It

* WARNINGS: none

* SPOILERS: (slight) Fire and Water

* SUMMARY: Jack has an Air Force reunion and during his visit gains a more than interesting view of the “company” there, making comparisons to his absent SG-1 members.

* GENRE: General, Humor

So, there he was, in beige khakis and a blue polo shirt, eyeing a goat. He knew the invitation had said to dress casually, but he felt he must have missed the small print at the bottom stating that overalls and straw hats would be preferable. He had never been to an Air Force reunion on a farm. Then again, he’d found out Admiral Peters had just bought the land, was making finishing touches on living arrangements and wanted to show it off. Not something we haven’t seen before, he thought, his scrutiny finally settling on a small group of animals in a coop. Unless some chicken’s eyes start glowing. That’d be a first.

Before he had time to entertain the idea, he spotted Peters himself and two other men making their way over. Colonel Something and Major the Other. Daniel was right. He really needed to start getting names right. On second thought, that’s what titles were for.

“Colonel. Major.” A glance was given left, then right, respectively. He was greeted with ‘Colonel O’Neill.’ One step ahead of him. The man in the center was addressed with a slight raise of a bottle. “And our host, lest not forgotten.”

Frank spoke up. “I was just mentioning the first time I flew a Harrier. Back then I thought ‘If this doesn’t knock my head back, I don’t know what will.’ Even that’s a thing of the past. And now…” He broke off for dramatic effect. Jack suddenly remembered the guy. He was like Daniel in a way, being easily overwhelmed, except Sanders made it look like a commercial add and was an idiot – in Jack’s humble opinion.

Peters chuckled immediately, already familiar with O’Neill’s humor. It took a while for the other two to react and manage awkward laughs.

“What about you, Jack? I’m sure you’ve had your share of ‘mind-blowing’ experiences.” The tone wasn’t suggestive of anything. After all, everyone here left their work at their base and when they did talk about missions, it was general. And what could Peters know of Jack’s personal life, concerning his four months in the Iraqi prison, the Goa’uld – concerning Charlie?

All the same, Jack regarded them coolly from behind his shades. He would have liked to admit he had almost died in Antarctica, but opted for something he really could share.

“Maui comes to mind.” Smirks and huffs of laughter gave concession on that matter. “And –” He paused; for an effect of his own or for recollection, no one could really say. “I finally spotted a fish in my lake. I have a real reason to fish now.” Apparently, familiarity wasn’t needed on this account to gain a laugh. Maybe we share the same problem.

Jack tallied up the recent tease to the bulk directed at his lake-fish population. “Yes, those optical illusions are a bit misleading. Or else they wouldn’t be illusions.”

Fairday decided to interject this moment. “You may even say that they, themselves, are fishy.”

That was bad, even for Jack who liked lame play on words. He suddenly understood why Fairday didn’t talk much. Sanders, seeming to have Fairday’s rescue in mind, changed the subject. For the next twenty minutes or so, Jack had covered the beauty of mechanics in cars, the art of hockey and the freedom of flying, with his Air Force acquaintances. Thankfully, the subject of family was never brought up. Somewhere along the line, other men had joined the group and they had all managed to move as a clump over to a table. There he sat now, beer in hand, surrounded by people he had a lot in common with. Yet, he felt bored and more than a little eager to get away for a minute. He noticed Fairday was about to say something. Just in time. Jack got up, excusing himself when heads turned his way.

The part of the farm that held the gathering was actually quite nice. Not so many trees but more open field. The various tables, filled with people now, were splayed among other tables of food and drink. There was even a bit of music in the background. Jack had to admit the place was relaxing, despite his first impressions. The smell of sizzling meat eventually caught his attention and he wandered over to the barbecue grill.

Looking up, Jack recognized the face of a major he had flown with once or twice for combat practice. Since then, they had only seen each other at these congregations. It was that way with everyone.

“You keep saying so but I’m used to ranks. Consider me a conventionalist.”

“Consider yourself considered. Now, how about those hotdogs?” Forking a sausage off of the grill, Jack went about the common ritual of hotdog-making. Deciding to eat right then and there, he held conversation between bites.

