DREI - THE DODGING GAME: ILLNESS
“Dale, where are you going?” asked Chip, as he saw him run down the hall while he exited Gadget’s workshop.
Dale skidded to a halt. Would he lie to his best friend? Or would he finally come to grips with what was going on and tell him the truth?
He decided to try to mix the two. He turned and replied,
“Um, Foxy’s really tired, so she’ll be sleepin’ in today. I guess the most I can do is go to the station and see if anythin’ comes up.” Stunned for a moment, Chip said,
“But Dale, we already talked about this! Look, it’s great that you’ve been wanting to help out, but I really think you should have a good rest today!” Once more, the Comedian put another guilty face, lowered his ears, and looked down, while holding his bandaged paws in front of him,
“Chip, it’s been five months. I’ve been feelin’ kinda—well, guilty that I haven’t been pullin’ my fair share of all the work around here. Even Foxy’s felt guilty about bein’ so distracted lately. Chip, we’re sorry we’ve been slackin’ off.” Something didn’t quite add up with what Dale was saying, and yet, it made perfect sense. Then again, after yesterday’s talk, the Detective was feeling somewhat guilty himself about not giving them more time off, especially with Foxglove’s condition. Perhaps it was time for a balance.
“Dale, you—you haven’t been slacking off, and Foxy *hasn’t* been getting distracted. There are things that can slip by *all* of us. There’s no reason why you should feel guilty! And there’s nothing wrong if you take a day off or two if you’re just as exhausted as everyone else! In fact, I’ve been wondering why you’re so eager to work now, perhaps more eager than me, and you *know* what a workaholic I am!” The Comedian looked up,
“Well, Chip, I—I guess I’m tryin’ to make up for all the time me and Foxy took for ourselves. And when lives were at stake, well, I—I guess the Rescue Ranger in me suddenly kicked in again. And hey, it’s not as if I’m goin’ to work out at the police station, you know.” True. The most they did at the police station was sit, wait, and occasionally fish out a report from the wastebasket. “Don’t worry, Chip. If anythin’ comes up, I’ll come home right away.” Ears perked up again.
“Okay, Dale. I’m glad to see you and Foxy getting back into the swing of things. See you later!” With that, Dale turned and padded down the hall and out the front door. Chip turned and looked toward the couple’s bedroom door, and sighed.
It was very exciting helping Gadget and seeing her eyes shine with that eternal spark as she worked on the modifications of her jackhammer, to the point of now making *two* models, pneumatic *and* hydraulic. In a very real sense, it was as if she was now seeing her “children” go off into the world to make it a better place. And he was right there, with her, to share her joy. Now Gadget had gone to get some more rest before continuing her modifications, and when she did, he would be there with her. His stomach fluttered for a moment when he realised she was letting him get closer, closer to the joys of her work, closer and deeper into her own world. And he, too, was bringing her closer and deeper into his. Their dates were progressing very well, with him being careful in his advances. He wanted her to set the pace of their relationship, letting her proceed with the caution she needed, after all the pain she had gone through earlier in life. And as she advanced with him, he showed her how he would always treat her with much respect, tact, and the utmost care; he would show her that he *indeed* loved her so much he would let help her come out of her shell as carefully as possible. But sometimes, there were moments when he wished she would just simply come out and declare her undying love to him, so he would finally declare *his* undying love to her, and then, later on, Gadget and he would marry and finally consummate their relationship as fully as Dale and Foxglove had consummated theirs.
He looked at the door one more time, and lowered his ears and tail. They had a long way to go.
Dale had won. In this one facet of their one-upsmanship, Dale had won.
He looked back at Gadget’s door.
The road was long, but the rewards would *certainly* be worth it, both for Gadget and him.
Dale laid on top of the ceiling lamp. No cases had come in today, none that the Rangers could take care of, at least. There was the usual number of muggings, break-ins, and accidents, but no more than this New York City precinct had seen. They were very well staffed, and all emergencies were dealt with quickly.
The chipmunk sighed and lowered his ears in frustration. If nothing came up soon, he would have to go home to his wife. But, wasn’t that a good thing? Wasn’t it a good thing that he had a wife to come home to, a wife that loved him more than life itself? Why was he so afraid of being close to her now? Why were there no cases today? Did Fat Cat find out that Mole had relatives in yesterday’s accident and given everyone the day off? Why wasn’t Rat Capone taking advantage of the situation? Where were all the bad guys today? If he didn’t bring back a case to keep everyone busy again, Chip, being the great friend that he is, would most certainly give him and Foxglove more time off if she asked for it. And, it was that time off which he dreaded now. For some reason, as great as everything was before, he simply didn’t want to be close to his wife anymore, and he didn’t know why. Or, maybe he *did* know, but was afraid and/or ashamed to admit it. Maybe he should write to his parents or see a marriage counsellor or something, because obviously things couldn’t go on the way they were going.
A little boy with a bad case of the sniffles came into the office.
“And what can we do for you, sir?” asked Sergeant Spinelli, looking down from his jelly donut. The little boy lowered his head and began mumbling something unintelligible. “Excuse me, what was that?” asked Spinelli, after an unsuccessful attempt to decipher what the boy had said. The rodent, too, couldn’t understand what the boy wanted, so he jumped off the lamp onto a shelf, scampered down to the floor, and sneaked around until he was under Spinelli’s desk, nearly in front of the boy.
“…mmwwwwhhannnt—sniff—iiiiiinnd—sniff---mmmmmmmci—sniff—cle—”
“Um, I’m sorry, I can’t understand you. Could you speak up?” For a moment, the boy said nothing. Instead, he appeared to be deep in thought, inhaling deeply, as if preparing what he needed to say—
“ACHOOOOOOOOOO!” That was quite understandable by any species.
“Bless you!” exclaimed Spinelli, while handing him a tissue. The boy cleared his nasal passages, but the sciurid had to use his shirt to clean his face. “Now, what did you say?”
“I can’t—sniff—find my bi—sniff-cycle,”
*Hmmm, a stolen bicycle? I wonder if Chip would take this case…yuck,* thought the tamias, as he tried to keep focused on the boy while cleaning himself up.
“Where did you last see your bicycle?” asked Spinelli, beginning to write down the facts.
“In—in—ACHOOOOOOO!!!” Dale was smart enough to shield himself with one of the desk legs this time. “The basement—sniff.”
“The basement of your house?” The boy nodded. *Oh boy, a break in?* thought the Comedian to himself, wagging his tail and perking up his ears. *Chip will have a field day with this one!* Spinelli continued questioning the victim, “And when did this happen?” The boy looked at Spinelli with the ultimate puppy eyes and sniffed,
“Last year.” Both the human and the chipmunk’s shoulders slumped, not to mention the rodent’s ears and tail drooped again. Before Spinelli could begin explaining to the boy why this particular type of crime was outside of his jurisdiction, a very irate lawyer entered the office.
“Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you! Are you wasting the policeman’s time again? Just wait till we get home!” The man, obviously the boy’s father, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away. As he left, he turned and told Spinelli, “Sorry, it happens every time it’s my turn on Custody.” And with that, the man led the boy away, mumbling something about a broken bicycle. Dale, obviously disappointed, climbed back to the lamp. So much for the break-in.
It seemed fate, or some mysterious disciplinary force, was working against Dale. It was already 8 o’clock, and no cases had come in, none they Rangers could solve, anyway. Perhaps he should go home and face the music. And knowing Foxglove, she would probably be putting some romantic music in the bedroom. Finally, the rodent gave up. Still with his ears down, he left the office and went up to the roof. Once he got outside, he saw that the rain hadn’t let up, though it was still as light as it was this morning. And if it kept raining all night, Foxglove would forget about flying tonight and stay inside—
With *him*.
Just what the Purgatory was wrong with him? Did *he* suddenly have enough? Did he *honestly* lose any and all desire for his mate? No, there were moments in which he nearly gave in to her advances, nearly, that is. What could be keeping him back? It’s *not* as if they were doing anything wrong, after all, they *were* legally married, *and* they loved each other very much, as it was proved over and over and over in the last five months. As the chipmunk thought about this, he looked at his bandaged paws. Ignoring Gadget’s catapult, he took the long way down inside the building, and *padded* back to the park.
Buying time.
