The Big Show: Taking Care of Business
Mouse whined slightly, resting his chin on the edge of Harry’s bed. His master looked miserable and Mouse could tell he was suffering. The dog wasn’t sure what he could do though. He couldn’t use the phone to call Molly, Karrin or Thomas to come help. Mister was staying away from Harry after he got sneezed on. Mouse thought there were worst things to be covered in than snot, which was not Harry’s fault. Apparently, the cat didn’t agree. He was shunning Harry for the insult, leaving Mouse on his own to tend to his sick master.
He whined again and scooted closer to Harry, who had peeked his head out from underneath the covers. “Mouse,” he croaked, “Go get my gun. I’m dying any way.”
There was no way Mouse was going to do that. Harry might really be suffering, but Mouse could tell he wasn’t dying. His master did like theatrics though. Mouse shook his head and Harry groaned.
“Come on, Mouse, please? If I’m going to go, I’m going to go on my terms.”
Mouse rolled his eyes at that and leaned forward to lick Harry’s forehead. It wasn’t just a gesture of reassurance and love, but also an easy way for the dog to see how hot his master’s temperature was. Mouse didn’t understand why that was important or how he knew that, he just did it. Harry was very hot, which Mouse knew was not good. He drew back to think for a moment, then trotted off.
“Good dog!” Harry called hoarsely after him, “It’s in the left front pocket of my duster!”
Mouse wasn’t getting the gun. He wished Harry would understand that. Instead he trotted to the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel off the counter. It took a little maneuvering on his part, but he managed to get it into the sink and then pawed at the cold water tap until it turned on. He dropped down to the floor while the towel soaked up the water, tail thumping happily against the floor. Mouse never felt better than when he was helping Harry in some way. After a few moments, Mouse jumped up again and pawed the tap off. It was hard to get the towel of the sink, but he managed.
Pleased with himself, Mouse trotted back to the bedroom, leaving a trail of water in his wake. By the time he got back to Harry’s bedside, the front of his chest was soaking wet.
“Did you bring the gun?” Harry asked, poking his head out again. Mister put his front paws on the bed and dropped the wet, cold down on Harry’s face. Harry yelped and yanked the towel away. Mouse sat back, whining in confusion. “Mouse, what?” Harry paused, “You brought me… how did you… you know what, never mind. Good dog.”
Mouse grinned at that and watched Harry fold the towel and place it on his forehead. He reached a hand out and Mouse shoved his head under it for an ear scratch. “Good dog.”