Chapter 20: Just a Boy and His Dog
Over hills and meadows, we’d stray,
Just a boy and his dog.
--“Old Shep”
****
Lois’s exclusive with Superman was wildly popular from the suits down to the copy boys. Perry White was especially ecstatic and kept holding her up to everyone as an example of initiative. But no one was happier about it than Lois herself.
When she approached my desk with an air of expectancy, I was tempted to ignore her. There was this smugness in her bearing that almost made me regret giving her the interview in the first place. But I gritted my teeth and told her, “Congratulations on your story, Lois.”
She smirked. “It was good, wasn’t it?” Then her expression took on that of a moony-eyed schoolgirl. “You should have seen him, Clark. There was this innocent nobility about him . . . . Not just anybody could do what he is going to do for us.”
“And what’s that exactly?” I asked her, genuinely interested in her response.
“He’s going to be a guardian of justice . . . . Don’t you remember your article, Clark? You said such a man would be a ‘beacon of hope.’”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re quoting my article?”
She quickly looked down and muttered, “Well, it wasn’t completely bad . . . . ”
Though I felt amused, I decided to give her a break. “What makes you so certain he’ll live up to this larger-than-life image of him?”
Lois brought her eyes up to meet mine. “Because he has to.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds. I would have argued more, but I was simply blown away by her absolute trust in the man—in me. She barely knew anything about Superman, but she—and most of Metropolis—was willing to place her trust in him. Lois, the hard-hitting reporter who kept all men at a distance, saw something grand in what Superman was doing.
I didn’t see it as grand. I just saw it as something I had to do. I had been running for so long from everything. It was time to face a few things head-on.
One of the things I would need to face was the need for interviews. Since I had shown my face and answered a few of Lois’s questions, I was going to have to talk to people more often as Superman. The best way to do that would probably be staying on the scene longer after doing a rescue. Then, I would be able to answer questions and even ask for the advice of authority figures. As more people became accustomed to what I could do, there would probably be a greater need for such outside advice—particularly in the event of a hostage situation. And with rescues, maybe I could simply talk about what had just happened rather than be expected to answer personal questions.
I heard something and turned my head. Jimmy was walking by with a glum look on his face.
“Jimmy—you okay?” I asked him.
He paused and looked at me. “Not really. The Chief’s upset I haven’t been getting pictures of Superman. But the guy’s so fast and never stays for long—how do you make it onto the scene in time?”
A yell from the Editor-in-Chief’s office had him scrambling. But there was just a certain something missing from his step—he was really getting eaten up by his inability to impress Perry White. Theirs was very much a father/son relationship—but I wasn’t sure if they both realized it.
As I was lost in such thoughts, Cat approached my desk. “Poor kid,” she commented.
“Yeah . . . He deserves a break.” I frowned as an idea hit me. I knew just the thing to help him out.
Cat took a few steps away from me and toward Lois. “So, Lois, did you get a chance to feel the muscles beneath that suit?” she asked with a knowing grin.
I wasn’t sure who was more flabbergasted, Lois or me. As it was, she was the only one who managed a reply: “What?”
Cat tilted her head. “Come on, Lois, you can’t tell me even you didn’t notice how built the man was . . . . Do you think the suit comes off?”
I turned my head away from them so they couldn’t see how red I was. I did not need to hear this.
Lois evidently got more of her voice back, as she was able to spit, “Whether it does or not is none of your business! The man has principles, and he is not going to let you use him as your next scratching post!”
“Aww, does Lois have a crush?” Cat sniggered. She turned toward me, aware I was listening. In my ear, she whispered, “Sorry, handsome, but it seems you have some competition.”
I just waved a dismissive hand over my shoulder at her, not able to form a response.
Lois, however, had no such problem. “Isn’t there a rat somewhere you should be chasing?”
“Now that you mention it, I do have a date with a councilman . . . . He’s handsome, charming, and a great kisser . . . . Not that you would know how to judge that, Lois.”
As I turned to look at Cat, she blew me a kiss and then strutted off.
“She has a lot of nerve,” Lois muttered. “She thinks that just because some people don’t have a ‘flavor of the week’ their lives are meaningless.”