Or he would try to exhaust himself by the time he reached the tree—no, he had done this plenty of times before, so it was certainly no feat of endurance for him. Dale sighed again. This was just plain ridiculous. He *really* wasn’t tired, though maybe a bit sleepy, he loved his wife, his wife loved him, it was all perfectly legal and natural, they were in the prime of their lives—
He would end this nonsense right now and give his wife a romantic night whether he felt like it or not. Well, maybe after dinner. And, maybe after a late night movie, or a late-late-late-late night movie. Oh, and after Foxglove finished hunting. Oh, and after they both dried up, in case the rain didn’t let up. And, perhaps, after he slept a bit himself. He would tell Foxglove to wake him up after she got dry. Or maybe, Foxglove would return the favour and let him sleep tonight, again. Or perhaps they would wait a few days until she shifted her day/night cycles again. Wowie, marrying a bat sure brought a lot of adjustments—
He shook off all the water from his fur as he reached the front door. Bad move, for after he patted down his fur a trifle and reached to open the door, it suddenly flew open, and a reddish-brown flash zoomed out—
And greeted him with a very interesting kiss.
Not to mention she literally pounced-tackled him, with both wings *and* legs wrapped around him. And, with such a force that he toppled backward and fell on the branch. Powerful chest muscles used for flight were now giving him a bear hug. A long-suppressed conditioned reflex kicked in: his arms were pinned to his sides, he couldn’t move, he could hardly breathe, he couldn’t speak—
The only times this had happened to him before was when he was captured by a villain and looking at a horrible face, meaning he was in big trouble, AGAIN, meaning his life was probably in grave danger, meaning—
Foxglove was trying to suck the life out of him?
Odd, as suggestive as this greeting was, he was actually beginning to panic, much the same way he panicked when they first met—
“Mmmmmmmffffffff?” he asked while the bat lady was examining his tonsils.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” she replied, with her eyes closed, swishing her tail like never before. The chipmunk was on the edge of an anxiety attack. He had to—
“Luceeeeeeeeeelle!!!” she gasped, after suddenly breaking off the kiss, GAZING into his eyes. “Out here, or inside? You pick the spot, Cutie. Oh, I just LOVE the way your fur sounds when you shake yourself dry!!” His heart was racing as hers was, his breathing was as laboured as hers was, his eyes were as dilated as hers was, his ears were—
Laid back, opposite of hers?
Obviously confusing panic for passion, she was about to kiss her tamias again, when suddenly he squealed,
“Foxy!” His unusually high pitch made the verspetilionid realise she was just maybe hugging him a trifle too tightly. She lightened her grip on him, but not by much. She wasn’t going to let him get away, not this time. The sciurid, on the other paw, could breathe a bit easier now, but that didn’t remove his panic right away. His arms were still pinned. And things didn’t get any easier because this bundle of love was now kissing his neck, making his fur bristle with even more panic.
“Foxy? I—I think you’d better stop,” he pleaded, or tried to.
“Oh, I think not,” she replied with a seductive voice. “We do have a lot to catch up on, remember?” The rodent almost lost control again when the chiropterid playfully chewed on his right ear, but he managed to say,
“Ummmmmm, Foxy? I *really* don’t think we should be out here.”
“Why not, Cutie? Everyone else is inside.” Her whispered voice was driving him insane. Or scared, he didn’t know which.
“Uh, Dear, please, I’m all wet, and at the police station this snotty kimmmmmmmmmmmmffffffff—!!!” Okay, this was getting out of control. The pipistrell broke the kiss for a moment to give her comment,
“Ask me if I care.”
“Do you carrmmmmmmmmmmmfffffff!!!!!!!!!” She was, literally, eating his words, and it was obvious that she really didn’t care what had happened at the station. The tamias struggled to turn his head and break the kiss, not to mention get his eyes off her face, and when he did, he exclaimed, “Foxy! I’m all wet and full of human germs! This kid sneezed on me!”
“We’re not humans,” she replied seductively again. “Their germs can’t harm us.”
“But I’m all icky!”
“The rain washed it off. I can barely smell any ickyness.” She nuzzled all over his face while they argued,
“We’re gettin’ wet out here!”
“It was a hot day.” She was trying to kiss him again, but he was dodging her lips, trying to keep up his panicky pleadings. Naturally, she thought he was playing hard-to-get.
“Everyone can see us!!”
“Everyone’s inside because of the rain.”
“They have windows!!!”
“Bill Gates is lucky and so am I.”
“Windows made of GLASS!!”
“No light out here.”
“Foxy, please! I don’t wanna do this in public!”
“We don’t exactly have an audience, Cutie.”
“Uhhhhhhhh—I can’t move?”
“Just the way I like it.”
“Uhhh—my back is killin’ me?”
“You’re lying on my wings.”
“Uhhhh, *your* wings are killin’ *you*?”
“Not as much as not being with you, Hun.”
“Um—I’m hungry?”
“………”
A small frown crept onto the pipistrell’s face when she realised she couldn’t counter that argument, and it made her ears droop and her tail stop moving. So reluctantly, she untangled herself from the tamias. As they both sat up, Foxglove began noticing a few things. While it was true that she did not smell any ickyness on her husband, what she *did* smell was something odd. Or, it was what she *didn’t* smell. She had her own scent to think of right now, or more exactly, to make Dale think about her, but all she could smell from him was just rain, and his everyday scent, with a touch of human mucus.
He didn’t smell musky at all, and his ears and tail were in fright mode. Why was he not getting the least bit aroused?
“For cryin’ out loud, Foxy! Just look at yourself! I messed up all your fur! Just what were you thinkin’?” A seductive smile replaced the slight smirk, and her ears and tail perked up again, very much telling Dale just *what* she was thinking about. He had to snap her out of it. “Um, forget I asked.”
“I can’t, he he he!” The chipmunk needed to regain control,
“But really, Foxy, I know you’re glad to see me, but you really need to get a grip on yourself. Um, sleep well?”
“For about an hour. I couldn’t sleep all day, not without you next to me.” Ho boy.
“What? Then what did you do all day?”
“Watch TV, like you do. Anyway, I’m fully recovered. I hope you are too.” This was getting out of control again. Both stood up.
“Foxy, I—I don’t want to—”
“What?” she asked, *very* high-pitched, making his ears hurt. Her ears fell back and her tail stiffened.
“I—I don’t want you to think I’m takin’ advantage of you!” he added in a quick recovery. “I mean, you really should have slept in today; you have bags under your eyes!”
“I do?” she asked, touching under her eyes with her wingtips. “Oh, well, don’t worry. I asked Chip if we could get the weekend off. And he said sure, provided you didn’t bring back a case. Uh, do you have a case?” she asked, with a light tone of dread. Dale almost cursed out loud.
“Um, no, I don’t,” he said instead. The bat lady wondered why he wasn’t happier than he sounded. She decided to fix this by raising her ears again, wagging her tail, placing her wings around his shoulders, and her head on his cheek,
“Well, I guess we have all weekend to ourselves. Don’t you just love Chip?”
“More and more each day,” he replied, smiling through clenched incisors, trying not to flinch at her touch. He had to think fast again. “Now, let me get cleaned up, ok?”
“We *both* need cleaning up this time, Cutie,” she replied, suggestively again, as they both padded toward the door. “And I’m *not* going into the bathroom all by myself this time!” Dale tugged on his shirt again.
“Uh, then let’s dry up and have dinner first, okay?”
“Okay, Cute Stuff,” she giggled.
Drying was somehow turned into another dodging game. The way Foxglove was using her towel *and* gazing at him was provocative enough, but even more so was how close to Dale she was while doing it, not to mention all the “Luceelle’s” she was giving him. He, on the other paw, was trying not to look at her, *and* keep his distance from her as well. She, naturally, took all of this as yet another game of hard-to-get, and she would have pounced on him right then and there, but after hearing his stomach growl several times, she decided to put her hormones on hold, AGAIN, and have dinner first.
Dinner was an odd sight as well. Dale deliberately sat opposite of Foxglove, but that was no deterrent to her at all. She kept GAZING into his eyes whenever she could not echosound at him while she chewed, and she kept playing footsie (despite his refusal to footsie her back), making him nervous as he fumbled with his dinner, and almost making him do a few spit-takes as well. The others thought they were getting flashbacks of their first times together, when the batmaid, being as impulsive as she was, literally threw herself at the foot-paws of a chipmunk she had barely met. And the tension was quite palpable. This caused the other Rangers to quickly finish their dinner and retire to their rooms, letting the couple have the private time they needed.
The tamias padded back to their room, with the pipistrell’s wings around him again, as she hugged him from behind. He almost felt like a prisoner of her impulsiveness. They entered their room, and the bat lady locked the door shut.
The warden had closed his cell.
“I’ll get the water running, Cutie,” she cooed, as she placed her wings on his shoulders again. “You’d better have that shirt on the floor by the time I get out.” Ugh, there was that face again. The chipmunk bristled and turned away slightly from that horrible sight,
“Um, can’t I take a nap first? I’m still a little sore.” His wife thought for a moment, and replied,
“Well, okay. I do have to freshen up a bit. But don’t you get *too* comfy!”