Finishing with a last bite, Jack announced an observation. Skip left the patties unsupervised, flicking his gaze all around him for several seconds. He turned to Jack and responded with a shrug. “Guess he does have a lot of animals. I’m guessing it’s because of the daughters. He said one’s a Vet. Besides, he wants to focus more on his family now and this is a step in the plan.”

“Who knows? We always have get-away spots in mind; cabins, beach reserves.” Skip took a gulp of beer. “For the Admiral it just happens to be Little House on the Prairie, family bonding and all. Might even turn into an animal lover.” Stacking some steaks on the grill and shutting the barbecue lid, Skip turned his full attention to Jack. “And you?”

It was the second time they had asked about him and, as a result, the second time he had dreaded ‘personal’ talk. Nothing was very personal here; they made sure of it. Too much dirt under the rug and a morning reunion once a year didn’t really call for an unearthing of history, mission-related or not. Jack looked to Skip for elaboration, not ready to answer any of the various things the simple question posed.

Certainly not expecting that. He took a moment to feel relief at such an easy question. “As long as Peters doesn’t cultivate a sea-monkey or pet rock farm, I’m okay with the setting.” The thought of rocks and sea-monkeys made him wonder what Daniel was doing.

Skip snorted into his beer. “I wouldn’t worry. Dogs are his favorite at the moment.” With that said, a dog abruptly rushed past them, barking once loudly.

“My prize-winning Irish Greyhound,” said a proud voice behind them. Jack and Skip turned back to see Peters putting on a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron. “Thornton, someone said your cell phone kept going off.”

“I’m on it sir. Your shift anyway, huh?” Skip promptly handed the grilling utensils over to Peters before heading over to his table where he was met with teasing on who was keeping tabs on him. The word ‘wife’ was heard more than once.

“I couldn’t stomach it right now. I think I’ll walk the beers off first.” Peters let Jack know he would ring the triangle when the steaks were ready. When Jack said he’d appreciate it, Peters told him he was joking, that he would just as soon blow a foghorn. Jack then mentioned scared cows and stampedes. On that last note of humor, Jack walked off, heading over to his car with the intention of retrieving his own forgotten cell phone. Hearing barking, he cast his view to the side, noticing the greyhound from earlier standing on hind legs against the main entrance’s fence. Skinny and enthusiastic arms were sticking through the boards to pet the playful dog, joined by high-pitched laughing. Jack kept watching the exchange until he near fell on his face after tripping over something. Tripping in something, he corrected himself, looking down. There, at his feet, obscured by the shade, were many small holes. Frowning and adding gophers to the list of Peters’ zoo inventory, Jack resumed his walk over to his car.

People were indeed lining up for steaks, observed Jack from his table. A fellow Colonel, whom Jack barely recognized, stumbled after visiting the grill and air-delivered food and drink to the table nearest to him. Only a true pilot could have hit the only target available. Skip had been sitting there at the time, still on the phone. Both were cursing now, Peters being the one to add the conclusive expletive, “That damn dog!”

Smiling slightly at the outburst, yet hiding the grin behind his beer, Jack tuned out the anecdote Sanders was currently telling. The sound of barking had him turning again, only this time it wasn’t a resounding ‘woof’ but rather a series of sharp ‘yips.’ There was a small beagle, teasing some chickens or maybe was trying to communicate with them. A pen kept them safe from the bounding puppy, though Jack doubted the chickens were the actual ones in danger. The beagle got pecked on the nose as soon as it ventured too close to the enclosed flock of birds. It staggered back for a second, and shook its head along with its whole body, as if to dispel the surprise of the assault. The floppy ears tangled this way and that, one ear ending unsuitably folded by the end. Then the small dog closed the space again with renewed energy and a wagging tail.

Jack marveled at the sight, the dog reminding him of somebody. Before completely approaching the chickens, the beagle stopped to scratch behind the misplaced ear. Reaching clumsily, the dog sidled with a thump and another tangle of ears. Jack leaned back in his chair to get a better view, in time to see the dog shake again. In the midst of things, one of the land workers had come over, grumbling.

“We should keep you in a pen of your own. If it’s not the barking at all the other animals, it’s the digging everywhere.” The man linked a chain to the beagle’s collar and led him away. “You don’t even make a decent hunting dog.”

