Part 21

Jack grunted as he hauled the overturned garbage can upright, muttering imprecations under his breath. To paraphrase his favorite movie, he was going to get Daniel and his little dog, too. Daniel may not have had a direct hand in the trash can's downfall, but he was the one who'd chosen Stitch over other less-destructive mutts at the shelter. He still had his doubts about Stitch, but the blue thing's dogged determination--pardoning the pun--to tip waste receptacles was now two for two.

Garbage can uprighted, he was passing by Daniel's bedroom window when he once again heard the sound of falling objects. It was immediately followed by the muffled yell of an annoyed four year-old archaeologist. Jack winced, wondering which of his old hockey keepsakes had just been sacrificed to the destructive dog. The shade was down so he couldn't peer in, so the colonel marched himself to the front door--ten steps closer than the kitchen door--and prepared to enter the fray.

Before he could set foot in the cabin, the sound of tires on gravel reached his ears. The rumble was too near to belong to any one of the "neighbors" who shared the gravel lane, which meant that Jack and Daniel had an unexpected visitor arriving. Whether the newcomer was a welcome visitor or not remained to be seen, so the colonel decided to leave Daniel and his dog to their own devices while he greeted--and possibly got rid of--their guest.

Shortly, a dark blue Ford appeared around the trees, doors sporting a bright yellow Minnesota Department of Natural Resources logo. Jack had no idea what brought the DNR to his door, but he was glad Daniel had insisted Stitch accompany him inside, as explaining the strange creature would be... interesting.

The truck ground to a halt, then shut off. Moments later, the driver's door opened and a rather sizeable black man emerged. Built like a brick house, his shoulders strained the seams of his tan uniform, and his bald head shone dully in the early afternoon sun. If he'd had a tattoo in the middle of his forehead, the conservation officer could easily pass as Teal'c's brother.

"Good afternoon, sir. Are you the owner of this residence?"

Geez, he even talked like Teal'c, too, a smooth bass with carefully precise elocution.

"Well, it's a vacation home, but yes, I'm the owner." The colonel stepped off the porch and met the man halfway, extending his hand. "Jack O'Neill."

"Officer Bubbles," came the reply, accompanied by a rather firm handshake.

Jack made a mental note to check for bruises, then did a double-take. "Bubbles?"

Officer "Bubbles" ignored the question. "There have been recent reports of suspicious activity in the area, Mr. O'Neill, and I am interested in any information you might have."

"Suspicious activity?" he repeated.

"Poaching. Trespassing. Illegal dumping. Fishing without a permit. I trust you are properly licensed, Mister O'Neill?"

"Colonel O'Neill," he corrected, digging into his wallet and producing his permanent fishing license. Bubbles raised a very Teal'c-like eyebrow as he ran his thumb over the word "Non-Resident", but nodded and returned the license.

"I see you are not a resident of Minnesota."

"Not at the moment, no. Born here, plan to retire here eventually, but currently stationed in Colorado."

"I see." The conservation officer peered over his sunglasses at the cabin. "Are you visiting alone?"

"No, I brought my... four year-old with me. He's inside the house right now. I could call him out here, if you--"

Bubbles settled the dark lenses back into place. "That won't be necessary."

Jack nodded. "So... if you're the new CO for this area, what happened to ol' Brett Erikson?"

"Retired," Bubbles answered simply. This man could give Teal'c some serious competition in terms of chattiness.

The front door creaked open just then, and Jack turned to find Daniel standing on the porch with his hand on the door knob, blinking at the conservation officer. His hair was mussed and clothing dishevelled, looking for all the world like he'd spent the last half hour wrestling with an alligator. Jack wasn't entirely certain which combatant won.

"Hey, Danny, this is the local conservation officer, Officer Bubbles."

Daniel walked over next to Jack, scrubbing ineffectively at his ruffled hair. "Conservation officer?"

"What pretty much every other state calls a 'game warden'," Jack explained.

"Bubbles?"

The colonel grinned as the conservation officer's jaw muscles twitched just like Teal'c's did when his patience was tried. He was seriously going to have to introduce the Jaffa to this guy.

"I was just informing your father of recent illegal activities noted in the area," Bubbles announced smoothly, once again ignoring the inquiry into his name. Opening the dark brown flap on his shirt pocket, he produced a business card. "Call me if you have anything to report."

Nodding, Jack accepted the card, eyebrows raising when Daniel cocked his head and stared at the massive man's hand. "Your knuckles say 'Cobra'." Bewildered, Jack looked at the name emblazoned on the business card.

Officer Bubbles cleared his throat. "Have a good day, gentlemen."

The pair watched in stunned silence as the large man returned to his truck, started the engine, and drove back down the gravel lane toward the road. They continued to stare even after the sounds of the truck's passage had faded away, Jack only dimly aware that Stitch was now out of the house and prowling the front yard. Finally, the man and the boy looked at one another, chorusing, "Cobra Bubbles?"

Author's Notes:
Big thanks are due to bkwurm1 and her family for the invaluable "inside information" on Minnesota!