“Oh, I won’t!” he exclaimed suddenly. The chiropterid kissed him deeply again, causing his defensive reaction once more. She backed up a trifle and echosounded him suspiciously for a moment, and decided to ignore that for now. He’d loosen up in a few minutes. She left for the bathroom, and once she was inside, the rodent flopped on the bed, and slowly removed his shirt. He then laid on his side, closed his eyes, and got another random idea.
Eight minutes later, Foxglove turned on the shower, and waited a moment. As she waited for the pitch of the sound of the water to change, indicating an increase in temperature, she thought she heard Dale call her. She padded to the door of the bathroom, and then heard something else,
“Lift it!!”
She entered the bedroom again, and saw him lying on the bed, twisting and turning, apparently having a nightmare.
“Lift the slab, dummy! There’s a badger under it! And hurry, I can hear the rain pourin’ outside!” His ears were down, his eyes were closed tight, and he was gripping the sheets tightly as well. “Then get a crowbar, stupid!! We have to rescue him! We’re the Rescue Rangers!! Chip, get Gadget’s jackhammer here! I don’t know how long the badger can hold out!!” Instantly, his wife was beside him, trying to shake him into wakefulness.
“Dale, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” pleaded the verspetilionid.
“I know! This is a nightmare!! Get that badger some oxygen!! The rain is gettin’ heavy! Where’s that jackhammer??!!”
“DALE!!!” The sciurid’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped when he saw that horrible face in front of him again. Following his plan, he began to weep, and he hugged his wife tightly, as he sobbed,
“Foxy—we couldn’t save them all—we—we couldn’t—so many—so—many—————!!!!!!” He poured his tears on her abdomen, and being as emotional as she was, she, too began crying over the ones lost, crying over her own selfishness, and crying over the “terror” that gripped her husband so.
“Dale—Dale, I’m—I’m sorry——I didn’t know you felt so bad———Honey——forgive me———please forgive me!!” She continued to weep for a while, forgetting any romantic ideas, and just comforting her “tormented” mate. She didn’t know how long they remained that way until his sobbing finally stopped. She looked/echosounded down at him—
And he was sound asleep.
She wasn’t too disappointed this time, not after realising he still needed to recover emotionally from yesterday. Instead, her own disappointment and frustration were replaced by guilt once more. Carefully, she laid him down again, and got up. She went back to the bathroom and turned off the shower, of which the water had turned cold a while back anyway, turned out the lights, and climbed onto bed again.
“I’m sorry, Cutie,” she whispered, “But all you had to do was tell me! Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll wait, for you, I’ll wait.” She covered him with her wing, as if to shield him from any more nightmares, and fell asleep.
Dale shivered when he felt her leathery wing slowly cover him, but inwardly sighed when he heard her fall asleep. Finally, he had control.
For now.
The following morning, Dale awakened to find Foxglove gone, and a throbbing headache pulsing through his head. He also found his nose discharging liquid as well.
He caught the kid’s cold.
But wasn’t that impossible? How could he have given in to human germs—?
He was out in the rain last night! No wonder he was sick! Dizzily, he got out of bed, and went to the bathroom to clear up his nose as best he could. He came out with an even bigger headache, so he went to the living room to see if the others could get him some medicine. When he got there, he noticed that none of the other Rangers were there. Instead, he saw Foxglove come through the front door, holding a small bottle.
He flinched involuntarily, bristling and flattening his ears, thinking he had just seen a monster. Hopefully, his wife would be too busy with her hormones to notice that.
“Good morning, Cutie,” she said padding toward him, “I heard you sniffling this morning, and echosounding you closely, I heard your headache as well. So I went to the pharmacy to get you this.” As she handed him the medicine, he replied, with slightly more control over himself,
“Aw, thanks, Foxy. I was about to ask the others to get me some medicine as well. Um, where are the others?” he asked, looking about.
“They went to the RAS to turn in the blueprints and the prototypes of Gadget’s jackhammers. They should be back this afternoon.” She followed her tamias into the kitchen, as he prepared his dosage. Getting a trifle apprehensive at how close the pipistrell was to him, he tried to continue the “neutral” conversation,
“Oh. Aren’t you goin’ to join them?” Jumping like an impatient child, the chiropterid replied,
“No, Cutie. We have the whole place to ourselves, isn’t that great??” After painfully swallowing a spoonful, the rodent turned and said, grimacing,
“Uh, Hon, I hate to repeat a cliché, but I *do* have a headache. I’m *really* not feelin’ well right now.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Cutie. That’s powerful stuff you just took. Instant relief for the next twelve hours!” The Comedian looked at the bottle with shock.
TWELVE HOURS?
“B-b-but what about you?” he stuttered, backing off slightly and keeping his ears low and tail still, “If we get close, you might catch this cold—oh no, I hope you didn’t catch it already!” Raising her ears high, tail in a blur, and padding provocatively toward him again, she replied, taking the bottle away from him and placing it on the counter,
“I already had *my* headache taken care of, Cute Stuff. Maybe that cold *did* jump from human to chipmunk, and *maybe* from chipmunk to bat, but my, um, *condition* kinda gave me an edge over it. The pharmacist gave me one tablet, and *my* cold is gone!” She placed her wings on his shoulders, and echosounded his face.
Ugh, that *face* again.
“And now, in a few minutes, we’ll have twelve hours of non-stop——*relief*.” The kitchen was getting unbearably hot.
“Um, Foxy? I think I also have a fever,” he said, tugging on his collar again, turning to look away from that horrible face.
“Well then, it looks like we’ll have to get you in that shower after all! Um—” Suddenly remembering what had happened last night, and hearing his bandaged paws, she backed off a trifle, lowered her ears, stilled her tail, and asked, “Dale? Are—are you okay now?” The question and her unexpected self-control confused him momentarily.
“Huh?”
“I mean, you really scared me last night. I didn’t know how bad you took the rescue this week. I just want to know if—if you’re still upset over it.” Understanding what she meant, the chipmunk decided to continue his random plan. He also lowered his ears and tail even more, padded to the living room, and sat on the couch. His wife sat beside him, and after a moment, he began,
“Foxy, I know we rescued all we could. I know we got there in the nick of time. I know that even if we had ten times as much animals and jackhammers, we *still* would have lost plenty. I know it’s not the first time we get DOA’s in a rescue operation, but——but————they were just so *many*!” He put both bandaged paws on his head. The bat lady held his slacking shoulders, and he continued while shaking his paws, “Every movie I’ve seen where there is a massacre, well, it’s scary, and sometimes they give me nightmares, but deep down I know that it’s all just an act. It’s not real. All that is nothin’ but dummies, actors, lotsa make up, and special effects. But this——this was *real*!! It was the real thing!! Those badgers, moles, and rabbits are never goin’ to get up and try take two anymore—!!!” He tried to make his voice choke, and it rather worked, since, he *was* still a trifle shaken. For a while, there was silence, and finally, the pipistrell spoke,
“Cutie, um, I’ll be at the police station. You go ahead and rest. And remember, I’ll always be here for you. I love you.” She gave him a light kiss on the cheek, which was a remarkable feat of self-control for her at this point. Also exhibiting incredible self-control, the tamias used all his strength to refrain from bristling and flinching. With that, she got up, and left.
Dale laid back on the couch. He was now manipulating his own emotions *as well as* Foxglove’s. But he couldn’t get intimate with her.
Not yet.
This plan worked out perfectly well, until Dale woke up the next day. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was his reflection in a monster’s huge dark blue eyes that were looking straight back at him with the ultimate expression of hatred, vengeance, and destruction—
Just as he opened his mouth to scream his lungs out again, the monster clamped her mouth over his and began to suck his breath out. He struggled to detach himself from the monster, but he appeared to be tied to her with leather sheets. His bandaged paws, however, were near his head, so he tried to separate from her by pushing against the monster’s shoulders—
Foxglove thought for a moment that the struggling was another way of getting passionate, until she saw his flattened ears as he tried to push away from her. Stunned, she broke the kiss, and he gasped for air. Dale looked back at her with the most frightened expression she had ever seen, which caused her to raise one eyebrow. The chipmunk’s quick thinking interrupted her thoughts.
“I—couldn’t breathe there—GASP!!!” Odd, did he forget how to kiss?
“Cutie, you’re supposed to breathe through your nose,” replied the bat lady, a trifle confused.
