2 June; Not so good morning

"There you go. Good dog," Vickery said, as the dog sniffed at the pork he was holding out, before taking it from his hand. "I wonder where you came from, then?"

The meat was a little more cooked than he liked, but it was Food and that was what mattered. In only a couple bites, the meat was gone and the dog was licking his teeth happily. He had no concept of what the Human with the Food was saying, though it seemed cheerful enough. The dog nosed his way forward again, sniffing curiously about this strange new human, feeling comfortable enough now to wag his tail a bit.

"I daresay you'd prefer it raw," Vickery said, holding his hand out towards the dog to allow the animal to sniff his fingers. "I have a Rifleman who won't be too happy if you take up with me, although I must confess I would like the company."

It had been a while since Vickery had had a dog. His brother had inherited his terrier when Vickery had bought his Colours seven years ago. He had no idea if the animal was still alive, even.

There was no Food in the hand being offered to him, but he knew enough to recognise it as a friendly gesture. The fingers smelled most strongly of meat and something else he'd come to recognise as flavoured water. It wasn't the most unpleasant of smells, at least.

Satisfied the outstretched fingers presented no danger, the dog lapped at them with his broad pink tongue, both hoping to dislodge some little scrap of Food and giving a sign of his willingness to be made of a bit more.

"Thank you," Maggie said quietly, accepting the dish of food from McIntyre. She was more grateful than she could express, and strangely embarrassed that he had read her mind and that she needed to depend on a stranger's charity. But it smelled incredible. She opened her mouth to say so when she heard Vickery's voice inside the tent. Who was he talking to?

"That dog!"

In response, McIntyre simply smiled and went about the work of preparing his shaving kit. The grasshopper would need the stubble scraped off his face before he could be deemed presentable, after all.

The woman's outburst made him glance up, however, pausing in the midst of rummaging through his pack for the desired items. "S'he gone botherin' the cap'n?"

It was no bother, though. Vickery let the animal lick his fingers. It seemed a friendly enough sort of dog, and he wondered if it was a stray or if one of the soldiers had adopted it. Him.

He held another chunk of meat out for the animal to take. Unless one of the soldiers claimed the creature, he was of a mind to adopt it himself - if it was indeed a stray.

More Food! The dog's tail wagged happily as he took the second bit of meat from the man's with the same care as before. In a second, the morsel was gone.

Then, exercising his right to explore, the dog nosed his way around the thing the Human with the Food was sitting on. There were some things here that smelled different and were, therefore, fascinating.

Vickery grinned as the dog moved to nose around the cot he was sitting on. "Well, you're a curious one and no mistake," he said, wiping his hand on his overalls and reaching for his cutlery again.

There was a lot in here to examine. The walls smelled like woodsmoke and something else he couldn't identify, while the thing the Human with the Food sat on smelled like the strange dark-skinned humans he'd seen around. Most fascinating was the lump of cloth behind the Human with the Food. The dog thrust his nose at it, deeply intrigued by the clash of smells. Where had this bundle of cloth been?

With the Human with the Food being distracted by the strange metal things that humans used to eat, the dog reckoned he had a prime opportunity. He took a grip on the wondrous bundle of cloth and pulled it carefully off the sitting-thing. Then, knowing the importance of a quick getaway, made a loping exit with the cloth dragging on the ground from his jaws.

The dog had closed its teeth on his bundled-up jacket and was dragging it away. "Hey! Drop it!" He hastily laid his plate aside to grab for the jacket - or the dog - and collapsed back onto the cot with a groan as the stitches in his side pulled painfully.

The dog's reappearance with the grasshopper's jacket dragging from its jaws was followed immediately by a cry from the grasshopper himself. That devilish beast!

"Give that here," McIntyre said firmly, moving quickly to grab hold of a trailing sleeve before the dog could get out of reach. "I'll boot you a good'n, if you don't!"

The dog resisted for a moment, until McIntyre levered himself into a standing position so he could give the animal a quick whap against its muzzle. The jacket was obligingly dropped and the dog retreated, baring its teeth just a little as it went.

"Sorry 'bout that, sir," the Irishman called, surveying the jacket with dismay. He'd have to wash it now. Damn.

Vickery laid the plate aside and got to his feet. The stitches didn't pull as much as he expected them to - maybe because he was getting up from a cot rather than the ground, he thought inconsequentially.