As Jack re-focused on the rest of the guys at his circle, he thought the dog was definitely like someone he knew. In more ways than one.

Groups of gray clouds loomed overhead, thunder seeming to ricochet from within. Some people had already moved indoors, into the two-floor colonial house that had been reserved for the other half of the event. Jack lingered outside, making small talk with another few old colleagues.

Jack didn’t exactly think of himself as the weather man, but off-world forecasting had given him training. “Rain’s coming and going but this looks like it’s gonna pour any minute. Not exactly ideal party conditions but the thing will probably blow over soon anyway.” The words were glibly spoken. His response had lacked the lethargy he had maintained throughout this meeting when touching upon sports or other such expected hobbies from the past. The time between then and now betrayed the long span Jack felt it to be. So much had changed in so little time. Just three years ago…

“Peters doesn’t seem to think so. Either that or he doesn’t mind the mutts getting muddy.”

On cue, a schnauzer nearby rolled in the still-dry dirt. There were maybe seven dogs on the loose but Jack had yet to see the greyhound and beagle he had initially met. Some of the other dogs sparked curiosity anyway.

Sparing a glance at the place from which the runaway animals had come from, Jack discovered a stationary canine. The dog was a Mastiff, certainly sturdy like the others of its kind Jack had seen before. Unlike those others, though, this Mastiff held an eloquent pose and wasn’t just lounging around. In fact, he – It has to be a ‘he’ with that spiked collar around the neck – appeared alert. Large head held high, the dog experimentally sniffed the air and when a loud thunder was heard, his ears pricked up slowly, almost casual-like. He hadn’t moved at all and was still looking like the guard dog he was cut out to be. The Mastiff eventually lay down, head still high and not at all drooping, and continued to pay mind to every sound made.

Further out, he spotted a Golden Retriever and a slightly shorter brown Cocker Spaniel. They had gone off to a water trough and were currently lapping gracefully at its surface. Every once in a while they would stop and contently watch the other animals. It reminded him of two ladies having tea together, pausing to inspect those around their table. I don’t think ladies would appreciate being compared to dogs drinking from a horse trough but it’s just a thought. The brown dog had soft rifts of fur running down its ears and the Retriever had managed to avoid looking like a slobbering dog after consuming so much water. Both dogs were well-groomed and there were even touches of professionalism and purpose in their stride as they trotted away together. They’re both definitely a ‘she.’

A little dumbfounded at all of the coincidental connections he was making between these animals and people he knew, Jack missed the sight of the first sheet of rain coming down a little way ahead. Safely under intertwined branches, he also missed getting soaked. In under a second the rain had spread everywhere, pelting the ground and man-made surfaces. As the rain lessened somewhat, he could make out the energetic beagle, hurrying over to something. So they had let the dog out after all – or maybe he had simply chewed through the leash. The beagle’s target of interest appeared to be a big, honkin’ hole. The dog certainly had been working on it. A long-term project. Hmmm…Peters might as well finish the job and make it an outdoor Jacuzzi.

All the dogs were coming back to seek shelter from the downpour, the Greyhound in their midst The beagle was currently digging away at the edges of his monster of a hole, thinking the dirt’s softening was to his advantage. Uh-oh. Wrong move there pup.

As predicted, the earth caved from beneath the small dog, sending him straight into the water-filled excavation. The splash was accompanied by a small bark of annoyance. Before Jack could arc his head to see if the dog was fit to come out on his own, the greyhound had reached the edge of the pit. Planted firmly on four widespread paws, the hound dipped his head from vision. Jack observed with amusement as the larger dog retreated with a dripping puppy hanging from his muzzle. The beagle curled in on himself to keep from the rain, yet squirmed insistently. The hound leisurely went off to an overhang of the house and set the puppy down. Another full-body shake from the smaller beast was forewarned with the puppy’s own stance of planted four paws for steadiness. As he flung off the worst of the mud from him, the puppy sidled sideways once again but the other dog was close enough to lean against.