“Well sure, if I know what’s goin’ on!!” chattered the rodent, trying to sound a trifle angry. The chiropterid lowered her ears, looked/echosounded down a trifle and replied,
“Sorry, Dale, it’s just that—I couldn’t help myself. I really had my heart set on spending the day with you yesterday, and you wouldn’t believe how lonely I got at the police station. Everything reminded me of you! It was really hard to concentrate with your scent all over the place!” He also raised one eyebrow,
“But-but didn’t the others join you later?”
“Well, yes. They told me you suggested that they join me there so they wouldn’t catch your cold. That was really thoughtful of you,” she smiled a trifle. “But even with them there, I—I missed you so much!! I needed to feel your fur against mine, to hear your voice and breathing and heartbeat and intestines, your sonar profile—”
“Uh, Foxy—” She was ruffling his headfur and pressing herself against him, and he was still trying to push away.
“Dale, I flew home as fast as I could once we left the station. I wanted so much to find you watching TV so I could snatch you up and lock us up in here, but you were already asleep!” His fur bristled under the covers,
“Um, well, that medicine kinda made me sleepy.”
“I wanted to wake you up and pick up where we left off—but-but-you looked so cute and peaceful, so I decided to try to sleep next to you. It took me forever to close my eyes and hush my sonar, knowing that the ‘munk of my dreams was right next to me. When I woke up just now, I felt so—so—um—fidgety. I really couldn’t help myself! When I heard that your breathing was clear and that your headache was gone, I lost control. Dale—” The verspetilionid stopped pressing against him and looked/echosounded at him with the ultimate puppy-dog eyes, “I-I know you might still be all shook up from the rescue and I don’t want to be selfish at all, but—but—” The sciurid became even more frightened when their noses touched. “Dale—I need you—really, *really* bad!” What now? His cold was gone. He cursed inwardly at 24-hour viruses. His “emotional trauma” was losing more and more credibility.
Random, random, random, think random!
“Um, Foxy?” he asked, a trifle shakily, still trying to pull free of her wings.
“Yes, Cutie?” Her ears perked up again.
“I have an idea. To make up for lost time, I’m goin’ to get you a surprise. But, I have to go out to get it, so you’ll have to let go of me.”
The pipistrell thought.
And thought.
And thought some more.
“Dale, can we do without the surprise? Cold showers are losing their effect on me.” The tamias *had* to flinch at that. His mate was running out of options as well. He tried to put a tender expression on his face without looking at her eyes, but he couldn’t perk up his ears. He continued,
“Please, Foxy. It’s—really special. And we do have all weekend. Besides, if we start now without it,” he shivered in fright, “we won’t be able to stop, and the surprise will be lost. Can you let go of me now?”
She thought once more.
And thought some more.
And thought still some more.
“Um, Dale, I kinda need your help letting go of you.” And it was true. Her wings were practically locked around him. Several painful minutes later, he managed to extricate himself from her grasp. He stood and looked for a clean shirt in his drawer, much to Foxglove’s disappointment. While he was doing this, an unpleasant thought crossed Dale’s mind.
“Um———Foxy?” asked the chipmunk, with his back turned toward her.
“Yes, Cutie?” asked the bat lady, sitting up a trifle.
“Before we met——um——how did you———did you——er——handle yourself durin’ the fall?” Placing her hormones on hold once more, she looked/echosounded down to the bed, sat up, and hugged her legs. She searched her memory for a moment, and began,
“Well Dale, it wasn’t as if I gave it much thought, at first. I was a loner when I was a kid, so no male bat ever echosounded me wrong or anything. Freddie captured me right before my first fall season, right when I hit puberty. She kept us in cages for a long time. I had these—impulses—but with no male bat around, they were rather easy to ignore. She kept her place warm, and with a certain potion of hers, I didn’t bother hibernating that year, so I guess that’s also when my body cycles began fluctuating. It was during that winter when she cast the spell that made her able to talk to animals, and she tried a lot of other stuff too. Since she kinda threw my body cycles out of sync, I kinda kept echosounding for other bats on and off over the next year, but I was afraid of getting close and getting Freddie all mad at me and doing harm to me and the bats. I managed to finish that year okay, but it was during the third fall season when everything—um—pounced on me. Freddie noticed that, of course, so she prepared a suppressant. It worked very well, too!” She turned to look/echosound at her husband, smiling. “It kept me from getting distracted, and I became a better helper. Everything was fine—” she looked/echosounded down again, “—until I heard you falling.”
“Huh?” he asked, turning back to face her, his ears finally straightening. “But we didn’t meet during autumn!” She turned back and continued,
“I-I know. When I first heard you, it was as if the suppressant had just disappeared. Dale, I was just as frightened as you were when I came on to you. I mean, you weren’t a bat, but it’s just that the way your sonar profile sounds—it put all the male bats to shame!” She looked/echosounded at him very tenderly. “And when I got to know you better—well, I just wanted to be with you—forever.”
“But—but—what happened when you left the first time? You were gone over a year!” She smiled and continued,
“Dale, don’t worry. I didn’t cheat on you. When—when—you—” this brought forth painful memories, so her smile disappeared as she lowered her head and ears as her heart began aching, “*turned me down*,” her voice cracked, “I was devastated like you wouldn’t believe. I left and stayed in various roosts, but I didn’t dare join a bat colony. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t risk being heartbroken again. Well—um—” she composed herself and continued, “it seemed that Freddie’s suppressant didn’t wear off completely that year, or it still had some lingering effects, so that fall I didn’t have any major problems. I hibernated that year in an old store, and I guess that kinda reset my body cycles again. Then I found that exotic church, and when I came back the following summer and—” her face lit up again, “and you took me back, Dale, I was in Heaven.”
“But how did you manage to go through *last* fall, when we were datin’? I mean, I noticed your change in scent but I didn’t think much about it since I’m not a bat. And you weren’t that—um—*fidgety* back then, either—or—not as fidgety as you are now.” The pipistrell chuckled for a moment,
“I think the suppressant needed one more cycle to completely wear out. It didn’t—turn everything off completely—and it was very hard for me to stay controlled, but all the crime solving took care of my excess—um—energy. Then came winter. Gadget’s heating works great, but without the potion—”
“You were half-awake all the time.” The tamias put away his own fears for a moment. He padded closer and patted her head. “Aw, Foxy, if you wanted to hibernate, all you had to do was say so!” The verspetilionid looked/echosounded at him and smiled again. The sciurid had to step back, for some reason.
“I know. But I knew that none of you would be hibernating, either. And spending four months in the same house with my boyfriend without seeing him or hearing him or talking to him—was too much for me. I wanted to spend all the time I could with you, even if I was only semiconscious. In fact, the only memories I have of last winter are Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s Day——and you.” She looked/echosounded at him with tears in her eyes. He had to turn away, for some reason, again.
“When spring came along——I woke up fully, and Dale——” Foxglove had to stop to regain control, “Bats get Fall Fever while everyone else gets Spring Fever, but to me, it seemed as if I got Spring, Summer, Fall, *and* Winter Fever all rolled into one! I had never felt like that before! Not with any bat, or anyone!! I mean, Dale, I know what comes naturally for female bats, but just hearing you everyday——it was something bigger, better, and much higher than what any bat must have felt before!!” Dale stood still for a moment. He turned a bit and asked,
“You—you mean you felt like this——since March? Then why did you—um—get—uh—all——active since September?” The chiropterid smiled and blushed a trifle,
“Well, Cutie, I thought all my—urges—were released the moment we went on our honeymoon. And they were, kind of. You are the ‘bestest’ lover any female could have. And now that we’re married and all my cycles are reset, my ‘Fall Fever’ is finally getting the attention it needs! But Dale, Fever or not, I love you all year long. I don’t care what season it is. Every time I hear you, it’s as if the Fever lands on me and it *feels* like fall, even though it’s summer or spring or winter. I mean, from June up to September, I don’t remember loving anyone or anything as much as I loved you and I couldn’t get enough of you. Now, I guess that my Fall Fever just makes things much more fun for us! I love you so much, Dale, and I don’t want to spend any more time without you. Cutie, please——” she looked/echosounded at the sheets again, and whimpered, “——don’t go.” The rodent winced again. His mate needed him. Why didn’t he need her? He turned away.
“Foxy, just wait a moment. I’ll make everythin’ up to you.” He still wouldn’t look at her. “This will be a great weekend. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Dale—” she pleaded, rising from the bed.
“OhzowielookatthetimeI’dbetterhurryotherwiseIwon’tgetmysurpriseintimeforyouI’llberightbacksorryIloveyou!!” Before she could pounce on him, he was suddenly gone, and the door was shut.
In her face.
Foxglove seriously considered asking Gadget to connect their shower to the freezer.
It was long after lunchtime when Dale finally got the nerve to return to Headquarters. The orange October sun was just above the New York skyline, casting long shadows over the park, now coloured in a bright Halloween-orange/brown. The rodent looked at the huge oak he called home.
