He knew. He knew it would come to this, and yet he let the kids keep that damn dog.
When he and the kids returned from town, the soda machine was ajar, and Droolbip was nowhere to be seen. The Pimples called for the dog, but Stan already knew that the hellish furry creature had gone downstairs, and if everything were okay, the creature would have come running at the first shout.
“Grunkle Stan, do you think Uncle Ford attacked Droolbip?” Mabel whispered, tears in her eyes. “I don’t want anything to happen to them…”
Stan looked at the worried Dipper, who was hugging his sister. He couldn’t lie to them, but he also couldn’t bear to see the twins so sad.
“I promise I’ll bring them back upstairs. Now wait here, Pimples.”
As soon as Stan was out of the kids’ sight—their hopeful faces still in his mind—he rushed to the elevator, praying that he’d find the whole dog downstairs, not just a pile of torn fur.Time dragged on relentlessly until finally the doors opened, revealing the dark laboratory.
“Ford, buddy, are you here?” he called out, walking with a calm, steady stride. He couldn’t move too quietly or uncertainly, lest his brother’s wild side think Stan was sneaking around.
“Droolbip? Come to me, furry!”
He’ll make it. He has to come back with those two. There’s no other option.
Stanley steered around the unidentified parts scattered across the floor, heading toward Ford’s desk. He thought he saw something, some large shape between the table legs.
Droolbip was lying on the floor, wagging his tail happily at the sight of Stan. The dog was unharmed. But where—
Something yanked him by the arm, pulling him under the desk. Stan rubbed his aching knees, staring into the terrified brown eyes. Ford, curled up in a ball, trembled, clutching his brother’s arm tightly.
“Pointdexter, are you coming back upstairs with me? The kids are worried about you guys.” Ford chirped anxiously, burying his tear-stained face in Stan’s chest. “It’s okay, buddy, we’ll stay here a little longer,” he announced, running his hand through his brother’s soft curls.
Whenever Ford regressed into a “wild” state, he always turned on himself. The medication had calmed him somewhat, limiting Ford to digging his nails into his own flesh. However, Stan didn’t notice any blood or red welts on his brother.Droolbip whimpered, nudging his hand with his wet nose. The dog also seemed fine and, surprisingly, hadn’t run away. Stan patted the furry creature on the head, listening to his brother’s quiet chirping.
“It’s okay, guys,” Stanley muttered, running his hand through their fluffy heads. His wet T-shirt clung uncomfortably to his body, and a pool of saliva was slowly soaking into his pants. “We’re fine.”
A purr and the sound of a tail thumping against the ground were his reply.