VIER - THE DOCTOR SHOULD KNOW
The sign on the door read, “Dr. Socorro Mapache – Geneticist”. Certainly not someone who practised general rodent medicine, but Dale needed to do this. A few minutes earlier, Doctor Qandlier had given him a clean bill of health, but he wasn’t about to tell that to Foxglove, or to the rest of the Rangers. Luckily for him, they believed him when he told them he wanted to go to the clinic by himself because he was tired of just sitting on the couch. Seeing their suspicious expressions, he knew it was a stretch, but they believed him and let him go alone. They couldn’t know the real reason he was here.
Not yet.
Except he might just tell them that his claws had grown back, so his bandages had been removed, which meant that Chip’s could also be removed. He had a lot of time to think about this last night, on his way to the clinic, and during Doctor Qandlier’s check-up. Perhaps, just perhaps, the answers to what he was so afraid of were inside this office. With his ears up, he slowly opened the door, and looked inside.
The office was empty.
Looks like he came in at a bad t—
“May I help you?” The chipmunk yelped and jumped when he heard a deep female voice behind him. Whirling around, he saw a female raccoon in a white lab coat glaring down at him. Regaining his breath, and trying to straighten his ears and relax his tail and back fur again, Dale replied,
“Uh—Doctor—Doctor *May-pachee*?” rhyming with “Apache”. The raccoon lady lowered her ears and sighed as her name was mispronounced for the NTH time.
“*Mah-PAH-tcheh*,” she corrected, and quickly muttered under her breath, “I should have stayed in Panama.” Then to Dale again, “So, what can I do for you, sir?” The rodent nervously rubbed his paws in front of him and stuttered,
“Um, well, I would like to know a few things about mixed-species couples.”
“Oh? Anyone you know?” she asked, perking up her ears and padding to her desk. He turned to face her, still rubbing his paws, and with low ears,
“Well, yeah……me and my wife.”
“I see.” The omnivore sat down and picked up a pen with her left paw. “And your wife is a…?”
“Bat.” The rodent padded to her desk and sat in front of her, now just holding his paws.
“Ah, interesting,” she commented, as she wrote something down. “You know, I think I remember a chipmunk and a bat getting married earlier this year. That wouldn’t happen to be you two, would it?”
“Uh, no!! Not at all!” He suddenly jerked up straight. He couldn’t spill the beans, not now. “We aren’t from New York, we’re from—Texas.” The Comedian hoped to be partially correct. He really hated lying. The Doctor didn’t seem to notice this.
“Ah, I see. So what would you like to know?” Dale phrased the question in his head for a moment, and finally asked,
“Well, first off, what—what are the chances of me gettin’ her pregnant?” The procyonid eyed the sciurid for a moment, deep in thought, and replied,
“Well, the chances of pregnancy lower according to how far apart the two species are, taxonomically speaking. Let’s say you two are healthy and everything is in perfect working order. If she were a chipmunk, then, during springtime, the chances of getting her pregnant would be 100%. If she were a *ground squirrel*, the chances would be around 90%. If we move to prairie dogs and tree squirrels, then the chances would be less than 65%. Moving to other rodent species, say, a mouse, jerboa, or vole, it would be less than 50%. I would include beavers and capybaras, but I trust that you’re a decent rodent?”
“Oh, yes! Very decent!” he blurted, lowering his ears and blushing though his fur, and somewhat stunned at the sudden question. She stood and then sat on the side of her desk,
“Very well. We’ll stick to species your size. As you can see, even if you stick within the Rodentia Order, the chances of pregnancy lower as you move away from the Tamias Genus while still remaining inside the Sciuridæ Family. The Muridæ, the mice, would give you plenty of trouble. Seeing that you married *outside* the Rodentia Order into the Chiroptera Order, *Micro-Chiroptera*, apparently, I would say that the chances are less than .1%.” If there was anything Dale dreaded at this point, it was any number that wasn’t a zero, no matter how close it was to it.
“Less? So you’re not saying that there’s a totally zero chance of her getting pregnant?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say a 0.00000% chance, which would only happen if you didn’t do anything, but I doubt either of you would like that arrangement. Furthermore, you seem perfectly capable,” she replied, smiling. The Comedian blushed again, and the Doctor noticed that, so she decided to stop teasing him.
