Title: His Guard and his Friend Author: TurretSyndrome Rating: PG-13 Pairing: None at the moment Summary: A collection of stories from the eyes of a dog Author's Notes: Somewhat inspired by The Art of Racing in the Rain. I have not read the book but I am looking forward to it. I have never owned a dog but I wish to someday. Crickets chirped. The campfire cast a flickering, warm glow on me and the blue Ford pickup parked close by. My ears perked up as I heard the crunching of gravel coming from a distance. The Level 3 Sentry swiveled its head as I lifted mine to observe the clambering figure. Recognizing the familiar face of its builder, the Sentry returned to its methodical scanning of the area. I however, the more affectionate and reliable of the Engineer’s guards, bounded over to my friend and strode alongside him until he sat himself down on a crate. I greedily gobbled up the treat he fished out of his pocket and licked my teeth of crumbs as he popped open a bottle of BLU Streak. I cast the Sentry a lofty look. ‘I see he didn’t bring /you/ a treat.’ The Sentry merely whirred and continued its guarding duties. ‘Hmph. I’ll work with you but I won’t like a single moment of it, even though you are his baby.’ Dell Conagher, a short, stocky Texan, was regarded by many as a genius. With a talent in mechanical engineering, 11 PhDs, and a knack for the acoustic guitar, who could say he wasn’t. To me, Dell Conagher was amiable, considerate, and a damn good head scratcher who could find just about any irksome itch I couldn’t reach. Regardless of traditional dog-master stereotypes, to me, he was and still is, a lifelong friend. I rested my head on his shoe and gnawed at the toe. He absentmindedly scratched my head and I glanced up and saw him gazing up at the star spangled sky. He sighed. I knew who he was thinking of. Beatrice, my friend and his everything, was the kindest, gentlest person you could have ever met. She rode horses, grew sunflowers, and loved to dance. She would rub my stomach until I melted into a happy puddle and she would take me on strolls around the farm. She would hold Dell’s face in her hands and kiss him on the head when he was feeling overworked. She taught him how to dance and responded to his every misstep and stuttered apology with patience and humor. We loved her and we were both lost without her. She left us one day and even though we had been expecting it for months, we were no more prepared than if the doctors had never told us. Dell had tried everything and in a moment of frustration and weakness, drank himself into a miserable heap. What was I to do? I couldn’t drink the pain away, alcohol being poisonous to my species and my presence being his only tether. He needed me more than I needed him. I buried his bottles, his guns, and hid every sharp object in the house. I dragged his inebriated ass off the couch and onto the cold linoleum of the kitchen and woke him up. At first he was angry at me and cursed me with phrases I would have never imagined the soft-spoken Texan knew. I held my ground. If he tried to leave the kitchen, I would drag him back into the small, dark kitchen no matter how painful it was. The memories that small kitchen held tore at him but I persisted. I became tired and bruised from his resistance but I /persisted/. At last, I had him. The kitchen was no longer dark but was illuminated by the weak, morning light. He lay defeated on the cold floor and apologized. “You must be pretty tired… all the effort n’ bringin’ this small, sad man int’a reality.†He hiccoughed but continued. “I tried so hard but in th’ end, I couldn’ save her. She’s gone boy an’ I ain’t bringin’ her back. God knows I’ve been a fool fer tryin’ and so does she. I—I’m such a fool—such a fool.†If I had a larger palm and opposable thumbs, I would have slapped him. What am I talking about? I wouldn’t do that. The language barrier has never been a problem for me. Even back in that badly lit kitchen full of memories, I didn’t need words to tell him it wasn’t his fault. I have always been the listener, patient and understanding. But when I lay my head on his chest, over his heart, he heard my words. He listened to my silence and understood. I knew because he raised a hand off the floor to scratch my head like Beatrice used to, with three fingers in a gentle circular motion. I licked his face in response and I was not surprised to taste salty tears. We stayed in the kitchen and when the sun was hot and high in the sky, Dell took me out for a walk around the farm. This return to normalcy was short-lived however because Dell had to face his other problems, specifically his financial ones. The hospital bills were expensive and despite being the owner of a small cattle farm, Dell didn’t have enough to cover the expenses. He sold everything and he still had to borrow money. With no job and no money, the bank seized the house that he and Beatrice had bought after the wedding. Dell managed to save a few ingenious blueprints of his which was how he found his next job. A dour woman in a purple suit approached Dell and even though I snapped at her ankles, he signed a contract with the Builders League United. Dell’s foot gently pulled from under me. He packed the sentry away (good riddance) and hefted the eyesore into the back of the pickup. I helped him put out the fire. After he washed up, slid under the covers and murmured a good night, I dragged my bed over to his. I settled down, facing the door and I waited for Dell’s breathing to even out into deep rumbles. Even though he has a Level 1 Sentry stationed by the door, I have always slept in this spot between his bed and the door. I am no lowly dog. I am his guard, his support, and his friend.