A/N: Harrrumpppfft. My deep dark suspicion is that the only reason the show doesn't give us an occasional cameo from Rusty (the retriever) and Shelby is that Welling and Kreuk refuse to have anyone on the show who can out-soulful eye them. So if you find me bludgeoned to death by tubes of lip gloss, you know who did it and why.
Diabetics and those with high cholesterol warned: This fic contains cheese and sugar.
Clark ran to the window and pressed against it, then ran to Martha and, grabbing her by the hand, ran back, pressing against the window and pointing. Martha thanked heaven that Clark had learned that while he could break glass by running through it to get to something, it wasn't a good thing to do. She ruffled his hair, "Yes, that's your Daddy. Look, he sees us, let's wave to him." Clark did, but almost automatically, and Martha realized, making a mental note not to tell her husband, that Jonathan wasn't the cause of Clark's excitement. He was pulling cockleburrs out of Shelby's long collie coat, and Clark wanted to get in on the action.
"Want to go meet the doggie?" Clark looked up at her, nodding enthusiastically, and pulled her towards the door. "Remember, though, just like with the kittens, very very gentle." He looked up seriously again, nodding solemnly, eyes saddened for a moment. Last Tuesday, he'd caught a grasshopper and, bringing it to show them, had squeezed too tightly. When they gently told him why it wasn't jumping any more, he had stared at them, then the squished bug, and then his own hands, with what Martha feared was far too much of a sense of guilt for a three year old. It had taken a day of reassurances to put it out of his mind, but clearly he hadn't forgotten. God knows they wanted a child that powerful to have a conscience, but there was such a thing as too much...
She put it out of her mind, too, and opened the door, the knob fortunately still proving a bit too much for Clark to master. Pushing and pulling he was often too good at, but grasping and turning was still a challenge.
"Wait for me, Clark," Martha laughed as he took off, and then, clearly making the effort to be good, turned to come back and walk with her to where Jonathan was waiting, the dog sprawled across his outstretched legs, all four legs splayed, eyes blissful.
"Clark, this is Shelby. He's the doggie who helps me with the cows. He likes to be petted, do you want to try?" Clark grinned and squatted, clearly at a loss as to where to begin. After a moment's thought, he patted the dog's muzzle, pronouncing, "Horse nose."
"Well, yes, doggies have long noses, just like horses do." Over Clark's rising giggles, he added, "Shelby's sniffing you, that's how dogs meet people. We shake hands or hug or kiss, but dogs sniff." After a leisurely inspection, Shelby unfolded what seemed like about an acre of tongue and gave Clark's face a thorough, leisurely wipe. Clark got his giggles under control enough to start reciprocating, but Martha, stifling her own laughter, explained in a shaking voice, "We don't lick the doggies. They lick us, but we don't lick them."
"Why?"
"Hair balls," Jonathan answered, his face quite serious. *Don't meet his eyes, don't meet his eyes, don't meet his eyes,* Martha repeated to herself. "If we lick doggies, then we get doggie hair in our tummies, and then there's no more room for cookies." From Clark's expression, she could tell this was quite a convincing argument; he kept his mouth clamped firmly shut as he buried his face and hands in the dog's long fur.
Diabetics and those with high cholesterol warned: This fic contains cheese and sugar.
Clark ran to the window and pressed against it, then ran to Martha and, grabbing her by the hand, ran back, pressing against the window and pointing. Martha thanked heaven that Clark had learned that while he could break glass by running through it to get to something, it wasn't a good thing to do. She ruffled his hair, "Yes, that's your Daddy. Look, he sees us, let's wave to him." Clark did, but almost automatically, and Martha realized, making a mental note not to tell her husband, that Jonathan wasn't the cause of Clark's excitement. He was pulling cockleburrs out of Shelby's long collie coat, and Clark wanted to get in on the action.
"Want to go meet the doggie?" Clark looked up at her, nodding enthusiastically, and pulled her towards the door. "Remember, though, just like with the kittens, very very gentle." He looked up seriously again, nodding solemnly, eyes saddened for a moment. Last Tuesday, he'd caught a grasshopper and, bringing it to show them, had squeezed too tightly. When they gently told him why it wasn't jumping any more, he had stared at them, then the squished bug, and then his own hands, with what Martha feared was far too much of a sense of guilt for a three year old. It had taken a day of reassurances to put it out of his mind, but clearly he hadn't forgotten. God knows they wanted a child that powerful to have a conscience, but there was such a thing as too much...
She put it out of her mind, too, and opened the door, the knob fortunately still proving a bit too much for Clark to master. Pushing and pulling he was often too good at, but grasping and turning was still a challenge.
"Wait for me, Clark," Martha laughed as he took off, and then, clearly making the effort to be good, turned to come back and walk with her to where Jonathan was waiting, the dog sprawled across his outstretched legs, all four legs splayed, eyes blissful.
"Clark, this is Shelby. He's the doggie who helps me with the cows. He likes to be petted, do you want to try?" Clark grinned and squatted, clearly at a loss as to where to begin. After a moment's thought, he patted the dog's muzzle, pronouncing, "Horse nose."
"Well, yes, doggies have long noses, just like horses do." Over Clark's rising giggles, he added, "Shelby's sniffing you, that's how dogs meet people. We shake hands or hug or kiss, but dogs sniff." After a leisurely inspection, Shelby unfolded what seemed like about an acre of tongue and gave Clark's face a thorough, leisurely wipe. Clark got his giggles under control enough to start reciprocating, but Martha, stifling her own laughter, explained in a shaking voice, "We don't lick the doggies. They lick us, but we don't lick them."
"Why?"
"Hair balls," Jonathan answered, his face quite serious. *Don't meet his eyes, don't meet his eyes, don't meet his eyes,* Martha repeated to herself. "If we lick doggies, then we get doggie hair in our tummies, and then there's no more room for cookies." From Clark's expression, she could tell this was quite a convincing argument; he kept his mouth clamped firmly shut as he buried his face and hands in the dog's long fur.