“Um, Doctor, I heard that it was impossible for one species to get another species pregnant, unless they were really similar, like a dog and a wolf.” The procyon cocked her head a trifle, and replied,
“Well, a dog and a wolf are both Canis species; they’re both of the same genus: Canis familiaris and Canis lupus, so there things work out fine. If your mate was another Tamias species, say, a long-tailed chipmunk, you wouldn’t have any problems. If your mate was a prairie dog or a flying squirrel, you would have cubs, but the cubs would be sterile. The same goes if your wife had married a flying fox. It’s also a common misconception that all combinations outside the Genus and Family would result in nil pregnancies. That’s because in Noah’s Ark there were a lot fewer species than was thought at first. Just look, out of eight humans, you have now six billion, all different. The same is with the animal species: Noah may have brought in only one pair of wolves that bred into all the Canis species we know today. In those cases today, what’s considered a ‘mixed-species’ breeding is actually two different types of the same original species coming back together, resulting in fertile offspring. However, what we’ve found out is that while there *are* impossible pregnancies when Class, Order, and Family are different, most of the impossibilities are due to size, and when the combination is of different Classes, like trying to mix a mammal with a bird, reptile, fish, or insect. But some pregnancies *are* possible between species of different Families. For instance, pregnancies between cats, Family Felidæ; and skunks, Family Memphitidæ, are more common than you’d think. Naturally, the hybrid offspring are always sterile in those cases. But do keep in mind that they’re both within the Order of Carnivores. You’re a rodent, and she’s a chiropterid. That’s two different orders.” This was leading the tamias to the inevitable conclusion. He fidgeted,
“So—what you’re sayin’ is—that I *can* get her pregnant?” The raccoon lady gave a chipmunk the once-over again, and replied,
“Well, since you seem so full of energy, I would say that you have a higher chance than normal. Of course, I would have to run tests on both of you to give you the exact chances—”
“Uh, NO!” he burst, stunning her momentarily. “Um, we—won’t need those,” he added, calming a trifle. The last thing he needed now was for Foxglove to find out what he was getting into. The omnivore eyed the rodent suspiciously, but decided to continue,
“So, as I was saying, the pregnancies that *do* occur, of course, differ from normal same-species pregnancies, and even more when the taxonomic Family is different, and *still* more when the Order is different. You see, when there is a case of chromosome aberration—that’s ‘mismatch’, for you—the genetic material doesn’t mix. What happens is that once conception occurs, either the male or the female genetic material prevails and cancels—destroys—the other, and then cell division is triggered, resulting in a perfectly healthy embryo. The embryo will develop into either species of the parents. Sometimes a little of the cancelled genetic material manages to remain, thus you’d have an offspring with—let’s say in your case—either a bat with dorsal stripes, or a chipmunk with grey or reddish fur, according to the bat species. However—” She stood and padded around her desk, “that’s IF the embryo manages to implant itself. Now, if the mix *does* happen and a Family-hybrid is conceived, like the cat-skunk, the offspring is sterile.” He was now seeing it clearly. As things were right now, it was doubtful a pregnancy would even occur, but there was one more matter he needed to know about.
“Ummm, are there any chances that—that even with the mismatch because of our different Orders—the genetic material—*will* mix?”
“Resulting in an Order-hybrid? Good question.” The doctor sat on her desk once more, hugged her knee, and explained, “The chances of an Order-hybrid are even lower than, say, one in one million. If that happens, the chromosome aberration usually results in huge chaos within the embryo, and in most cases, the embryo dies before it can even try to implant. Most couples won’t even know that a pregnancy was about to occur.” The non-zero number was there again, and it was really annoying him now. He insisted,
“But what if it *does* implant itself?” The procyonid eyed him once more. He certainly seemed eager to know *every* possible outcome. She wondered why the sciurid and his mate didn’t bother seeing her before they got married.
