thank God that I have thumbs, because my other alternative would be to carry things in my mouth, and when we're talking about Flock Laundry, sometimes you don't even want to use your hands...

I've seen the Gasman's socks so grimy and gross that they take on voluntary movements of their own. And I'm willing to testify to this people, honestly.

I was trying to help Max do the laundry a few weeks ago and this sock dropped off the laundry basket and clung to my back.

I started running around in circles trying to get it off of me but it wouldn't let me go. And I don't know about you, but I don't like being attacked by putrid socks that have become sentient beings.

I finally got it off my back and gave it my best 'Try that again you!' look. Growling at it and teasing it. Bouncing forward and back to show it that I was faster than it. That no matter how smart it thought it was, I, Total was infinitely more intelligent and agile.

You can't let little things like mutant socks get big heads. Because the last thing we need is all the missing socks to unite and try to take over the world. We already have enough crazies trying to do that.

Well, I'm under the bed digging around when I hear this noise...

I crawl out and stand there in the middle of the boys' room listening ... And I hear it again...

Knocking.

There's someone at the door.

Fang hears it too because he comes out of the bathroom, his whole body tense, arms raised a little at his sides so it'll be easier to start punching. He moves silently down the hall and I creep after him, tiptoeing...

Magnolia rushes out of the kitchen barking and I see this figure standing outside the door. But because Dr. Martinez has these lacy curtains hanging up over the window panes I can't see WHO it is.

But boy are they KNOCKING.

I'm surprised the rest of the flock can't hear it.

And then Fang stiffens on the stairs, shaking his head from side to side and I know its something bad... Something REALLY bad.

I open my mouth to shout for the flock when Fang literally JUMPS down the stairs and runs at the door, flinging it open...

And I get a look at what's standing there ... Well, WHO is standing there.

She's leaning heavily on the doorframe, her face sickly pale, her eyes wide and glassy. Her mouth open, drawing deep, shuddering breaths and I rake my eyes down over her.

Tall, slim body, long blonde hair, overly large T-shirt, plaid skirt, dirty shoes, overly large hooded sweatshirt jacket...

But as I look at her I notice something was wrong with the picture... She's thin alright, but... There's something I can't quite put my fore digit on...

She takes a deep, shaking breath and lets it out, breathing with each word.

"Where ... Where is Jeff?"

Then she seems to crumble in on herself, her face wrinkling with what I can only guess to be agony and she screams...

Clutching at her VERY pregnant belly...

Do you remember the 'Happy Iggy' smell?

Oh, yeah...