He couldn’t believe he was going to do this.
He only hoped that it would work, after all, having lived in the city so long, his body had very much developed tolerance to some types of food that weren’t rodent-standard, even if the definition of “standard” was quite stretched for him. When he first tried them, they actually tasted much better than he thought. Hot dogs and pepperoni or anchovy pizza are normally not part of rodent cuisine, but if properly cooked and seasoned, they’re a very welcome dish on any rodent’s plate. Monterey had also used food like that in some recipes he served them. And it was accepted by all stomachs, including Foxglove’s, an insectivore, nonetheless. However, practically all that time, all meat products or by-products had been properly cooked, except for a few hot dogs.
They had practically never eaten any 100% carnivorous food raw.
He felt his right cheek pouch for a moment.
Finding it was nauseating in itself. After all, most human places of that kind, despite health regulations, tended to be more than nauseating for herbivores. What was more nauseating was actually grabbing it, even with his paw wrapped in plastic. And he nearly threw up when he stuffed it inside his cheek pouch. He still felt a trifle nauseous now, knowing what was in there. He only hoped that he hadn’t conditioned himself to the point of full tolerance. Maybe he should have grabbed more. Furthermore, there was no way of telling what the effects would be, or how long they would last.
Or even, if it would kill him.
He didn’t know if he grabbed too much or too little. Too much, and he would die. Too little, and he would just get a few hours of discomfort. And who knows if this would keep that monster away from him. His ears and tail remained low and still.
He reached the oak, and thought about using the Gadget’s elevator, which she lovingly installed just for Foxglove and him for their wedding day. Realising it would make a lot of noise, he entered the garage where they kept the Ranger Skate, instead. His bandaged paws limited his climbing abilities right now, but even if they weren’t bandaged, he suddenly realised it was pointless to sneak in, because with sunset fast approaching Foxglove would already be wide awake, if she had decided to sleep in the first place. Chances are, she would be awake now, waiting for him with romantic thoughts again. But why did he not have romantic thoughts himself? Wasn’t he a newlywed? Wasn’t he in love? What was wrong with him?
He hoped that her sonar wouldn’t be able to detect what was inside his cheek pouch. He grabbed just enough to provide the needed effect, he hoped, and not too much to make his cheek pouch bulge noticeably. With luck, she would probably dismiss it as a swollen tonsil, or even ignore it because she would be echosounding other parts of his body. And he hoped he would be able to keep her tongue from pushing into his cheek pouch. He entered the tree house and found Monterey and Zipper watching T.V. He raised his ears, padded over to the couch, and was about to ask them where Chip and Gadget were—
“OOOFFFF!!!!”
The sciurid felt as if a cocktail party had just hit him on the small of the back and knocked him to the floor, except that this cocktail party was somewhat fluffier. Still, it was quite solid, so the fluffiness didn’t keep his lower vertebræ from bursting with pain. That monster had caught him from behind, trying to snap his back and begin devouring him from his left cheek. His arms were pinned again by leather sheets.
Monterey and Zipper calmly looked behind them and saw the couple on the floor.
“Luceeeeeeeeeelle!!!” said the bat lady.
“Looks like our cue t’ leave, Zip,” said the mouse to the fly, as he stood.
“Monty—wait—” gasped the chipmunk, bristling and flattening his ears once more.
“Oh, Dale, what kept you?” asked the verspetilionid, while nuzzling his left cheek. “I fell asleep, but I then had the most wonderful dream about you!!” She then tried to kiss him, but he kept his face down.
“Um, Foxy, I—I couldn’t find the surprise. Sorry I took so long. Now, uh, could you get off me please? Monty! Zipper! Wait!!” He saw that they were already heading for the entrance. The murid stopped, turned, and asked,
“What’s up, mate?” The sciurid flinched at that word again. He tried to look up while dodging his wife’s lips.
“Is—is there any lunch left? I’m really tired and hungry and I didn’t stop to grab anythin’ to eammmmmmmmmmmmffffff!!!!” They tongue-wrestled for a moment, but only one had romantic thoughts, while the other tried to keep the battle away from the right side of his oral cavity. The mus and the musca smiled.
“Well, we already ‘ad lunch, but don’t worry, mate! We’ll go t’ the kitchen ‘n fix ye somethin’ up moighty quick!” With that, the two left the couple alone. The pipistrell was just about to invade the tamias’ right cheek pouch, when she broke off the kiss, and pleaded,
“Dale, forget lunch. Just for today, please forget lunch!!!” He could have, if he tried, but it seemed that the monster wanted *him* for lunch. He kept his eyes down,
“Foxy, my back is killin’ me for real this time!” he groaned. Once again, Foxglove put her hormones on hold. She sat up a trifle and echosounded his back.
Ouchie.
“Oh, Dale, I’m sorry! I didn’t know I tackled you so hard!!!” The bat lady scrambled off her husband and helped him get to his foot-paws. Gently, she began massaging his back, but wings were not very effective for that. The chipmunk didn’t know if the monster was now trying to find the correct spot for breaking his back completely. He then remembered that this was his wife, not a monster.
“Zowie, Foxy!! You should play for the Giants!!” he chattered, rubbing his back himself. The chiropterid then hugged her husband and nuzzled his left cheek.
“Cutie, I’m sorry, really! When I heard you coming up the stairs, I lost control again. But then, something strange happened to me. As I flew from the bedroom, I naturally echosounded you, but as I approached, for some reason I felt like sweeping you up with my tail membrane and pulverising you with my teeth—”
Dale suddenly broke the hug and began backing off in a most frightened manner.
“—but then I realised it was you so I corrected my approach just in time—well, almost. I didn’t know I was flying so fast. I was aiming for your shoulders, really!” The rodent somehow managed to calm down a trifle.
“Well, I—I just hope it doesn’t give us problems later on,” he said. There was a tone of annoyance that Foxglove could very well hear, so she lowered her head and drooped her ears and tail. That expression was one that not even Dale could withstand, and it caused *his* ears and tail to droop. He held her shoulders and continued, “Aw, Foxy! I’m not mad at you! It was an accident. With a little ice, it should be gone by tonight—” He mentally bonked himself when he realised what he just said. Foxglove’s ears, head, and tail perked up with tremendous anticipation when she heard that, causing *his* ears and tail to stiffen again. Trying to look away from her face again, he stuttered, “I mean—it should be gone—the pain should be gone—later—it just should be gone—um——I need food.” And he turned away and padded to the kitchen with a slightly higher speed than normal.
Monterey turned to look at Dale while he stood next to the oven. “Well, that was quick,” he winked at him. Dale flinched again, and quickly sat down.
“Um—no, Monty—we just—just—what’s for lunch?” The mouse’s moustache curled up,
“Somethin’ moighty romantic for ye, Dale lad! Toasted acorns———with chocolate!” He then set a very large helping in front of the chipmunk, just as the bat lady came in.
For one instant, the world around Dale disappeared.
All that was, and all that is, and all that would ever be, would be him and chocolate.
His ears perked up.
His tail became a blur.
His eyes glazed over.
His nose filled itself with the aroma, sending shivers all over his body.
His mouth drooled uncontrollably.
And his palate tingled.
The murid wondered if that was what he looked like when he got one of his cheese attacks. Zipper, Foxglove, and he watched in awe as the sciurid gobbled up the food in front of him with an incredible speed.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that this is still normal,” said the chiropterid, quite dryly.
“Don’t worry, this is sure to put him in a romantic mood!” replied the dipterid. Foxglove thought for a moment, and then had an idea. When Dale finished his plate, his eyes returned to normal, and slowly, his senses began reconnecting to the every day world around him. He managed to focus on a monster standing next to Monterey and Zipper, and the monster was holding another plate of chocolate and acorns. His eyes widened in fright, but again, she mistook it as passion, and didn’t notice his ears flattening again.
“You got me hungry again,” she said, trying not to giggle. Instead, she tried to sound disinterested, “So, I guess I’ll take a plate to the room.” She then put on a worried expression, “Oh dear, I just hope I don’t spill any on myself! That would be just really clumsy of me! How would I *ever* get chocolate off my fur?” she asked, trying to sound stuck-up.
The chipmunk just looked at her. His heart was racing, but it wasn’t because of passion.
“I mean, just think of it, Cutie. Can you imagine what I would look like if I had chocolate on me? What would we ever do then—oops.” The “oops” was quite clearly fake, as she deliberately spilled a drop or two on her abdomen. “Oh, no. Now look at the mess I made!” she put one wing on her head and tried to sound upset with herself. Then, with the ultimate “come hither” eyes, she softly asked, “Dale, can you help me clean up, pretty please?” Then, with the ultimate whisper, she cooed, “……Luceeeeeeeeeelle……”
“I don’t think we should be watching this,” said Zipper.
