Jack O’Neill speculatively eyed the darkening sky to the west as he transferred the last plastic sack of groceries into the back of his truck. The massive wall of deep gray-black clouds looked even more ominous with the sky directly overhead still a shining sun-lit blue.

The sky seemed to have been split in half- the dark and the light. He stood there, eyes upturned, ignoring the shades dangling on a strap around his neck, taking in the sight of the massive thunderstorms gathering on the horizon.

“I wouldn’t stand there woolgathering if I were you, Colonel. You’d better be getting yourself home before that storm breaks.”

Jack turned to face the old man approaching him.

“You’re probably right about that, Hank,” Jack agreed, pushing the empty cart toward the white-haired man. Hank always called him Colonel, ever since Jack had once made a quick stop while on the way home while still in his full dress uniform. “It looks pretty ugly,” he added, with a nod toward the darkening sky.

Hank shoved the cart into line with the other half dozen or so that he had already rounded up. Jack shook his head as the older man began to maneuver the row of carts towards the store entrance.

“You should get one of those kids to do that, ya know,” he admonished.

Hank just threw a grin over his shoulder and called back, "Nah, I don't mind. Besides, it keeps me fit. Gotta look good for the ladies, ya know?"

"Still chasing the ladies, eh?" Jack joked.

"Yep but they never let me catch them. Have a good afternoon, Colonel."

"You too," Jack called back before turning away and fishing his keys out of his pocket.
* * * * *

Avoiding the overturned trashcans at the end of the driveway, Jack pulled the big green Ford into the garage. Usually he wouldn’t have bothered but the still gathering clouds overhead made it seem a prudent idea if dry groceries were an immediate goal. He shut off the engine and pushed open the truck door.

Leaving the garage door open, he snatched up a couple of bags out of the back of the truck with one hand and headed for the utility room door. He unlocked the door with his free hand and shoved it open. Kicking aside the still waiting basket of laundry, he made his way through the small room into the kitchen beyond.

He tossed his keys on the counter, automatically checking the status of the answering machine.

No messages.

Looks like down time will stay that way, he thought. The SGC actually seemed to be in-between potential Earth-ending disasters at the moment, a rarity which meant he’d finally had the time to restock his refrigerator and catch up on a few household chores.

Of course, chances were pretty good that something would come up tomorrow, next week, or maybe in the next five minutes and he’d be called away again for another extended trip. He’d go save the world – again – only to come back home to find chunky milk and moldy bread – again.

He set the bags on the counter and headed back out to the garage for the next load, wondering as he went why he even bothered to keep up the house at all. He paused in the laundry room to set the basket of clothes up out of the way on top of the washer.

Another thing that seems a waste of time, he told himself. Considering how much time I spend in BDUs, what’s the point?

Forgetting the laundry and the question of what constituted a necessary wardrobe for the moment, he continued through to the garage.

Jack grabbed up bags in both hands this time, ignoring the annoying way the plastic handles cut into his wrists and arms. Truthfully, he preferred the old-fashioned paper sacks but he’d long since given up asking for them. He’d been on the receiving end of hard stares from too many environmentally-aware teen-aged cashiers and fellow customers. Never let it be said that Jack O’Neill doesn’t do his part to protect Mother Earth, he mentally joked.

The yip yapping of the new puppy next door was the only sound coming from the neighborhood. Except for the barking pup, everything was quiet and still; too still, considering the look of the sky. The calm before the storm – literally, he thought wryly as he carried the carefully balanced bags back into the kitchen.

Three more trips and all of the grocery bags had been deposited on the countertops. Jack spent the better part of the next hour putting stuff away and wondering how one man living alone could need so much food. Finally, everything was tucked away neatly in the refrigerator, freezer, or pantry; the plastic bags were neatly stuffed in the recycling bin, and the only thing waiting for his attention was ESPN.

Not yet, Jack, he told himself. The trashcans were still at the end of the driveway and the garage door needed to be closed.

He headed one more time for the garage, passing through and continuing to the end of his driveway where the emptied and upside-down trashcans waited. Flipping them over, he snatched up the lids and dropped them down inside the barrels and began to drag the containers back to the house.

Again, the yip yapping of the neighbor’s dog caught his attention.

“What’s with that mutt?” he muttered. He wondered if the dog had been barking like that for the last hour.

He paused, looking over the low row of bushes that separated his drive from his neighbor’s. Their SUV wasn’t in the usual spot, which meant they weren’t home.

The dog’s barking resumed, taking on a sort of frantic panicky sound.

They’d only had the puppy for a few days, Jack knew. He’d seen the kid out in the backyard playing with it. So far the pooch hadn’t seemed to be one of those dogs that always carried on and barked incessantly at nothing in particular.

Something was up.

Jack felt a soft plop on his bare arm and saw a few more hit the pavement of his driveway. He quickly pulled the trashcans into the garage and headed back out to the side of house. Pushing his way through a small gap in the shrubbery, he made his way to the neighbor’s driveway. A small path led him around the side of their garage to the narrow side yard.

The barking was coming from a spot just out of sight behind the house. Picturing what he’d say if the neighbors suddenly arrived at home to find him skulking about in their back yard, he flipped up the gate latch and hurried through.