He made his way to the entrance of the tent, holding the flap aside with one arm while resting his hand on the pole; the blurriness of vision wasn't helping too much with his sense of balance, although it wasn't as bad as it had been yesterday. And that was definitely good.

"It's nothing to worry about; he probably just wanted to play. Or it smelt strange or something," Vickery replied. "No harm done." Well, he hoped so, anyway. "And thank you for my breakfast. I hope you've had some as well?"

If the dog smelled something strange on this jacket, it presented even more reason for McIntyre to wash it at the first opportunity.

"A pleasure, sir," he replied. "I've had me own, a bit of burgoo 'fore dawn. It'll hold me 'til Up Spirits later."

"Burgoo - You did tell me that earlier," Vickery said, finally trusting his own sense of balance enough to emerge fully from the tent. "I am not quite myself at present, I find. I am sorry."

Although precisely what he was apologising for, he couldn't say.

That was understandable, wasn't it? Any fellow would who'd had a sharp knock over the head.

"No worries, sir." McIntyre was on his feet, setting the jacket aside to be ready to help the grasshopper either keep his balance or sit down, whichever might be needed. "They'll be movin' off soon, I think. Feelin' up to a shave?"

"You haven't even shaved the poor fellow yet?" Lieutenant Cobb asked, approaching from further down the road. "I hope he's not neglecting any other part of his duties, sir. It's hard to get him back in line once he starts straying. Marines, you know."

There was no more than a hint of a smile about the lieutenant's mouth as he spoke, and it did not last long. If one was not looking closely, it would be impossible to tell if he spoke in jest or not.

"I haven't given him a chance yet," Vickery pointed out. "And on the contrary; he has been very attentive to his duties." He wondered if he could sit down; he still wasn't feeling quite himself. "I rather suspect he's taking on more than he needs to, as well."

He rather wanted his jacket on; it didn't sit right with him, being in shirtsleeves in front of another officer. Especially when it was obvious that the shirt was not one of his own.

Cobb very nearly grinned but succeeded in squashing the gesture. "He's good at that, I've found."

The oldster ignored this and held out his arm to the grasshopper. "Needin' a chair, sir?"

"I don't need a chair so long as I can just sit down," Vickery replied, grateful for the offered arm. "If I may offer a word of advice, try not to get yourself sliced up by anyone wielding a sword. It rather curtails what physical movements one can make."

"Sittin' down it is, sir." McIntyre set his feet and helped the grasshopper ease himself down onto the ground. Poor beggar. "Wish I'd've known that a few years back meself, sir," he added with a grin.

Cobb shook his head. "Don't let him tell you any of his sea-stories, sir. There'll be no stopping him once he's got going."

The dog, having since recovered from being smacked on the muzzle, came cautiously up, sniffing thoughtfully at the grasshopper's legs before unceremoniously flopping down by the officer's feet.

Vickery chuckled at that. "Well, they'll help pass the time then. I have been informed that I am unfit for duty for a week at the very least and must consider myself unable to even march." Which still rankled, but nowhere near as much as it had last night when he was hurt, dizzy, confused, tired and with a headache that had threatened to split his head in two.

He glanced down at a sudden weight pressing against his foot, to see the dog lying there. He grinned and leaned forward to scratch its head.

Despite his officer's warning, McIntyre had no intention of keeping any stories to himself if the situation warranted sharing them. He simply smiled at the dog and went about the business of preparing shaving water.

"I'm told a cart has been found for your use," Cobb said, eyeing the pot of tea with half-disguised interest. "So I don't expect you'll have to march at all."

"I am not sure whether to be grateful or not," Vickery said frankly. "If there is tea left, please help yourself - I presume you have a mug, anyway."

He chuckled, remembering a kit list that had been sent to him before he had come out to Portugal: A canteen with a little tea or coffee and sugar, a spoon, a few segars and a tin mug, which may do duty as both tea-cup and soup-dish...

A cart! That meant there might be somewhere for Maggie to spread out this damp shirt, as well as her apron, and they might dry in the sun as they marched. Marched further away from Gabe. But she tried to push that thought from her head. There was still washing to be done.

"I can take that, if you like," she said quietly to McIntyre, pointing at the captain's jacket. There would not be time for a proper wash before breaking camp, but she could pat it down with a damp cloth at least.