“Or ‘earin’ it,” added Monterey. Never taking her eyes or sonar off Dale, Foxglove padded provocatively out the kitchen. The fly and the mouse turned and saw a chipmunk who appeared to have just seen a ghost, a banshee, a zombie, a vampire, a demon, a mummy, a werewolf, and a living disembodied hand right in front of him.
“Pally? Ye okay?” Dale snapped out of his panic and looked at his friends.
“Um, yeah, I’m okay, Monty. I just kinda—got lost in the moment.” The murid and muscid looked at each other with sly grins. Zipper turned to the sciurid and quipped,
“Don’t keep her waiting.” And with that, the two left the kitchen to hint at Dale that his privacy would be respected. Snapping out of his fright once more, Dale knew what he had to do. He squeezed his cheek pouch with both of his paws, and expelled the item into his mouth. He had to work quickly before the taste activated his natural defences and made him throw up right there and then.
He swallowed the piece of raw ground pork he had smuggled in his cheek pouch.
Almost immediately, his stomach began to churn. Raw protein and fat was something that herbivores were just not meant to digest. He hoped this plan would work. Quickly, he went to the refrigerator, grabbed the milk cup, and downed it as quickly as he could. Nauseous, he put the cup back, and closed the refrigerator.
He waited a moment.
He burped slightly.
And his stomach began to disagree with him. With a sigh, he raised his ears and tail again, padded out of the kitchen and headed for his room. He was halfway there when his ears and tail drooped again and his head began to spin. When he grabbed the doorknob, he closed his eyes, and waited for the dizzy spell to subside. It did, but not totally.
“Dale? I *really* need your help cleaning up here!” cooed his wife, from behind their bedroom door. The sciurid opened the door. Odd, that monster looks and sounds a lot like Foxglove—
Carefully, he entered the room. And he had to do it carefully, for it seemed that with every step he took, his stomach got more and more upset. PAIN was now filling his abdomen. His stomach was not only disagreeing with him, but it was downright arguing. The verspetilionid looked/echosounded at her mate. Strange, his stomach appeared to be bubbling, and his fur was bristling all over and had somehow taken on a slight greenish tint.
“Dale, is something wrong?” The rodent was about to reply, but suddenly he shut his mouth because he had to use every ounce of strength to keep from throwing up. If he did, then the discomfort would subside within the hour. If he could manage to keep his lunch down long enough, it would prolong his illness—
“Dale?” asked the chiropterid again, with more concern now, approaching him. A light spasm caused Dale to flinch and hold his stomach.
“Uh—HMP!!—Foxy—I’m—HMP!!!—okay—I need—need—some—water—” Another dizzy spell made the room blur. And another spasm jolted his stomach again. He couldn’t look up anymore, and his legs were losing strength. He sniffed left and right, looking for a bathroom—bathroom?
Where was he going again?
Oh, yes, the kitchen. He turned and padded back into the hallway.
“Dale?” she forgot all about her chocolate fantasy and followed her husband. Halfway down the hall Dale was leaning against the wall to keep from falling down. His stomach contents suddenly shot up his œsophagus, but he quickly swallowed, closing the only outlet they had, sending them back down to his stomach. It reacted by sending spasms all over his abdominal and intestinal muscles, sending him to the floor, clutching his abdomen as if he was giving birth.
“DALE!!!” yelled Chip and Gadget, entering the hallway from the opposite end, at the same time Foxglove ran out of the bedroom. They rushed up to him, and tried to roll him on his back. He was locked in a fœtal position, and his abdomen was twitching erratically.
“Dale, what happened??!!” chattered his best friend, looking at him with ultimate fright. Ears flattened all around. The bat lady saw/heard her husband on the floor, but what was most peculiar, is that she heard arrhythmic muscle contractions all around Dale’s abdomen. And with the way his face was twisting with each spasm, she knew he was in intense pain. Moments later, Zipper and Monterey arrived to see what was going on.
“Pally!!”
“What happened to you??!!” Slowly, Dale opened his teary eyes. There were blurs in front of him, but one blur reminded him of a monster. He would have screamed again, but the spasms prevented him from taking a deep breath. His breathing, instead, was short and ragged, and consequently, so was his speech.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggghhhhhhh———————guys————I————think————that———m—maybe————aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!————th—the acorns———werrrrrrrrrrrrre!!!!!———a little off!!! Uuuunnnnnnnngggggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!”
“‘Ere, pally! Lemme take ye t’ yer bed!!” The mouse was about to pick him up, but suddenly the sick chipmunk yelled,
“NO!!!” Stunned, everyone looked at him questioningly. Dale winced again, and continued, “Th—the couch——pleeeeeeeze!!!” Monterey looked at the bat lady, who looked/echosounded at the other chipmunk, who just shrugged at this request. With a shrug himself, the mus picked up the sick tamias and carried him to the couch. Once there, Dale tried to curl up on himself as tightly as he could. Monterey looked at his leader and exclaimed,
“Chip, lad, it couldn’t ‘ave been the acorns!! I picked them meself!! ‘Sides, didn’t we *all* eat them at lunch?”
“You know, Monty, that does sound odd.” At that moment, Dale’s stomach tried to empty itself one more time. This time he wasn’t quick enough to swallow, but he managed to keep the acidic material inside his mouth and outside his cheek pouches. With the ultimate expression of disgust, he swallowed it all up again, making his throat and œsophagus burn. Still, everyone was able to smell the material, so they instinctively backed off. His wife, however, decided to stand behind the couch, looking/echosounding at him, and wincing in unison with him as she heard his muscles spasm.
“Well, it looks like one bad acorn got away,” said Chip. “Dale, do you want us to take you to the bathroom?” The Comedian tried to focus on the blob with the bomber jacket.
“N———no——I——can handle it———” *Strange,* thought the Detective. *Any healthy vertebrate reflexively vomits almost immediately when it eats bad food——meaning that Dale isn’t as healthy as we thought he was!!* Suddenly he turned and exclaimed,
“Gadget! Call Doctor Qandlier! Tell him Dale’s got a severe case of stomach pain, possibly food poisoning, and he can’t get rid of it!!”
“Right, Chip!!” The mousemaid ran to the cell phone she had in her workshop. Meanwhile, the others continued to check on their friend.
“Dale, are you sure you don’t want to throw up?” asked the bat lady. “It kinda smelled like you did!” The sick chipmunk was running out of excuses.
“C——can’t!!”
“Maybe we should give ‘im a good dose o’ castor oil!” suggested the mouse. “Or somethin’ that will brin’ all that bad stuff out. We’ll go t’ the medicine cabinet ‘n see what we can find.” Mouse and fly ran/flew to the bathroom, having just added more fright to the sick rodent. If they gave him castor oil, there would be no way of containing his stomach contents. The other chipmunk continued to question his best friend,
“Dale, are you sure it was the acorns? We all ate some! Did you eat anything earlier?”
“N——o,” he moaned, shoving his stomach contents down again. And that was true; he didn’t eat anything since breakfast. Chip, meanwhile, didn’t know what to think about this. Reflex should have caused him to expel all of his stomach contents. There was obviously something wrong with his digestive tract, but his convulsions showed that the stomach *was* trying to empty itself, but something was blocking it, and he couldn’t possibly be swallowing it all over again.
“Dale, please, let us take you to the bathroom and we’ll try to get it out!”
“C——can’t——HMP!!!——won’t——go out!!” he lied. Foxglove placed her wings on Dale’s head and abdomen, feeling totally helpless. His head felt fine, but his abdomen was burning. She was about to suggest something else when Gadget, Monterey, and Zipper ran/flew back into the living room.
“Guys, I’m going to take the Ranger Wing and fly Doctor Qandlier here. I’ll be back as quickly as I can!”
“You do that, luv! ‘N tell the doc t’ bring some castor oil, too!” The Inventor dashed to the hangar. “Funny thin’,” added the Adventurer as he watched her leave, “we don’t ‘ave anythin’ ‘ere t’ trigger vomitin’.” The Acoustics Engineer then turned to him and glared/echosounded at him with intense anger,
“That’s because the rest of us finished it up!!!” The two rodents and dipterid looked at the chiropterid with surprise, while the sick one looked up questioningly at her. She had never got angry at Monterey before. “You and your cooking!” she continued to shriek, “We try to be polite and eat what you cook because there’s not much else to eat around here! True, sometimes you make great stuff, but almost ALWAYS you have to put cheese on things!! Monty, we know you love cheese, but there are others who live here who don’t like it as much as you do!!”