The rain was growing softer and he spotted other guests, who had ducked under the closest cover, come out to proceed into the house. Peters was gesturing for everyone to come in. “Come on! We already got a fire started and Ted is breaking out the final course of our feast.” Jack was reluctant to leave the freshness rain brought with it and the observer’s post he had just taken up.

“Jack! Round up the other guys and meet us in the living room!” Spotting the two dogs, the Admiral shook his head in exasperation. Just as he was about to dismiss them, a worker came around with a bag of feed in hand.

“Don’t worry Mr. Peters,” she stated calmly after giving the muddy wrecks a cursory glance. “I’ll take care of our boys.”

“Afterwards, let them stick around the house. I want everyone to see the best of the crop.” The last was added with a wink to Jack, who had gone to collect the other ‘boys.’ The rain was nothing more than a fine drizzle by now and the other men wasted no time in going inside the house. Before rejoining the collected mass in the house, Jack saw that as the puppy had bound forward a little, the greyhound had caught up and swiftly taken him back up by the scruff of the neck. The small beagle made whining sounds, which his captor ignored. The woman guiding them heard and turned to face them fondly, walking backwards. “There’s no need to complain. It’s a good thing someone knows how to handle you.”

Upon crossing the threshold, Jack realized all the good that had come out of Peters’s current leaf-turning. It was one of the few military households he had visited that clearly projected a sense of family unit. There were Honor Roll diplomas encased on the wall and a particular degree of Veterinary Medicine hung by a cupboard of china. An intricately woven quit lay over the expanse of a large couch. On the mantel there were framed pictures of the four-member family. And most importantly, there were littered items like bookmarked fishing magazines and an old pipe. Personalized moisture-carved rings were on the table where coasters failed and beer-bottle ghosts lingered. He could picture a normal evening here, with daughters visiting and it all felt…homely. He ‘got’ the farm idea now and nodded to himself with that understanding. Peters was lucky.

So was he in some important aspects, except he hadn’t planned any of it. He wasn’t going to retire anytime soon either. It was all different, his life and those of these other men, but he was lucky. In an out-of-the-ordinary way.

Comfortably comparing this abode to his own by the lake, Jack relaxed significantly. He was not only joking around now but making comments and asking questions.

“Cabins in the middle of a forest just don’t do it for me. [Far too many trees] You give me a cabin near a lake with reasonable foliage and I’m in. If I have my lawn-chair, good weather and no work phone calls I’ve got peace.”

Jack was currently acting as his own tour guide. The guests had been told they could put their wet coats in any of the several rooms with fireplaces – The roof must look really interesting – and so Jack had been on his way to do just that. Even though he had found a couple of rooms with fireplaces, he kept skimming through the others. They all had connecting doors anyway and the official tour had been given while Jack and the others had been outside in the rain.

Finally pleased he had found the room with the largest fireplace, a library area, the satisfaction quickly turned into a kind of perplexity. The greyhound, a fast becoming acquaintance, was sprawled out on the carpet. The lanky dog was on his back, purporting the dead-dog trick. And snuggled right next to him, lay the little cappuccino-spotted beagle, stomach and snout touching the carpet beneath. The floppy ears were laid out as if he were ready to take flight at any second.

The puppy started whimpering and as an immediate reaction, the other dog rolled to his side somewhat clumsily, yet gently avoided disrupting the beagle furthermore. At first the dog simply looked down on the smaller form appraisingly. Then he bent and hovered his head over that of the beagle’s, seeming to want to nudge. Appearing certain, the hound lent closer this time and licked gently at the little brow. The sounds of distress stopped altogether and a moment later the puppy’s eyes opened. This time a hum of tiredness was emitted as he yawned, snuggling into the protective figure beside him.

Jack was reminded again of the connections these animals were distinctly making to his personal life, to personal friendships. The hound plopped its head down but stayed awake as if waiting for another nightmare to tame.

With a last thoughtful glance, Jack exited the library after hanging his coat and left the dogs to their slumber by the hearth. The rain had started again but was nothing more than a soft shower outside.

Jack became aware of the Admiral’s voice as soon as he came around the corner and exited the main hallway. Sounded like the host was catching everyone up on the ‘crops’ of his estate’s wildlife.