As he drew closer, he could hear the dog pitifully whining between barks and he picked up his pace.

Rounding the corner, he stopped short.

“Well, how the hell did you manage that?” he exclaimed as he took in the sight of the pup’s predicament.

The fat gray puppy had his head firmly wedged in a small wire fence that decorated the edge of a small but neatly trimmed circular flower garden.

The puppy yapped loudly and struggled to free itself, pulling up the fence a bit but not enough to tear it loose from the ground.

Jack hurried over and knelt down beside the terrified pup, placing one hand on the shaking back.

“Hey, little guy. Let’s get you out of there,” Jack soothed. The puppy went still and quiet and Jack bent down to get a closer look at just how the dog was hung up. He laughed softly, despite the pup’s terror. “You got your whole fat head through there!” Jack worked his fingers under the wires on either side of the dog’s head and pulled. The dog struggled and Jack swore.

“Crap!” The puppy’s entire head had gone through the small opening and the wires were snugged as neatly as a collar around its neck.

The rain fell harder, big splashy drops that were already starting to contribute to an unpleasant feeling of growing dampness. Jack glanced up at the dark sky overhead. It was only a matter of minutes before the bottom dropped out.

Jack worked his fingers beneath the wires again, trying to hold the puppy still between his knees. Again, the dog wiggled frantically.

“Come on, pup. Cooperate will ya? I’m trying to help here.”

Jack sighed as he gave up again.

“I’ll have to cut them,” he told the dog accusingly. The pup rolled an eye back to stare him, whining softly.

In the heartbeat’s length pause that followed, Mother Nature decided she was tired of waiting around and Jack and the puppy found themselves in the middle of a torrential downpour.

Never one to dither with split-second decisions, Jack wrapped his right hand around the pup’s belly and with his left yanked the small circular fence out of the ground. Jack, pup, and fence beat a hasty retreat back through the yard, through the bushes, and into the shelter of his own garage.

Jack made his way past his truck to the set of shelves along the back wall that held his tools. Balancing the puppy on his hip and the wire fence on the edge of the shelf, Jack flipped open a tool box and dug through the assorted wrenches, pliers, and other odds and ends for a pair of wire cutters.

Finally wrapping his fingers around the red-handled cutters, he pulled them out and crouched down on the garage floor, setting down the puppy and the fencing. Jack placed a steadying hand on the dog’s back and carefully edged the cutting blades around the first wire. Two quick snips and the small section of wire dropped to the floor with a soft plink.

Counting himself lucky that the puppy was staying still, he quickly cut a second wire free as well. Setting down the wire cutters, he slipped his hand in around the puppy’s neck and tried to ease his head loose.

“Okay, dog. You’re almost there,” he said softly. At the sound of his voice, the puppy twisted his head suddenly and Jack swore again as he scraped the back of his hand on the jagged edge of one of the cut wires.

Biting back yet another curse, Jack slipped the puppy’s head the rest of the way through the fence, finally freeing him. Jack gave him a pat on the head and then lifted him up to eye level, turning the dog around so he could look him in the eye.

The puppy was gray all over, except for a small white streak on his chest and another, even smaller, strip of white that ran from the top of his head, down his muzzle, to the tip of his nose.

On the pup’s neck was a small raw spot where the wire had rubbed.

“How long were you stuck like that?” Jack asked.

Jack glanced over his shoulder to the open garage door. Outside, the rain was falling even harder, a solid wall of water that made it impossible to see even the end of his driveway.

“Well, we can’t put you back in your yard,” he told the dog. “And you need to have that spot on your neck looked at, don’t you?”

Jack stood up, cradling the dog in his arms, and entered the utility room again. He set the puppy down on the floor and watched as the dog stood completely still, legs splayed out in all directions, tail tucked between his legs.

“Don’t play that game,” he admonished. “You’re fine.”

The puppy didn’t move.

Sighing, Jack stepped over him and went through into the kitchen. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a spiral pad and a pen and scribbled a hasty note telling the neighbors that he had their dog.

He went back through the utility room, stepping over the still shell-shocked pup, and stepped into the garage again. Grabbing a roll of duct tape of the shelf, he tore of a piece and stuck it to the note he held in his hand. The thought of an umbrella crossed his mind but he was already soaked through and with the rain coming down as hard as it was an umbrella wasn’t going to make that much difference anyway.

He dashed out, pushed his way through the bushes again, and ran across his neighbor’s drive and up the steps to their front door. He slapped the note on the door, pausing only long enough to make sure it was going to stay in place, and quickly made his way back to his own house.

Jack flipped the switch that closed the garage door and stepped into the laundry room again. Glancing down at the puppy who had decided to move a few feet away to sit down, he shook his head.

“You couldn’t have done that while you were out there?” he asked, seeing the small yellow puddle on the linoleum. Jack grabbed a roll of paper towels from the shelf above the washer and dryer and tore off a handful. He dropped them on the floor and scooted them on the floor with his foot until the puddle was gone. He reached down, picked up the puppy pee soaked paper towels and tossed them in the small trash can.