“Maybe she’s trying to cover up the emptiness of her own life,” I pointed out.
“You don’t have to sympathize with her. For whatever reason, men just fall at her feet. She doesn’t know what it’s like to sleep alone.”
I shrugged. “I think she just likes to get under your skin.”
“Well, I just wish she wasn’t so good at it,” Lois proclaimed, throwing a pen onto her desk.
I hid a smile. There would be no changing Lois’s mind.
****
After work, I called my parents and told them about my interview with Lois. I hadn’t called them the night of the interview because I was feeling bad about phoning them at all hours of the night. But at this more pleasant hour, they seemed happy to hear from me.
“Truth, justice, and the American way, huh? Sounds like this Lois is pretty smart,” Mom commented.
I laughed. “Well, those three things aren’t exactly my goal, but I guess they’ll fall in line with what I’m doing. Rooting out the truth about criminals, handing them over to the justice system, and protecting innocent American bystanders . . . . ”
“I’m glad you’ve made so much progress, Clark. You know, I think Lois has been closely tied to all this. She’s really been a big influence on you.”
I looked down at my hands uncomfortably. “Yeah . . . ”
Perhaps Mom sensed my unease, for she steered the topic away from Lois. “And just think—now you’ll have a canine companion to help you out. Jericho is ready for you to pick him up, and dinner is almost ready to be eaten.”
Dad laughed. “You’re not invited to dinner . . . . You’re commanded to come.”
With a grin to myself, I conceded, “Fine. I’ve already made some of the dye and the dye remover for Jericho—so I guess I’m ready for him. And I haven’t eaten yet, so I suppose there’s nothing stopping me from that as well.”
“We’ll see you in a few minutes, then,” Mom said. I could hear the amusement in her voice. If I hadn’t wanted to eat with them, she wouldn’t have made me—but I did want to make her happy, so I wouldn’t refuse. Besides, there wasn’t anything that could beat Martha Kent’s home cooking.
****
As we ate dinner, Jericho sat at our feet and looked up pitifully. Occasionally, he made an entreating whine/growl noise.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “All right. Who’s been feeding him at the table?”
Mom and Dad exchanged glances. I stared at them before Dad finally broke down. “I’m sorry, son—he just looked so, well, pathetic . . . . I gave him a few scraps of bacon at breakfast one day, and it just went downhill from there.”
Jericho made the noise again, and I laughed. “You’ve created a monster.”
Using my x-ray vision, I saw Jericho pawing Dad’s leg. I also saw Dad pinching off some of his roll and slipping it to him.
Rolling my eyes, I asked Mom, “You couldn’t teach him not to beg at the table?”
She shrugged. “I was working on commands that would save people’s lives, not their food.”
Chuckling, I returned my attention to my plate.
We all finished eating around the same time, and I rose to my feet. “I wish I could stay longer, but I should really be putting in more of an appearance as Superman.”
My parents stood, and Mom gestured for me to follow her to the couch. Jericho and Dad were right behind us.
Mom picked up several pieces of paper off the coffee table and handed them to me. “Here. This is a list of the commands he knows along with descriptions of them. The command words I taught him were ones that wouldn’t all be completely obvious to a criminal. Hopefully, he won’t be minding criminals, but you can’t be too safe.”
I smiled. “Smart!”
“Thank you,” she returned, pleased. “I taught him both hand and spoken signals. I figured sometimes the visibility might be bad—and sometimes you might be in an environment where it’s hard for him to hear.”
“Sounds like you prepared for every eventuality,” I commented.
“Maybe not everything, but it’s not from lack of trying,” Dad grunted. “I must have needed ‘saving’ in thirty different situations at least.” Mom swatted his arm, and he smiled at her.
I looked at her. “Mom?”
She shrugged. “Well, we had to get him used to fire and water and heights.”
I frowned. “She didn’t put you in any real danger, did she, Dad?”
“If she did, I wouldn’t admit it,” he chuckled. “Let’s just say that dog of yours is quite the superdog.”
“Which reminds me,” Mom inserted. “You need to think up a new name for his other persona.”
