Man's Best Friend 1

Don was not entirely unfamiliar with dogs. He remembered that his family had a small dog in the time before he distanced himself from them, however he could not remember much about it. He vaguely recalled it had thin ears and eyes that seemed to big for its head.

The only reason he actually considered it a dog and not some form of mutated rodent was the constant yipping and its hatred of the automatic room cleaner.

This dog he was struggling with in the chemical shower room (a shower with actual water would come later) was nothing like the aforementioned rat. Even in spite of the discoloration and clumping caused by the chemical formula, he could tell that this dog was not for the purpose of decoration.

A coat of stark black and woodland brown, ruffled and wet at the moment but definitely evidence of a real dog. Even though it was a puppy, the developing muscles he could feel as he rubbed the deodorizing solution into its fur was evidence of a dog bred for a purpose other than being a foot warmer or bag accessory.

However it was evidently still a puppy, and it still had the signature whining and yelping proclivities that puppies have in common with rat-dogs.

For now, it was pinned firmly between Don's knees as he tried his best to prevent the soap from getting into its eyes.

The solution wouldn't irritate the eyes or nose if it somehow found itself in, but he wasn't sure if that also applied to dogs. He also was uncertain as to how this chemical compound meant for use on human skin and hair would affect the thicker fur of his charge.

The more of this stuff he lathered onto and scrubbed into the hide of this squirming beast, the slicker it got. By the time it was covered in enough of the faint blue gel to fully cleanse it, it was too slippery for Don to hold onto it.

Breaking his streak of bad luck was the fact that the showerhead was more of a hose than a faucet, and the pressure from the hose was more than adequate to penetrate the fur.

The result was a young canine that no longer had any odor, but in exchange was drenched and shivering.

Don's moment of relative silence was interrupted by a banging on the quarantine door. "Hey Beacon, I got towels for you and the mutt. Can I come in?"

"Help yourself."

The traitorous captain entered in a full cleaning kit. He had goggles, a mask, and the comically thick rubber gloves usually associated with heavy duty chemical handling. His duty garb was covered in a thin plastic cover, likely water-proofed. In the clutch of those red rubber gloves where a stack of white cloths, towels made of tough but fluffy and absorbent cloth. These had serial numbers sewn onto them, presumably to catalog weight, but Don knew it was an excuse to give people jobs.

Nobody really gave a crap about the towels sweaty space-sailors used to dry their asses, the government needed to give jobs to an enormous population where pay was in short supply.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Chemical cleaning equipment for use in limited gravity. If I'm going to be spraying chemicals in a place where droplets won't fall to the ground, I don't want them finding their way into my body, nor do I want them ruining my clothes."

"You look ridiculous."

"I gathered that from the snickers and jeers I was receiving on my way down the hall."

"... I was seriously considering socking you for burdening me with a piss soaked sponge, but it seems to me like you got the short end of the stick."

"I'm used to it at this point. I don't want to think about how many times that thing has relieved itself in our leisure quarters."

"You didn't think to keep it somewhere else?"

"The crate that we keep her in to prevent her from being trampled really only fits in the pilot lounge. The dorms and cafeteria are too cramped and its a safety risk anywhere else."

That added up. Space was tight on military ships, especially the smaller classes and carriers. Animals not trained to stay out of the way when work needed to be done were put in wire crates.

Military ships do not have space for these crates taken into account in their designs.

"If you didn't have space for the crate why did you bring the dog?"

"We didn't know we brought it."

"How did you not know you brought a dog with you?"

"Our mascot had something of a one-night stand while we were docked. Nobody realized she was pregnant until after we were deployed."

"Is this why you guys are so desperate to dump this thing on me?"

"Pretty much." Even behind the mask and goggles, Don could tell he was donning his signature grin. "Either way, I'm stuck cleaning. You will have dog food, a training manual, and an assortment of toys and equipment ready in front of your ship. I have to say, its a lot bigger than I thought it was."

He was left dumbfounded as captain chip bag ruffled himself out of the room. Who authorized his entry into the bow hangar? Was that not a serious security breach? He didn't want to think about it.

He turned to his new charge, drenched and sat down in a corner. It was shivering ever so slightly, its upturned brown eyes pleading with him to not put her through the wash again.

The door slammed open again. "And don't forget to give her a name. Make it good!"

Applying the towel to the dog and vigorously shaking, Don managed to get the level of moisture attached to the dog at the level of damp before he decided he had done enough. Swaddling the dog in a fresh towel, he began to make his way towards the Noah.