“*If* an Order-hybrid embryo manages to implant, and those are *very* few, it usually dies before the pregnancy carries to term. All the internal organs simply don’t know where to go. And of the few of *those* that make it to term, the offspring dies during birth because it’s too traumatic of an experience. They don’t even survive a cæsarean. And of the few of *those* that survive that, the offspring usually dies before its first year. It’s almost as if the offspring knows it’s a monster, and it knows that everything in it is totally wrong. The offspring practically *wills* itself to die.” Dale looked down when he heard that. “Once the parents look at it, they very often think it made the right choice. The few Order-hybrids that make it to that point aren’t something that you’d find in a horror movie.” He looked up at her as the raccoon lady sat behind her desk again. Her ears were low as well. “They look a lot worse. And no matter how much medical care they receive, they simply don’t survive. That’s why you don’t see Order-hybrids that often, much less *monster* hybrids. It’s nature’s way of keeping the species lines well defined.” She then leaned closer to him, and looked at him eye to eye. “Sir, I’ve been in medicine for ten years, and I’ve known others who have been doctors for five times that. *I* haven’t seen an Order-hybrid. And my colleagues, all of them put together, have seen less than ten, in all the years they’ve been practising. And none of those Order-hybrids made it to their first birthday. I probably won’t see an Order-hybrid for another ten years. If you’re worried about producing an Order-hybrid, well, you can stop worrying. You’re more likely to win the New York State Lottery, *three times in a row*, mind you.” She sighed for a moment, leaned back again, and concluded, “Sir, in all of animal medical history, there have been no cases of any ‘monster’ hybrid running around. There have been plenty of offspring of mixed species, Genus-hybrids and Family-hybrids, but very few Order—monster—hybrids. Once again, you’ll most likely have a bat or chipmunk offspring, but not both combined.” The chipmunk looked down again. So, maybe genetics wasn’t the problem. “Did you wish to know anything else?” He looked up, with slight disappointment in his face, and slowly raised his ears.
“No—no, I guess that’s it. Thank you, Doctor.” He hopped off the chair and padded to the door. Socorro swivelled her chair away from him and looked at the ceiling.
“You’re welcome. I hope that info helps you—————Mister Oakmont.” Dale suddenly gasped and whirled back at her. His ears and tail were stiff again.
“How did—how did—you—??!!”
“Know?” She turned to him again, “Mister Oakmont, the Rescue Rangers are among the greatest small mammal heroes, along with the RAS. Your exploits, and your collaborations with the RAS, especially those dealing with medical emergencies, are quite well known in the medical community. Just last week, you and the RAS made the front page in all the small mammal press, and I’m sure that the *Small Animal Medical Association Journal* will do a feature on every rescue team that helped in that collapsed building, but more especially on *you*. I was in Washington at the time, but everyone kept talking about you and how you mobilised the other rescue teams to action. Furthermore,” she opened a drawer and took out a certain edition of the *Fur and Feather Journal and Picayune*, and she showed him a very familiar picture in the Social section, “your wedding was in all the papers. You became the envy of every single unattached male mammal in New England, not to mention Foxglove became the talk of the night all over the ultrasound frequencies, and *she* was the envy of every single unattached female mammal as well. And your marriage has been the topic of conversation all over the genetic science community.” She then put the newspaper down and looked straight at him, with straight ears this time. “Mister Oakmont, many animals would trade anything to be in your position. I, personally, have admired you since you came on the scene. I hang around Dr. Qandlier’s office whenever I can just to hear what else you’ve been up to, and I’ve offered to assist him with you in any way I can. Mister Oakmont—” her voice was now a lot softer, “—you don’t have to be afraid of whatever child you two produce. If a pregnancy occurs, it will result in either a bat or a chipmunk, but not a monster hybrid. And *if* you happen to get one—well, it’s very doubtful it will survive before it’s even born. If you two suspect a pregnancy next spring, believe me, I’m at your service to follow it every step of the way. Dale,” her eyes and ears were sad, for some reason, “you don’t have to be afraid.” Dale looked down again. He, too, was sad, as his features showed. He looked back up at her,
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” He slowly turned, but then she added,
“Don’t worry, Dale. Since this was a consultation, I’ll keep to myself this visit of yours. However, if any of the other Rangers comes asking questions, you know that I *will* have to tell them what we talked about in here.” For a moment, Dale was relieved, but her last statement cancelled that feeling.
“Oh. Well, thanks anyways, Doctor.” He padded outside and closed the door.
No, this couldn’t be happening. Genetics had nothing to do with this.
Why was he still afraid?
What was he afraid of now?