THE LIFE OF POOKIE

By Delia Lavender

(I do not own the television series "Supernatural", nor do I own any of its

characters. The following is affectionate parody, based on a certain remark made

during the ninth season. What if...?)

He stirred in his sleep, fighting to wake up. It was the dream again...

"...Mentally deficient puppy...that's ALL you are...it's all you'll ever be...FOREVER! Muhahahaha!"

No...no...he wasn't a mentally deficient puppy...he had passed his Certified Service Dog training course...they'd given him a little vest to wear, whenever he was on duty. He helped people...he was useful...he was needed!

He yelped in anguish and wet the bed.

"Pookie...oh Pookie! Did my fuzzy one have a bad dream? Well...it's not too bad. It's only on the towel. Don't do this again, though, or my little angel will have to go sleep on the dog bed!"

No...he didn't want to sleep alone on the dog bed. It was too far away from Mother...all the way over on the far side of the "people" bed. He licked Mother's hand in apology. Silently he swore that he wouldn't do this again.

But the dream had been so bad! This horrible human derelict – who had obviously never visited a groomer – had actually laughed at him! He had mocked his intelligence...he'd been unimpressed by his cuteness. He didn't love Pookie...

The memory was enough to make anyone wet the bed. Pookie decided to go visit the potty pad, before crawling back into Mother's arms.

SSSSSSSS

But everyone loved him, right? Mother certainly did. His trainers loved him, his groomers doted on him.

Pooky was willing to bet that the dream derelict never had his nails clipped or his teeth brushed. Probably no one wanted to walk him.

But the people at the Assisted Living Home, the people at the Hospice, the people at the hospitals...they all looked forward to seeing Pookie.

The patients all fought to hold him on their laps.

Yet Pookie's very first memory was one of abandonment. He'd been barely old enough to open his eyes. He'd awakened beside a near-deserted highway, far from any houses. He'd been hungry and thirsty...

And then a big black car had pulled over.

"Poor little guy...he's so little..."

"Any tags?"

"Nothing. Who would just leave him here?"

"Some douche bag. Give him some of your hippie water, Sam."

"I'll hold him and you pour some into your hand...he can lick it out."

"Don't we have a bowl?"

"No, Dean...you broke it."

"A thermos top?"

"We used to, but you lost it."

"Shit..."

The tall man who held him had been nice...Pookie had liked him. But it was the other man - the one called "Dean" - whom Pookie had instinctively loved.

"Good thing we have paper towels," Sam had said. "Here...hold him while I empty out that beer crate..."

"Whoa...dammit! He's licking my face!"

"What do you expect, Dean, he's a puppy...and he likes you..."

"Just hurry up with that crate, Sam. I don't like dog tongue up my nose, or on my...psssffff...yukkkkkk!

"So he's giving you kisses...what's the big deal? Don't you remember being an honorary dog, yourself?..."

"Bleechhhhhh...just take him, Sam...please."

It had taken them awhile, to find an animal shelter they approved of. They made a big donation, so he'd be well taken care of...

But Pookie had been devastated. He'd wanted to ride with them forever...to share their lives, their hamburgers and Sam's hippie water...but they were leaving him!

He had struggled in the arms of the kennel worker.

"Come on, Sam," Dean had said "It's for the best...he'll be all right..."

"Dean...just look at his eyes...don't they remind you..."

"Come on...we've got a case. Come on...come on..."

Dean had half-dragged Sam away. The door had slammed behind them.

And Pooky had cried himself to sleep in his big, immaculately clean cage.

He'd been groggy, a couple of days later, when Mother first came to see him:

"Oh, he's darling! Just look at those blue eyes..."

"He's real young, Mrs. Hubbard, his eyes might change to brown..."

"I don't care. He's so sweet..."

"And he's just been neutered, that's why he's so tired. He's a really nice puppy..."

"He's just the one I want."

"He'll be a wonderful companion, now that Mr. Hubbard has passed on. You can pick him up tomorrow."

"I'll name him "Pookie". Oh, I just know that Stanley is looking down from Heaven...he must have guided me here."

Heaven? Well, who knew? Sometimes he had nice dreams about wonderful places...places where people and little dogs could fly together...

But life with Mother Hubbard was heaven enough, for Pookie.

His early life had settled into a routine: sleep, lap, food, play, lap, play, lap, food, then it would be bedtime with Mother.

Later on, his routine became a little more complicated: there would be daily lessons in obedience, leash training with Mother, long walks and play dates with

other dogs.

Pookie was always well behaved...except when the evil mailman came by. Pookie was convinced the old geezer wanted to carry Mother away in one of his bags...

Mother scolded Pookie: "Now Angel...how do you expect to become a big, big Service Dog, when you bark at people? Now behave yourself – you're scaring the poor mailman – you should be ashamed of yourself."

So Pookie had settled down. It was just that the plump, usually disheveled mailman reminded him of...someone else. Someone he didn't like thinking about.

And then, of course, Pookie had earned his little service vest. It had been a grand occasion, and Mother had baked a big doggie cake. She also invited his favorite playmates to attend his graduation.

Mrs. O'Bryan, the Widow Gowland and Miss Benedict had all given him gifts.

His playmates had licked him and barked out their congratulations.

His life became very busy, shortly after the party.

The coat and nails of a Service Dog needed to be perfectly maintained, so he had a standing appointment at the groomer's. His coat was naturally unruly, tending toward scruffiness, so he received frequent clips and conditioning. The clips also helped keep his hair out of his eyes. Without them Mother said he resembled "A little old Scottish gentleman." Well, that was undoubtedly true. After all, he was half Cairn Terrier, the veterinarian had said. The other half of him was probably Miniature Pinscher, which explained his small size.

