When Mickey heard the front door open, he ducked under the bed, hoping that Robyn didn't come back with the constable.

"So where's the patient?" he heard someone ask.

"In here, doctor," he heard Robyn say.

Mickey heaved a sigh of relief, but he still hid under the bed, mainly because he was afraid if the doctor saw him, he would call the police. The doctor walked into the bedroom, and found Donald laying in bed, barely conscious. He stopped in his tracks and made a face.

"That is the patient?" he asked.

"Yes," Robyn said.

"Miss, I'm not sure you're aware of this . . . . but he's a duck."

"I'm aware of it, doctor. I know he's a duck, but he's a very sick duck."

"Young lady, you don't seem to understand. I only treat human patients, and . . . ."

"Well, he's kind of human, you know? In the anthropomorphic sense, I mean. Seriously, doctor, Donald needs medical attention, and . . . ."

"Then call a veterinarian."

"But doctor . . . ."

"Madam, I am a doctor. Not a ducktor. Good day!"

And with that, the doctor left, slamming the front door behind him. Once he left, Mickey crawled out from under the bed, glaring.

"How do ya like that?" he asked.

"I don't," Robyn said. "Not one bit."

"What do we do now?"

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to find another doctor. See if you can get Donald to eat something. He needs to keep up his strength."

"Will do."

Robyn left the house again, and Mickey went into the kitchen. He searched the cabinets, and found (luckily) Robyn had all the ingredients necessary for some soup. He quickly made some, and brought a bowl of it back into the bedroom.

"Nothing like a good, hot bowl of soup for what ails you, right, Donald?" he asked.

"I guess so," Donald said, groaning. He reached over toward Mickey to try to take the spoon, but he couldn't make it.

"Here, pal," Mickey said. "I'll feed it to you."

Mickey held the spoon to Donald's bill. Donald opened his mouth, but even trying to eat was too strenuous for him. He couldn't even reach the spoon before collapsing, breathlessly.

"Poor Donald," Mickey said. "You're too weak to even eat!"

Pluto began whimpering, and Mickey scratched him behind the ears. He then lifted Donald's head, tilted it back slightly, and managed to feed him the soup that way.

"How's that, Don?" he asked. Donald just moaned. Mickey sighed, and rubbed the duck's face with his handkerchief.

Robyn didn't return until at least two hours later. A doctor was with her, much to Mickey's relief. But before Mickey had a chance to say anything, the doctor ushered everyone out of the room. For the next hour or so, Mickey, Pluto, Figaro, and Robyn waited outside the bedroom, nervously. Pluto began pawing at the door whimpering. Mickey scratched him behind the ears, trying to comfort him. Robyn held Figaro, and stroked him gently. Finally, the doctor emerged from the bedroom, looking grim.

"How is he, doc?" Mickey asked.

"Not well, I'm afraid," the doctor sighed. "I'm not even sure what's afflicting him. Because of this, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him."

"Oh gosh . . . ." Mickey said.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Robyn asked.

"I don't want to risk giving him any medicine if I don't know what's wrong with him," the doctor said. "That might do more harm than good. I'm sorry."

"All right, then," Robyn said.

"Thanks, anyway, doc," Mickey said.

With that, the doctor left. Mickey, Pluto, Figaro, and Robyn walked back into the bedroom. Donald coughed and moaned. Pluto whimpered, and gave Donald a small lick in the face. Figaro meowed, and rubbed against Donald's face.

Later in the afternoon, Donald began to dream. In his dream, he was walking down Main Street, humming "Turkey in the Straw" in his own way. As he was walking, the ground began to shake.

"Earthquake!" Donald shouted. He immediately grabbed onto a lamppost, and hung on.

As the ground was shaking, the street suddenly cracked open, and what looked like a pair of Mickey Mouse ears began rising from it. It turned out to be a giant Mickey Mouse, only demonic-looking. He gave out a loud growl.

"Wak!" Donald squawked, and began to run away, but the giant Mickey-monster grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and held him up.

"DOWN THE HATCH!" the Mickey-monster shouted, and opened his mouth.

"No, don't do it!" Donald shouted. "Don't do it!"

The Mickey-monster let go of Donald, and the duck headed directly into the monster's open mouth. Donald fell, screaming, and flailing his arms and legs.

"Donald! Donald, wake up!"

Donald suddenly woke up, breathing heavily, and looking around the room, nervously.

"Donald, you were just having a nightmare," Mickey said. Donald looked at Mickey, and screamed, backing away from him.

"Stay away from me!" he shouted.

"But Donald . . . ." Mickey started.

"No! No!" Donald yelled, continuing to back away, until he backed right off the bed. THUNK!

"What's going on in here?" Robyn asked, coming into the room.

"It's Donald," Mickey said. "I think he was having a nightmare, and hasn't fully woken up yet."

"Stay back, you . . . . you monster!" Donald shouted.

"Monster? Me?!" Mickey asked. "Come on, Donald, calm down. It's just me, you're ol' pal, Mickey."

"Mickey?" Donald asked, uncertainly. He stood up, but the second he did, he fell over. Mickey caught him before he could hit the floor, and guided him back to his bed.

"There you go, pal," Mickey said. "That's it, easy does it now. It was just a bad dream, that's all."

Once Donald was back into bed, he moaned, and passed out. Mickey covered him with the blanket, and rubbed his forehead with a wet cloth.

"Poor Donald," he said. "Isn't there anything we can do for him?"

"I think I might have an idea," Robyn said. "This is a long shot, but it might work."

"What is it?"

"My uncle. He just might be able to help Donald."

"Well, give him a call."

"It's not going to be that easy. Uncle doesn't have a phone. I have my own special way to get in touch with him."

Robyn pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of a drawer, and wrote a letter to her uncle. Then she folded it up, rolled it, and put it in a small tube. Then she walked across the room, where there was a birdcage with a dove inside of it. Robyn took the dove out, and attached the message to his leg.

"Mickey, meet Dudley," Robyn said, as she dipped her hand into a bag of grain and held it up to her bird. "This is how Uncle and I communicate. Dudley knows his way to Uncle's, so he'll deliver the message to him."

"I just hope it's fast," Mickey said. "I don't know how long Donald can hold out."

Robyn nodded, and she and Mickey took Dudley outside. Once they were standing in the backyard, Robyn threw the dove into the air, and Dudley immediately began flapping on his way to his destination.

Dudley's destination was a castle in a neighboring town. He landed on the windowsill, and cooed as loudly as he could. An old man walked to the window, picked up the bird.

"Hello, Dudley," he said, as he took the message from his leg. "I haven't seen you around in quite some time."

The man put Dudley down on his table, and gave him a handful of seed. Then he sat down, and unfolded the message.

"Dear Uncle," he read aloud. "I know I haven't written in some time, and I know you are very busy with your practice, but I'm afraid I need your help. A house guest of mine has become gravely ill, and not even the doctor can tell what's wrong, much less cure him. I thought that maybe you would be able to help. Please come. Your loving niece, Robyn."

The man put down the letter and stood up, thoughtfully.

"Robyn," he said. "My sister's little girl. I haven't seen her since she was a child."

The man took a piece of paper and a pen, and began writing.

My dear Robyn, I will come to help you. You can expect me shortly after receiving this letter. Yours most sincerely, Uncle

The man tied the note to Dudley's leg, and sent him off.