“That’s not the way to be a good guest, ya know?” Jack said grinning as he picked up the pup again and went into the kitchen.

* * * * *

Jack sat on the floor with his back against the couch and his legs stretched out in front of him. Dry and comfortable in a loose pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he tugged back and forth on the end an old pair of tube socks that he’d knotted together to make an impromptu chew toy for his recovering guest.

Their injuries had been treated with a bit of peroxide; the pup needing nothing but a quick swipe to clean him up a bit; Jack’s hand needing a few band-aids where he’d scraped his knuckles.

The puppy growled low in his throat and shook his head back and forth, his teeth firmly entrenched in the knotted end of the sock.

“Ah, you think you’re a tough guy now, huh?”

The dog growled again and backed up slowly, pulling hard on the sock.

“You weren’t so tough a few hours ago when you had your head stuck in the fence,” Jack reminded him.

The doorbell chimed and Jack abruptly let go of his end of the sock, sending the puppy rolling backwards in a tangle of feet.

“Sorry,” Jack told him with a laugh. “That’s probably your owners. What d’ya think?”

Levering himself to his feet, Jack went to the door and opened it. A very wet, very red-faced boy of eight or nine was waiting for him. Red-headed, with a scattering of freckles across his nose, the kid craned his neck back to look up at Jack with wide eyes.

“Do you have my dog?” He asked, thrusting the sopping remains of the note out with one hand.

“Well, I don’t know,” Jack drawled. “Can you describe him?”

The kid took a step backwards and glanced expectantly in the direction of his own house before turning to face Jack again.

“He’s gray,” he said seriously. “And he’s about this big,” he added, holding his hands apart to demonstrate.

“Floppy ears?” Jack asked, matching the kid’s serious expression with one of his own. “One that’s just a bit higher than the other?”
The kid nodded.

“Well, I got one that might just fit that description,” Jack explained. “Why don’t you go see if he’s yours?” Jack stepped back and pushed the door open all the way and nodded at the boy. “Go on.”

The kid ran past him and into the living room.

“It’s him!” The boy threw himself down on the floor and the puppy crawled all over him excitedly.

“I figured he just might be the one,” Jack said, smiling.

“I thought he was gone,” the boy said, turning to look at Jack. “I went straight to the backyard when we got home and he was gone.”

That explains the red face, thought Jack.

“My mom found the note on the door and told me about it. We weren’t s’posed to be gone that long but we got stuck in the rain and then the windshield wipers quit working and we had to get them fixed and the man didn’t have the part and we had to wait forever,” the kid explained all in a rush.

“Sounds like you had quite the day,” Jack replied. “You dog had an exciting time too,” he told him. “He got his head stuck in the fence around your flower bed. I heard him barking and had to cut him loose. I figured he was better off over here until you made it back home. He was pretty scared.”

“Thanks a lot,” said the kid, hugging the dog close to his chest. “I’ve only had him for a few days. My dad got him for me. We got all the stuff to build him a dog house but Dad had to go out of town for his job before we could make it.”

“I knew you hadn’t had him long. I saw you playing with him a few days ago. What’s his name anyway?”

“I haven’t thought of one yet,” the boy admitted with a shrug. “Dad says it will come to us when we least expect it.”

“How about Murphy? After the day we’ve had it seems to fit him.”

Jack turned to the still open door to find a woman standing on his porch shaking off an umbrella.

“Mom! You were right. He was over here.”

“I see that, Michael,” the woman said, coming towards Jack with her hand extended. “Hello,” she said, smiling at Jack. “I’m Allison Hawkins.”

“Jack O’Neill,” Jack replied, shaking her hand. “I take it they belong to you?”

“When I want to claim them they do,” she said laughing. “I really want to thank you for rescuing the dog. Michael has been worried about him. The wiper motor went out on in our car and we had to wait for hours until they could get the part and fix it.”

“Michael was just telling me about that,” Jack replied. “I’m just glad I heard the dog barking. He was caught up pretty good in that fence. Oh, you’re gonna need a new one of those by the way. I had to cut him loose.”

Michael stepped up, holding the still wiggling puppy in his arms.

“Mom, I think Dad will like the name Murphy. He’s always blaming stuff on Murphy’s Law.”

“Oh, Michael, I didn’t mean it seriously. It was just a joke.”

“I know, but I kinda like it,” he told her. “Don’t you think it fits him, Mr. O’Neill?”

“It’s Jack,” he said easily. “Yeah, I think maybe it does fit him.”

Mrs. Hawkins shrugged, “Murphy it is then,” she agreed with a smile. “Michael, we’d better be getting home. We’ve taken up enough of Mr. O’Neill’s-” Jack waggled a finger at her and shook his head. “Jack’s time,” she continued, correcting herself.

“Oh wait, you’re forgetting something,” Jack told them as they started out the door. He went into the living room and picked up the knotted sock. “I don’t think I’ll need these again and Murphy seemed to like them.” He tossed the toy to Michael.

“Thanks, Jack!”

“No problem,” Jack answered back. “Now you take care of that dog. He’s a good one. A real toughie.”

“I will,” Michael promised. “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know how to build a dog house?”