Whatever his background, Pookie was adorable and looked great in his vest. He proudly followed Mother on his rounds. He was known and welcomed into every nursing home and hospital.

Yet, as he reached the grand age of 14 months, Pookie became uneasy. Why did he still have bad dreams? Who was the dream derelict, who taunted him? Where was Dean, whom Pookie loved? Who had once held him beneath his leather jacket, when he had shivered. Where was Sam, who seemed to understand dogs so well? Why had they left him at the shelter?

Why was he even questioning his life? He had the finest Mother a stray ever had. She loved him...and she needed his protection. Pookie was sure that the postman wasn't the only bad thing in the world. He didn't understand how he knew this, but he did.

He had a dim memory of a man – evil like the derelict, but with a black suit and excellent grooming - who had appeared out of nowhere. Pookie had been pooping in the park when the man showed up: "Ah, there you are, ducks," he'd said "I ought to be glad to see you this way – but somehow I'm not. Damned undignified, I'd say. But who knows: maybe this life suits you. There's a lot of worse fates...I know, because I'm in charge of them. Well...carry on pooping, Pookie. I hope your mommy gives you lots of biscuits".

He hadn't bothered barking...partly because he was in no position to do so...but also because he sensed that the man's evil didn't actually threaten them. But Mother – why hadn't she noticed the man? Usually she noticed anyone who approached them.

Another puzzle. One more unanswered question in what should have been a simple, thoroughly happy life.

And then there was the time Mother watched a television documentary. It was all about the "Curse of King Tut". Pookie didn't understand any of it, but it had frightened him, just the same. What was a "curse"? How did you get one? What did it do? Why did it seem somehow familiar?

He had cowered then, trembling despite the comfort and safety of Mother's lap.

"Pookie, sweetie...do you need a sweater?" she had asked. And she had fetched him his favorite...the dark blue one embroidered with tiny boats.

Pookie had had nightmares every night for a week.

But the fear had faded - probably because he was so busy: Mother had bought him a tutu and taught him to prance on his hind legs. He pranced forward and backward...he practiced pirouettes. Mother praised him and gave him treats. The patients clapped and laughed, delighted with his performances.

Pookie was satisfied...he was making people happy...especially the sick children and the elderly patients, who had so little to look forward to.

But – sometimes he wondered if it was "undignified". Sometimes he thought he could hear the taunting laughter of the dream derelict. Maybe prancing was better suited to poodles...

But Pookie did have one animal friend who understood his doubts: Ramses the Egyption Mau, who lived at the Friendly Valley Nursing Home.

"Pookie, it's an honor to be a therapeutic cat," said Ramses one day, when they were taking a break by the water cooler "And you must also feel it...you are a therapeutic dog."

"Actually I'm a Certified Service dog..." replied Pookie.

"No difference. You wear a vest and I don't. My spots are my uniform..." Ramses demonstrated: stretching out his lithe body, showing off his spotted pelt for Pookie to admire "...And it's all I need. We two, we give great comfort to humans. You see the lights around the humans, don't you?"

"Well...yes. The light around Mother is strong, and the lights around the doctors and nurses are very bright. But the lights around the patients are usually..."

"...Weak or dull. That's because they are unwell. When the light grows weak enough, the patient dies. Then the light goes away, altogether."

"Where does the light go, Ramses?"

"Somewhere else. In Egypt they used to believe that cats conducted spirits to the Other World."

"What do you suppose it's like? Do we animals go there?"

"Certainly..."

"...Do you think we'll have wings? Will we fly?"

"I suppose we will if we want to, Pookie. I imagine a lot of animals just do what they've always done: take naps, play, wait for their people to show up."

"What about that see-through Beagle over there? The one the humans ignore?"

"Oh, that's Old Henry. He was a Service Dog, and sometimes he visits us. He never stays long though, because if the humans can't see him, they can't give him belly rubs..."

So Pookie had learned much from Ramses.

The patients were everything, and Pookie was there to serve them. Some of the humans – among them doctors and nurses - were just as devoted as he was. The best of them possessed a blazing light...so bright that it almost hurt Pookie's eyes.

One of them was a nurse named "Hannah". Her light was so bright that Pookie had discerned it even before he saw her physical form. She had dark hair and beautiful eyes. She was always there, helping the patients at the hospital where he and Mother served, twice a week.

And always, always she watched Pookie.

One day she approached Mother "Mrs. Hubbard? Would you mind if I took Pookie to visit the girls in bookkeeping? They're dying to meet him. I'll bring him right back."

"Oh, you're Hannah, aren't you? Of course you can take him...I'll just get myself a cup of coffee."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hubbard." she said, as she led Pookie away...

The visit to the bookkeeper's was very short. Hannah told them she was in a hurry, so he received only one hug from each of the nice ladies. Mrs. Olden's "cat's eye" eyeglass frame nearly poked him in the ear. Hannah picked him up, apologized again to the ladies, and walked rapidly away.

"Bring him back anytime!" Mrs. Olden called after them.

Hannah carried him into an unoccupied treatment room. She placed Pookie on the floor in front of her. He looked up into her face expectantly. The glow he saw around her was increasing...it was molten gold and silver...but he looked steadily on because, from Hannah's shoulders, he could see the shadow of vast wings...

She fell to her knees before him, holding out her arms "Castiel...oh, Commander Castiel...we've been looking everywhere for you!"

It was in that very moment that fuzzy little Pookie realized, for the first time, that he really did have wings.

The End