A Griffon’s Foray into the Realm of Puppy Rearing

by PhycoKrusk

05 - A Quiet Morning with Family

Two days later, the door to Jacoby's house opened and both he and Scruffy stepped into the foyer each carrying a suitcase (although the pup’s seemed comically undersized); Alexios had departed elsewhere for an errand and would join them shortly, he’d said. When the door closed, both griffon and diamond dog set their suitcases against the wall and, as one, gave a travel-weary sigh before slipping their jackets off. Although Scruffy had not taken to vests in the way Jacoby did, he nevertheless was just as enamored with shirts and ties and herringbone patterned jackets.

“In any case, I’m sorry you didn’t really enjoy the capitol,” Jacoby said. The pup looked at him and then signed apologetically. “Oh, don’t feel bad about it, Scruffy,” he replied as he hung up their jackets. “I don’t care much for Dreshden, either. It's a little too, too much. But I’m still glad you enjoyed the opera. And that you got on so well with Fräulein von Kess. She’s taken a real liking to you, you know?”

Scruffy only smiled sheepishly and looked down to the floor, fidgeting in embarrassment, which Jacoby grinned at before leading the pup into the house proper.

“It was nice of her to invite us to breakfast, too,” the griffon continued, turning suddenly towards the writing desk just to the side of the foyer. “I know I said her little request would be no trouble, but now I've made up my mind for certain. Let's write her a letter, right now, and ask when she hopes to go.” Knowing no verbal response would be forthcoming from the pup, but knowing what it would be nonetheless, Jacoby fished a sheet of paper from inside the desk drawer, placing on the desktop and reaching for the inkwell at the corner.

Quite suddenly, Jacoby felt Scruffy latch onto his leg, his grip like a vise. Looking down at the pup, who had fixated on the left wall, Jacoby allowed his own eyes to follow towards it. An instant later, they widened in shock and surprise and he all but whipped his body around to fully face the door of his study, and the uniformed griffon that stood there.

“Krauser?!”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were coming home at all,” Krauser replied coolly, face a mask of disinterest.

With a leonine growl, Jacoby balled his talons into a fist and slammed them down on the writing desk. An instant later, the pistol stored in the hidden compartment was in his grasp and aimed squarely at Krauser’s chest, hammer pulled back. “Breaking and entering now, Offizier? Even for you, that’s low. I would’ve thought it was perfectly clear that you are not welcome here.”

“I’m not concerned about that, Herr Flynn,” Krauser replied. It would have been impossible for him not to notice he was being threatened with a weapon, but he behaved as if there was nothing in Jacoby’s grip at all. “In fact, I was just leaving. I only let myself in to oversee the appropriation of your research.”

At that, Jacoby narrowed his eyes in thought. “What do you mean, ‘appropriation’?” he asked.

“I mean they were appropriated,” Krauser replied. “Taken from you possession to be passed along to the duchy, and from there to the police, or the army, or whomever will make the best use of them.” In an instant, he was moving away from the door to the study, careful not to make any sudden movements as Jacoby advanced towards him, pistol still trained and gesturing angrily that he should move. Scruffy was practically glued to him as he moved. Finally, still watching Krauser, Jacoby and Scruffy backed into the study and turned to look at what the other griffon had done. Beak fell opened and jaw dropped respectively:

Everything was gone.

Jacoby’s running and prepared experiments were all gone. The samples he had gathered from around the Confederation for study were missing. His research files and dossiers — years worth of collected data — had been cleared away. The back wall where once there was a map that had been covered in red and blue strings was now vacant. Most telling of all, however, were the empty shelves, completely cleared of books, several of which were rare or out-of-print Equestrian editions. All that remained was the furniture, and perhaps most insultingly of all, a half-finished bottle of absinthe resting next to an empty tumbler, a single sugar cube laid beside it.

“It was quite the undertaking.” Both Jacoby and Scruffy looked back towards Krauser, who had moved to stand just outside the study entrance. "Of course, the dog was not among those things, which is really too bad. He is far more valuable than anything else you had here. In fact, had he been here, I can safely say I would have left everything else where it was and taken only him.”

Scruffy tightened his grip around Jacoby’s leg, while Jacoby narrowed his eyes, this time in anger. “Herr Krauser, this seems suspiciously like extortion,” he said. The pistol, if only for the moment, remained pointed at the floor.

“Call it whatever you wish, Herr Flynn. Regardless of the name, I should think you can see exactly how this will play out.”

Indeed, the outcome, or at least the potential outcomes thereof were fairly obvious. Jacoby watched Krauser for a moment more, and then turned his gaze downward to the pup clinging desperately to his leg. Scruffy made no noise, but looked back up at Jacoby with watery, pleading eyes. With a defeated sigh, he wrestled his leg out of Scruffy’s grasp, and then immediately swept the pup up against his breast. Scruffy wasted no time hooked his arms around Jacoby’s neck, just as he had when they first met. When Jacoby looked at the security chief again, it was with a tight frown spread across his beak and eyes full of hate.

