Canine Capers 9

And so it was that M and I were once again relaxing outside when yet another strange thing occurred.

A weird timewarpy sound and a flux in the natural state of things, when suddenly there it was. A square blue box with tiny little windows and a pointy roof.

“What the hey?!” I exclaimed.

But M was smitten. “Oh me, oh my. Don’t you know who that is?!”

“Not a clue,” I responded, although I have to admit that my interest was tweaked to the max.

A moment later, the door opened and a tall, handsome drink of water stepped out. Wanting to protect my little brother, I stepped right up and indignantly inquired, “Say, who are you then?”

But M answered for him. “It’s ... it’s ... it’s the Doctor,” he stammered.

“Doctor who?”

“Exactly!”

Huh?

“Perhaps I should explain,” suggested the intruder, who had somehow found his way into our personal space and parked his thingamabob a mere two feet from where we were lying just moments ago.

“I am the Doctor, and I have travelled through time because I need your help.”

While I was contemplating ‘travelled through time’, M was already responding.

“You need our help?”

“Yes,” he replied, apparently surprised we would even question that fact. “Your super sleuthy detectiveness is well known throughout the universe. And I’ve got an interesting problem on another planet that needs a canine perspective.” He let that sink in. “So, will you help?”

And off we went. Hurtling through time and space, all the way to planet Felinity in the Seventh Solar System of the Sylvestris galaxy.

In other words, we should have packed a lunch!

Oh, it was a simple matter — dogs and cats not getting on well — and we settled everything in no time at all.

On the way back, I asked the Doctor why, with all his experience in alienology, he had needed our help.

“Being an alien myself, I can relate to cats, no problem. But dogs — they, you, are an entity that I rarely see in my travels. I figured it was better to go directly to the source than to fizgig around with something I knew little about.”

Given yesterday’s neighbourhood happenings, we completely agreed.

When we safely touched down, we wondered if anyone would have noticed that we were MIA, but the Doctor reassured us we hadn’t aged a bit.

“It’s the beauty of being a Time Lord,” he smirked. “And before I go, I want to say thanks for helping me. I believe this will do the trick.”

M was thinking ‘treat’. I was thinking ‘a blue box all our own’. The Doctor was thinking something way better.

“I understand that you still don’t have a name for your agency.”

“That’s true,” I confessed.

“Well, on my way here, I was thinking about this one — a name that identifies who you are and what you do, all mushed up in a saying that humans and critters understand nicely. And so I give you ... DOG GONE IT!”

I was dumbfounded. M was still thinking ‘treat’.

Dog Gone It. Yes! So obvious and says so much. We are dogs. And our job is to make ‘IT’ gone, be ‘IT’ a problem or a dilemma or an intruder. Perfect!

The Doctor interrupted my musing of the possibilities.

“Right. Gotta go. There’s a nasty matter of Daleks trying to terminate some humans in the 11th century that I have to put a stop to.”

M already had his hand up.

“Not this one, M. Too dangerous for young pups. But I’ll be back for sure.”

And with a nod and a wink, he was gone.

A few moments passed before we even moved.

“Wow!” exclaimed M. “What did you think about that?!”

“Yes, finally a name for our agency — Dog Gone It!”

M was smiling. “No, not that.”

“What then?”

“He called us young!!!!!!!!”

T