"Can we go faster, Daddy?"
"No, Clark, we can't. Not here, because the speed limit is what tells us how fast we can drive, and here the speed limit is 35."
He considered this for a moment, lips pursed in concentration. "35 whats?"
"35 miles an hour."
"Not fast," he answered, with a pout.
"No, it's not very fast, but it's safe. Safety comes first," Jonathan reminded him, firmly. He and Martha had to take Clark everywhere with them if they both had to be out, since there was no way to find a babysitter who wouldn't notice his abilities. It had been a long day and Clark had reached the cranky phase of tired.
"Why?"
"Because people might get hurt when safety doesn't come first."
"Why?"
Explaining this to a child who seemingly couldn't be hurt wasn't something he ever expected to do, but then Clark had brought a lot of things like that with him. "There might be an accident."
"What's an accident?" Clark frowned with the effort of getting the word out.
"It's like when somebody falls down and gets a bruise. Like Pete did on the stairs when he wore that bandage, remember, or when Ammie stepped on her piglet without meaning to."
"I don't bruise" was what Clark intended to say, but "r"s weren't his best consonant and Jonathan had to fight not to laugh.
"No, you're a very lucky Clark. You don't bruise but other people and animals do, and that's why we have to be so careful with them."
He instinctively threw his arm across Clark as he slammed on the brakes. As they had turned the sharp curve, something small had run across the street and Jonathan winced as he heard the thud.
Clark launched himself through the truck window, head first, before Jonathan could even think to stop him. By the time he pulled over, knowing that drivers often took the curve too fast and thanking all their lucky stars that nobody had seen, he was crouched over something Jonathan couldn't make out in the grass along the roadside.
*Damn then*, he said furiously to himself, as he got closer and saw that it was a puppy. For some reason, selfish morons thought that dumping them in the countryside was a way to get rid of pets who had outlived their novelty value or whose owners had realized that taking care of an animal is actually a responsibility. Clark was looking at it helplessly, shards of glass still clinging in his hair, and tentatively petting its head. "Daddy, do something!" he pleaded, with absolute conviction that there was something that could be done.
Well, that meant that he had to do something. It was hard to see how badly hurt it was, with its dirty coat and reddish-brown fur. He was pretty sure that he'd struck it on the back half, from the little he'd seen, so it probably was safe to give the poor thing some water. He went back into the truck and got the water they kept for the radiator but couldn't find anything to use as a bowl. "Clark, put your hands together really really tightly, like this." He held his own out, cupped, and poured some of the water. With luck, it wouldn't flow through Clark's fingers, he'd hoped, and sure enough, it didn't. "Hold it so the doggie can drink if he wants to." A shaky smile crossed Clark's face as the dog lapped it and Jonathan poured some more.
"There you go, boy," he soothed as he looked more closely. As he'd suspected, it looked like he'd hit the dog's back leg, and he cautiously ran a finger down the thigh. An injured animal often lashes out when anybody approaches or touches it, but this one was either too far gone or wasn't in too much pain that it couldn't trust them, and from the way that it was drinking, he had a pretty good hope that it was the latter.
"Okay, Clark, I can't fix him, but we can take him to the vet, who will be able to fix him." The light that crossed Clark's face made him add, hastily, "If anybody can." Clark nodded contentedly and Jonathan carefully scooped the dog up. He put it on the driver's seat, got Clark in the other side, and saying, "There, very gently, just enough that you won't drop him," passed the dog to him before getting in himself.
*Vet's bills* he heard part of himself groaning, but aside from being the right thing to do no matter whether or not anybody was there, he knew how careful he and Martha had to be in what their actions taught Clark. *We'll figure something out,* he added, as, to his astonishment, he saw the tip of the dog's tail twitch, as if it were trying to give them a tiny wag.
"No, Clark, we can't. Not here, because the speed limit is what tells us how fast we can drive, and here the speed limit is 35."
He considered this for a moment, lips pursed in concentration. "35 whats?"
"35 miles an hour."
"Not fast," he answered, with a pout.
"No, it's not very fast, but it's safe. Safety comes first," Jonathan reminded him, firmly. He and Martha had to take Clark everywhere with them if they both had to be out, since there was no way to find a babysitter who wouldn't notice his abilities. It had been a long day and Clark had reached the cranky phase of tired.
"Why?"
"Because people might get hurt when safety doesn't come first."
"Why?"
Explaining this to a child who seemingly couldn't be hurt wasn't something he ever expected to do, but then Clark had brought a lot of things like that with him. "There might be an accident."
"What's an accident?" Clark frowned with the effort of getting the word out.
"It's like when somebody falls down and gets a bruise. Like Pete did on the stairs when he wore that bandage, remember, or when Ammie stepped on her piglet without meaning to."
"I don't bruise" was what Clark intended to say, but "r"s weren't his best consonant and Jonathan had to fight not to laugh.
"No, you're a very lucky Clark. You don't bruise but other people and animals do, and that's why we have to be so careful with them."
He instinctively threw his arm across Clark as he slammed on the brakes. As they had turned the sharp curve, something small had run across the street and Jonathan winced as he heard the thud.
Clark launched himself through the truck window, head first, before Jonathan could even think to stop him. By the time he pulled over, knowing that drivers often took the curve too fast and thanking all their lucky stars that nobody had seen, he was crouched over something Jonathan couldn't make out in the grass along the roadside.
*Damn then*, he said furiously to himself, as he got closer and saw that it was a puppy. For some reason, selfish morons thought that dumping them in the countryside was a way to get rid of pets who had outlived their novelty value or whose owners had realized that taking care of an animal is actually a responsibility. Clark was looking at it helplessly, shards of glass still clinging in his hair, and tentatively petting its head. "Daddy, do something!" he pleaded, with absolute conviction that there was something that could be done.
Well, that meant that he had to do something. It was hard to see how badly hurt it was, with its dirty coat and reddish-brown fur. He was pretty sure that he'd struck it on the back half, from the little he'd seen, so it probably was safe to give the poor thing some water. He went back into the truck and got the water they kept for the radiator but couldn't find anything to use as a bowl. "Clark, put your hands together really really tightly, like this." He held his own out, cupped, and poured some of the water. With luck, it wouldn't flow through Clark's fingers, he'd hoped, and sure enough, it didn't. "Hold it so the doggie can drink if he wants to." A shaky smile crossed Clark's face as the dog lapped it and Jonathan poured some more.
"There you go, boy," he soothed as he looked more closely. As he'd suspected, it looked like he'd hit the dog's back leg, and he cautiously ran a finger down the thigh. An injured animal often lashes out when anybody approaches or touches it, but this one was either too far gone or wasn't in too much pain that it couldn't trust them, and from the way that it was drinking, he had a pretty good hope that it was the latter.
"Okay, Clark, I can't fix him, but we can take him to the vet, who will be able to fix him." The light that crossed Clark's face made him add, hastily, "If anybody can." Clark nodded contentedly and Jonathan carefully scooped the dog up. He put it on the driver's seat, got Clark in the other side, and saying, "There, very gently, just enough that you won't drop him," passed the dog to him before getting in himself.
*Vet's bills* he heard part of himself groaning, but aside from being the right thing to do no matter whether or not anybody was there, he knew how careful he and Martha had to be in what their actions taught Clark. *We'll figure something out,* he added, as, to his astonishment, he saw the tip of the dog's tail twitch, as if it were trying to give them a tiny wag.