“…they really are magnificent creatures. Linda is especially fond of those horses. Says there’s no way they’re going to be used for competition. I might as well confess that most of the animals out there are decorations. Only a few are enrolled for competition and such.”

“That beagle, though – isn’t he good for hunting? Must be.” It was Sanders.

“Naw. The Irish hound’s the one for that – aside from good lineage, the dog can pick up scent like a regular wolf and dash out as if shot from a cannon. The Mastiff is another who could rip apart any housebreakers and yet never startles the birds. And before I owned them, I found out Linda’s Collie and Cocker Spaniel were rescue-team dogs.”

“So Snoopy is one of the pretty ones then. Too young and untrained, is that it?”

“Actually, despite the digging, the barking and all of that, the dog’s been real good for this place. Whenever one of the other dogs buries something, this guy digs it out and brings it into the house. He even goes out into neighboring fields sometimes and brings back things from there.”

“’Course not Jack. It’s the darndest thing, really.” Thinking over his answer, the Admiral wore a wide smile and his eyes crinkled with humor. “Once he brought back a geode. This other time he brought back an empty nest. Most times though, he brings back rocks from the river.” He let slip a half-cough, half-laugh. Everyone immediately started congratulating him with pats on the back, making him laugh even more. Jack grinned with a tightness that had to do with holding back a wide smile like the one on Peters’ face.

“But really fellas – you never find a team like the one I have. And that beagle is gonna bring me gold one day. Be sure of that! Geodes just aren’t cutting it.”

Someone from the back piped in with a loud comment. “You might as well consider building a fort, Al. Rocks are specialized for that.”

It was mid-afternoon and some party guests were already leaving. Jack finished shaking some hands and then set out to retrieve his coat. Just as he had expected, the dogs lay where he had left them, except the image was even more endearing if possible. The puppy was curled between the hound’s stretched-out forepaws with his head on one of the paws, snoring away in little huffs. The larger dog had his muzzle pressed to the floor this time but tilted at an angle, allowing space for the beagle, though remaining close.

Jack got his coat but stopped alongside the door, hand ready to turn the knob in case anyone was heard coming down the hall. The truth was, he enjoyed the sight. In all of his years of dog-loving, never had he come across such a pair. It was rare enough for a male dog to be so…paternal.

The beagle whipped its hind leg out as a dream reflex, catching the hound in the eye. The grey dog didn’t seem to mind; he was still asleep by the looks of it.

“You take care of things Peters. And yourself,” he added as a wise afterthought.

“Can do O’Neill. I enjoyed this. Don’t know exactly how long it’d been since the last time but I’m gonna be hosting more of these soon enough, count on that.”

“Hey, maybe I’ll be hosting one myself.” Jack smiled, eyes and all. The Admiral seemed to notice the genuine intent.

“Sounds fair.” They shook hands as if sealing a promise. Jack comfortably dug his hands into his pockets. “I can’t promise anything though.”

“Better get home before the rain does. It was good seeing you and the guys Peters.”

“Likewise Jack. Maybe next time you’ll finally share the reason behind your graying hair.”

With a final wave Jack set out to his car, crossing the damp terrain and viewing all of the animals out in the open. There was the Mastiff, the Golden Retriever, the Cocker Spaniel, the other dogs and adjoining flocks and herds – it looked like the cover illustration of some “Farmer Brown” book.

He knew where the two missing dogs were, the pair that had interested him the most. The beagle alone had piqued his curiosity: was a bit of a loner, a full-blast explorer, dug holes, was passive and was bound to attract trouble. The Irish greyhound got along with the children, was active, a champion… Jack got into his car. Rugged, popular with the ladies, no doubt. I swear this dog sounds familiar.

Starting the ignition and driving out the gate as soon as it opened, Jack put on his sunglasses. He rolled the window down and laid his arm across the strip opening into which the glass had fully retreated. Mulling the day’s events over in his head, he went back to a particular thing. The other 95% of the amusing things he had witnessed would have to wait until night – after the Simpsons special – to replay.

Wonder if it’s been too long since Nem’s sleepover bash to warrant Daniel’s new nickname.

Jack’s cellphone rang and as he checked the caller ID, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. No time like the present.

“Jaaaack.” It was moaned with just the right touch of confusion and exasperation.