“But I didn’t use cheese in the acorns!!” he pleaded, raising his paws.
“No—you didn’t,” she hissed. “Monty, we all love you, and we wouldn’t say anything that would hurt you, but you wouldn’t believe all the times when right after we finish, we have to go to the bathroom to throw it back up!!” Realising she was blowing up at him, she calmed down a trifle, and looked away from the males. “Monty, I’m sorry. But it’s just that——well——we’re all different animals here, and not everything that you make is something *everyone* can eat!” Chip, understanding Foxglove’s outburst, explained,
“But Foxy, Dale’s a chipmunk, so he *eats* acorns by instinct, just like you eat moths! And he’s conditioned himself to chocolate!” Crying, she looked/echosounded back at the mouse,
“But, are you sure you didn’t put something in the acorns or chocolate? Something that may have caused this?” Monterey desperately thought for a moment, and replied,
“No! There was a lil’ oil in the toastin’, ‘n the chocolate fudge’s the same one Dale eats all the time, ‘n ‘e always finishes it *months* before it’s expiration date! If there ‘ad been somethin’ in it, then at least *Chip* would already be on the floor as well!” That was true. Zipper asked Dale again,
“Dale, are you *sure* you didn’t eat anything else?” A few spasms later, he lied again,
“No——” Chip thought for a moment. There was only one option left.
“Well, it looks like one bad acorn got away,” he sighed. Monterey sighed as well, and his ears, tail, moustache, and broad shoulders slumped. He padded up to the couch, and knelt beside Dale.
“Pally, I’m sorry.” He took off his flight cap and put one paw on Dale’s shoulder, as he sadly apologised, “I really did try t’ pick out the bess’ ones at the market, but——but—maybe my eyes ‘n nose aren’t what they used to be.” Dale was feeling pain, but now it wasn’t just in his stomach. Foxglove, however, seeing and hearing Monterey’s reaction, suddenly cried,
“Oh——oh no, Monty!” She padded around the couch and knelt beside him. “I—I’m sorry I blew up at you! We really don’t know what’s going on, so maybe it wasn’t your fault! And even if it was, it wasn’t intentional!!” Monterey’s ears, whiskers, and tail lowered like never before.
“No, lass, yer——yer right. Maybe I’ve been thinkin’ only o’ meself recently—”
“Not——your——HMP!!!——fault!!” moaned Dale. Now he was manipulating the feelings of his friends. The mouse’s ears and tail suddenly stiffened while his whiskers stayed down. He stood up straight.
“Well, we’ll make sure about that! Come on, Zip! We ‘ave t’ check the chocolate fudge and the ress’ o’ the acorns t’ make sure that wasn’t it!” The fly saluted and flew with him to the kitchen.
“Odd, we got the acorns yesterday…” he buzzed. There was nothing else to do for except wait for the doctor. Foxglove and Chip waited with Dale on the couch, occasionally holding his paw or shoulder. Dale would constantly be throwing up, by reflex, but he would always be pushing it back down. The amount of content was beginning to decrease as the stomach now began to empty into the small intestine, which Foxglove could hear quite well. Twenty minutes later, Gadget came back with a middle-aged chipmunk who was wearing a white lab coat and carrying a black paw-bag. They ran into the living room, and looking at the three, Doctor Qandlier said,
“Well, it’s obvious who’s the one with the food poisoning.” He padded over to Dale, and as he took his pulse and temperature, he also began questioning,
“When did this start?”
“Right after he had lunch, about half an hour ago,” replied the bat lady.
“Yes, toasted acorns with chocolate, as Gadget told me,” he commented. “Has this happened before?”
“N—no,” replied the patient.
“Has he tried to vomit reflexively?”
“Yes, but he can’t,” replied Chip. Dr. Qandlier forced Dale’s mouth open and stuck a tongue depressor in it. Strange, he could smell gastric fluids in Dale’s mouth. He asked,
“Dale, did you swallow an acorn whole? Maybe one is stuck trying to go back up your œsophagus.” Having his mouth open, Dale struggled as he fought the urge to vomit, this time because he would have done it right in the doctor’s face. The doctor released him just in time, however. After the urge subsided a trifle, he thought for a moment. Perhaps that could be a way out.
“I——I think I did——” He might have too, but he knew that wasn’t the real problem.
“No bad acorns ‘ere,” said Monterey as he came back in the living room.
“And the chocolate fudge is fine. Oh, hello, Doctor Qandlier,” added Zipper. The elder chipmunk turned for a moment to acknowledge the two.
“Hello, it’s nice to see you again, though I would prefer it to be under more pleasant circumstances. Now, if you say that there’s no bad food around, and Dale didn’t *eat* any bad food, my best theory is that Dale swallowed an acorn whole.”
“Hmm, ‘e did eat that plate kinda fass’ there,” thought the mouse out loud, rubbing his chin. The doctor continued with his theory,
“That, and something probably got stuck from the frying pan, or something fell into the plate. It triggered the vomit reflex, but the stomach can’t expel its contents because the acorn’s blocking it.”
“Really?” asked the pipistrell, and she tried to echosound her tamias’ œsophagus. But even with her highest frequency at full volume, she could only echosound down to his sternum. “The acorn’s probably stuck at the opening, just behind his chest bone,” she said. The doctor asked again,
“Dale, do you feel pain in that area?” In a flash, he glanced around. Everyone was looking/echosounding at him, everyone was worried about him, Monterey was blaming himself for his charade, Foxglove had probably forgotten any romantic thoughts—
“Yes,” he lied.
“I was thinkin’ o’ givin’ ‘im castor oil, but we don’t ‘ave any.” The doctor sighed and looked sternly at the mouse.
“Mister Colby, that is probably the worst thing you could have done at this point. That may have caused the acorn to drop from the œsophagus to the stomach, but then he would have immediately tried to vomit again, with a much greater force. If the acorn had got stuck again, the œsophagus could have ruptured.” Ears flattened even more, and everyone’s blood, including Dale’s, pooled at their foot-paws.
This stunt of his *could* have killed him.
“I suggest you try to make him as comfortable as you can, and let the stomach digest the acorn as long as possible. He’ll have to sit this out and not eat or drink anything while the rest of his digestive tract processes and separates the bad stuff. Wait twenty-four hours, and then give him plenty of fluids, especially citrus juices, but no solid foods. Foxglove, check his œsophagus every eight hours to see at what rate the acorn is dissolving, then when you don’t hear it anymore, get him back on solid food again. And Dale,” he turned to the downed chipmunk with slight disappointment. “*Gnaw* your food ten times, and chew it twenty. You shouldn’t have any problems then.” He stood, and gathered his instruments. He looked at the Detective, “Well, if there are no other sick mammals or insects here, I would like to get back to the clinic.” The Inventor snapped out of her fright,
“Oh! Sure, let me take you back, Doctor!” She took the chipmunk back to the hangar, where they prepared the return trip. As soon as they left, Chip stiffened his ears and tail as his fright was replaced with anger. He looked down at his best friend, and chattered,
“Dale, if you weren’t sick, I would bonk you. Try to be more careful while eating, will ya?” Dale felt even more terrible than before. Noticing this, Foxglove stroked his headfur, smiling a trifle. The Detective then stormed to his room, but he was barely into the hallway when he suddenly turned back and padded back up to the couple. “Oh, I forgot. We came back from the RAS with a small load of equipment. I was about to ask you two to help us take it to Gadget’s workshop,” he looked momentarily at his own bandaged paws, “but I’ll guess that will have to wait. And also, the RAS gave us a tip of what appears to be a psychotic owl nesting in a park in East Staten Island.”
“An—an owl?” asked the Acoustics Engineer in instinctive fright, as her ears and tail showed. She crouched down lower beside her husband.
“Yes. They’ve been getting reports that the owl is attacking prey beyond its normal predatory limits; ‘killing for pleasure’, they say. It’s been happening on and off, but lately it seems to have increased——maybe it’s because it’s Halloween season.” The chiropterid bristled and stiffened her ears and tail when she heard that word, but the rodent apparently didn’t notice that and continued, “We’re going to start redirecting avian and small mammal traffic around the park after sunset and before dawn. Foxglove, we’ll need your help with the bat grapevine to spread the word to avoid that park, especially during winter. Without prey, the owl should leave the area and try to nest outside the city. The RAS is checking with the Strigiform Councils of New York and New Jersey to see what they know about that owl, and what we all can do about it.”
“I’ll—I’ll check with Otis, then,” she said, calming down a trifle. She hated Halloween, basically because it reminded her of her past, but even more because for some reason humans thought that bats were associated with evil. Why couldn’t they also think the same thing about armadillos, or “shells”, as they were known to all of Chiroptera-dom?