“Go to Hell, Krauser.” For the second time that day, the barrel of a pistol was aimed at Krauser’s chest. “Now get out of my house. The next time I see you here, you leave with the undertaker.”

For several seconds, Krauser stood and looked at Jacoby impassively. “I’m very disappointed, Herr Flynn,” he finally said, turning and walking to the front door and then letting himself out. “Auf Wiedersehen.”

The instant the door clicked shut, Jacoby all but collapsed onto the floor, rolling onto his side and squeezing Scruffy against him as if a looser grip would make him vanish, the pistol released from his grip and immediately forgotten. “It’s OK, you’re safe,” he said quietly, as much to calm the pup’s silent sobs as to settle his own nerves. “You’re safe. He’s not going to hurt you. No creature is going to hurt you. I won’t let them. I promise. I promise.” Neither of them were calmed in the slightest, and it was several minutes before the storm of emotion in Jacoby’s chest lost enough energy for him to realize just how little his lost property meant compared to the little diamond dog that he held against his chest.

---

Herr Flynn,

I cannot thank you enough, or in fact, at all for your donation of experiments, data and books to the duchy. You shouldn’t have, I know for a fact that you didn’t, and should the mood strike you in the future, don't. I think I know you well enough to realize you would not have done so except under duress. In any case, I have no use for your research, as it appears to be written in some sort of cipher I do not have the resources to try to understand. If I can't find use for it, the duchy has no use for it, and accordingly it has been returned to you. Your books and other effects will be returned as well. Herr Krauser has informed me that some of your research has been sent instead to the Ministry of the Army; you will have to consider this to be unrecoverable.

Krauser has also been instructed to not waste my time with a stunt like this again. The same instruction applies to you. I have too much work to do, and I do not have time to mediate whatever feud has begun between the two of you, neither do I care what prompted it. I will not repeat myself: Do not waste my time with this matter ever again —

Jacoby didn’t even bother reading the rest of the letter, slumping down onto the sofa and carelessly tossing the paper aside, arm dangling limply over the edge of the cushion. Scruffy grabbed the letter from the air before it touched the ground, neatly folded it, and then placed it on the coffee table. A moment later, it was joined by a tumbler full of brandy as Alexios placed it down. “At least it explained the delivery,” he said, turning to face the far corner. Still sitting there, where they’d been left since they'd arrived earlier, were two neat rows of eight large, wooden crates, occupying a significant portion of the living room.

“I know some of it is ‘unrecoverable’, but this much?” Alexios said, looking at the crates with disbelief he still hadn't overcome. “I don’t think this is even half of what you had before.”

“It’s not,” Jacoby replied dejectedly, “But this is what there is. At least I should have most of my research. I’ll just have to start over.” Knowing rather than sensing the griffon's distress, Scruffy placed a paw of his shoulder and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze, just as Jacoby had so often given him; he didn't notice or react in the slightest way. Neither did he notice when Scruffy left his side, and it was only when a loud, metallic 'clang' unexpectedly rang out from near the crates that his attention was drawn anywhere at all.

And there stood Scruffy, a crowbar on the floor by his feet, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Scruffy?” Jacoby began, interrupted by the groaning protest of wood as Scruffy lifted the crowbar up and drove its end underneath the lid of one of the crates. He pulled with everything he had, all but bouncing up and down ineffectively until Alexios stepped over to help him. Almost immediately, the crate was opened, and Jacoby watched in wonder as books were removed from inside. With a small stack of three, Scruffy turned and walked into the study. With a much larger stack in his own arms, Alexios started to follow him, but stopped and gave Jacoby a friendly smile.

“Excelsior.”

With the simple, Old Equestrian word spoken, the minotaur finally followed the pup into the study, leaving Jacoby by himself. For several seconds, he simply stared at the study doorway where they both had disappeared to. And then, a small smile graced his beak, and he rose up from the sofa and followed after them.

Author's Note:

Mostly on time, despite all odds. But what's up with all this talk of "Hell"?

"Hell" is what griffons call Tartarus; a prison of eternal torment where bad griffons go. And given what history has shown us, you have to be a pretty bad griffon to go there. Telling a griffon "go to Hell" is often a sure fire way to start a fight, since it implies especially unsavory character traits about them.

Comments

[SWEETOLEBOB18]

I cannot thank you enough, or in fact, at all for your donation of experiments, data and books to the duchy. You shouldn’t have, I know for a fact that you didn’t, and should the mood strike you in the future, don't. I think I know you well enough to realize you would not have done so except under duress. In any case, I have no use for your research, as it appears to be written in some sort of cipher I do not have the resources to try to understand. If I can find use for it, the duchy has no use for it, and accordingly it has been returned to you. Your books and other effects will be returned as well. Herr Krauser has informed me that some of your research has been sent instead to the Ministry of the Army; you will have to consider this to be unrecoverable.
From context, I think that you mean "can't"?