“Good. Now, take care of your husband, okay?”
“Okay.” Chip left, and only the mouse and fly were left with the couple.
“Come on, Zip. ‘Elp me prepare a nice citrus concentrate mix for our pal.”
“You bet!” Right before they left, the verspetilionid called out,
“Monty?” The murid turned and asked,
“Yes, lass?”
“Again, I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I was just—so frightened—and it wasn’t your fault—and—”
“Say no more, lass. All is forgiven.” Both of them smiled now that this incident was put behind them, and his ears were raised again. As the mouse and fly left the couple alone, the mouse began yet another rant, “That owl better not cross this mouse’s path! Why, I remember the time I wress’led an African vulture in Zimbabwe ‘n I left the bloke featherless…!” The chipmunk then spasmed a trifle again, and pushed down another load, causing him to close his eyes tightly. When the pain subsided a trifle, he slowly opened his teary eyes.
And saw a monster looming above him.
This, of course, caused him to gasp.
The Halloween reminder didn’t help much, either.
The monster then reached down and prepared to rip off his head—
“Dale, it’s okay!” cried Foxglove, caressing his head. “I’m here for you! I’ll always be here for you! I’m not mad at you at all! You just—scared us all so much—” The bat lady sighed and looked/echosounded up, much to Dale’s relief. “Dale—I haven’t felt this scared since last May when we—when you—when Fat Cat kidnapped me and I thought we were all going to die!” Tears flowed freely from her eyes, as she now sobbed, “Then, when you said it was best to let me go—and wanted me to live with the bats—” she shook her head, “—Dale, the thought of losing you—” she looked/echosounded down at him again, seeing/hearing fright in his eyes and face as well, “Especially now, when we’ve just begun our lives together!! If you had—died, Dale, I don’t know what I would have done!!” Tears now fell on the tamias’ face, and they mixed with his own. He pushed down another load.
“Foxy—I’m—HMP!!—sorry—so—sorry—” The pipistrell covered him with her wings and she placed her head on his chest, sobbing,
“Don’t ever leave me, please—don’t ever leave me—so glad you’re okay—!”
Maybe he should try something a trifle less hazardous to his health and everyone else’s feelings.
Dale didn’t get up from the couch for one week, except to go to the bathroom. Foxglove urged him to stay in the bedroom, but he refused, saying that he didn’t want to risk vomiting on the bed or on her or in the room, thus giving the impression that he was still placing the others above himself. She didn’t care, of course, and even though she knew they couldn’t get romantic, she just wanted him by her side, and the couch was simply too small. He suggested that she could now sleep upside-down like a bat is supposed to, finally, thus “giving her a break” from the “sacrifice” she made by sleeping horizontally. Once again, she thought that was nonsense, but her mate’s reasoning was convincing. She, too, noticed that the Comedian was being suppressed, but the Klutz was now becoming the dominant part of his personality. Of course, she remembered her promise to be one with him, Klutz included, so she decided to bear with this setback. Sleeping without constantly hearing or smelling him did help her fight her Fall Fever, for a while. The patient did follow the doctor’s orders and remained on a liquid diet. But what the rest didn’t know, besides the fact that there was no lodged acorn in his digestive tract, was the fact that the worst of the symptoms faded away after the first day. Dale now took the time to “reset” his digestive tract, despite his own instincts to eat as much as he could before winter arrived. Then again, he had skipped so many hibernation cycles that it wasn’t that difficult for him at all. Nor was it difficult for the rest to believe that he was still sick if he voluntarily didn’t eat acorns or chocolate. It was easy, however, since they kept those away from him.
All the trees were leafless now, and a thick blanket of snow covered the ground. And Dale was running and jumping across the tree branches, trying to find some way of escape. But there was no escape. The Batmunk was snapping the trees like toothpicks, and flying over hills when it felt like it. The branches trembled with each stomp the Batmunk made, forcing the chipmunk to stop and grab on tightly and wait for the branches to stop moving and the snow to stop dropping from the higher branches. He resumed his flight—
WHAM!!!!
The tree in front of him was reduced to splinters when the Batmunk stepped on it. The tamias lost his footing and fell to the snow. It was SO cold that his metabolism began slowing down. There was no feeling on his stiff ears and tail now. He tried to run backwards, but his body was molasses now.
The Batmunk looked down.
“**DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY……!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**”
Its voice boomed through the whole forest, shaking the snow off all the trees, and nearly burying Dale in it. He angrily shook off as much as he could, and despite the difference in size, the sciurid was now clearly angry with this mutant. His fur bristled.
He had enough.
“Hey, you big dummy! What makes you think I’m your dad??!!” The hybrid glared down at him, and it appeared to have got even angrier. The rodent’s shoulders drooped in fright. “Uh———I mean——did Nimnul do this to you? Because——really——Foxy and me don’t have cubs——yet——and——” The monster lowered its head and GROWLED, making Dale’s viscera vibrate like the jackhammer did. “And——and——I’m a Rescue Ranger!!——I can——uh——help you!! We all can!! Just calm down a bit and I’ll see what——” The monster opened its mouth, but stopped growling.
“**DADDY…………………WHY………DID………YOU…MAKE…ME…THIS…WAY?????!!!!!**”
Or so Dale thought.
Suddenly, the pieces of tree and branches that were between the two shattered, as if they were made of glass and someone was shooting at them.
Then the snow began exploding away, as if it was being blown by a gale force wind, but no wind was coming out of the Batmunk’s mouth.
The snow blew off him.
And he suddenly felt himself vibrating like a jackhammer—
The monster was using his echolocation powers for destruction.
The chipmunk tried to run, but no muscle would respond because of the vibration. He felt like a jackhammer, a church bell, and a tuning fork all at once—
His body began stiffening, as if it was turning into glass.
He felt as if he was about to shatter into a bazillion pieces—
And then his entire abdomen EXPLODED—
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Dale sat up on the couch, panting. That nightmare of his was beginning to get *really* old—
“Dale??!!” The fact that there was no light in the living room didn’t help Foxglove’s appearance very much.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he repeated, as the monster suddenly showed up next to him. The bat lady winced for a moment, and unstopped her ears again.
“Sorry, Cutie. But when I heard you scream, I flew here as fast as I could! Did you have another nightmare again?” Calming down, the chipmunk replied,
“Yeah—yeah, another one. I wish I could remember them now—” Suddenly, both stiffened and lowered their ears when they heard growling coming from—from—
Both looked/echosounded at his abdomen for a moment, and then laughed as they relaxed their ears and tails.
“Sounds like that acorn’s finally gone!” she chuckled, causing the rodent to stop laughing. He knew he couldn’t keep up this charade forever.
“Um—gone? Are you sure?” He knew that was a bad question the moment he asked it, for now the chiropterid pulled his covers away, knelt next to her husband, and echosounded his abdomen with her highest frequency.
“Your entire tract is empty, Cute Stuff!” she happily exclaimed, perking up her ears and wagging her tail. “You’re okay now!! Let’s go back to the bedr—” No, he couldn’t be okay yet.
“But—but—how can I be okay if I still feel terrible?” The pipistrell raised an eyebrow.
“Still? Are you sure? I don’t hear a fever or headache on you. The acorn’s gone, and so is everything that was with it!” The tamias looked away from her eyes and toward his abdomen, still with low ears,
“I—I don’t know what’s wrong this time, Foxy, but I tell you—I still feel sick!” The bat lady thought for a moment. Perhaps Doctor Qandlier’s theory wasn’t correct to begin with.
“Cutie, if you still feel bad, despite what the doctor told you to do, then I think you should go in for a check-up.”
Oh no.
“A—a—a check—” His wife stood.
“Yup. In fact, we shouldn’t waste anymore time. I’m going to fly to the clinic right now and get you an appointment first thing tomorrow morning! Then the doctor will find out what’s wrong, and we’ll be able to take care of it! And once you’re fine—” She leaned over and GAZED into his eyes, “We’ll be able to—continue, won’t we, Darling?” The chipmunk couldn’t look at her. He just couldn’t—
“Um, of course!” he stuttered, leaning as far back into the couch as he could. Foxglove looked/echosounded quizzically at him. He was nervous, yes, but not nervous-with-anticipation, more like, nervous-with-
Fear?
“Dale—Cute Stuff—I’ll be right back,” she said, quite confused, wondering what he was afraid of, if they both knew that the nightmare was just that, a nightmare. She straightened up and padded out the door. Dale didn’t watch her leave as was left alone again. He stared blankly as he analysed his problem.
Now how was he going to get out of this one?