“What about Superdog?” Dad suggested.
I tilted my head back and forth indecisively. “Eh, I’m not sure . . . . ”
“Have you had any ideas?” asked Mom.
“Well, I was thinking of having Clark Kent write an article about Superman—and maybe he could name him. I was thinking ‘Krypto’ might be a good choice.” I knelt next to the dog and scratched underneath his chin. He panted contentedly. “Do you like ‘Krypto,’ boy?” At his happy bark, I laughed. “What do you two think?”
“I think ‘Krypto’ is fine,” Mom told me. She embraced me tightly. On impulse, I placed a kiss on her hair. My policy against touch really had been unnecessary. It had made things so much harder for me—but it had at least made me realize that one of the finer things of life was physical expressions of love from family. A simple hug meant the world.
In a quiet voice, as if sensing my contemplative mood, Mom told me, her arms still around me, “Read over those pages when you get home and take him out with you. I promise you—he’s going to enjoy it.”
****
If there was one thing Jericho enjoyed, it was flying. Well—being held in my arms while I was flying. Whenever we took to the air, he looked over my arm without fear, his eyes eagerly taking in the sights and his nose the smells. His ears were pulled back slightly due to the wind, but I could tell he was straining to hear things as well.
We landed on my balcony, and I set him down. He began running around in a weird joyful romp, and I just shook my head. I quickly scanned the pages of commands Mom had given me and smiled. Some of the words she had chosen for her commands had been rather creative.
I retrieved the jar of spot-remover and a moistened towel and got on my knees. “Here, boy,” I called.
The dog came to me with his curled tail wagging.
“Good boy,” I told him, petting him briefly. I took the lid off the spot-remover and allowed him to smell it. Then I put some of the goop on my hands with a wince and used my other arm to hold him still. I began rubbing the formula into his black spots, and he struggled to get free. But though he was strong, I was stronger, and I held him in place and admonished, “Bad dog.” With a whimper, he stopped struggling, and he let me finish rubbing the dye-remover into his ears. I brought up the towel and scrubbed at his ears, getting out the last remnants of dye. Then I grabbed his backside and began working on his tail. He tried again to get free, but I said his name sternly, and he let me finish what I was doing. When I was finally done, I let him go, and he began running around the apartment like his tail was on fire.
Rolling my eyes, I threw the towel in a dirty clothes hamper and put away the spot-remover. After I washed my hands, I found his new yellow collar. “Krypto, pause.”
The dog, who had been running around in canine ecstasy, halted in his tracks. The phrase “stop on a dime” came to mind.
I walked over to him and crouched. I touched the tag on his black collar briefly with a smile before removing the entire collar and replacing it with the new yellow one. I surveyed him briefly. He looked different enough that this just might work. “You ready to go saving?” I asked him.
I took his wagging tail to mean “yes.”
****
We flew over the streets of Metropolis finding people in need. Jericho—Krypto—was surprisingly helpful. Mom had done well with him. I was already thinking about how my life would have to change to include the dog in rescues. I decided I would take the black dye off the dog in the morning after walking him so I could quickly pick him up to help with a rescue if I needed him. I would put it back on him at home if I intended to walk him or I expected guests. I would just need to make sure my door was always locked—if an unexpected guest came, then I could put the dye on Jericho quickly enough that no one would be the wiser.
After using Jericho in some different situations, I decided I would use him principally in fires, robberies, and occasional hostage situations. Throughout the night, we did a lot of rescuing. A few times, I took him home, changed, and then went and talked to some witnesses for quotes. I planned to have a good solid article on Superman—I didn’t want Perry White thinking I couldn’t pull my weight.
I only got a few hours of sleep that night, but I was happy with how things were going, so it didn’t bother me. When rush hour traffic began, there was a big wreck but no one hurt, and I realized it was the perfect opportunity to set the plan I had formulated earlier in motion. I was going to call Jimmy, who didn’t live that far away.
I phoned him with a disguised voice and gave him an anonymous tip about the accident. If he hurried, I told him, he would be able to get a picture of Superman and his canine partner. Though his voice was heavy with sleep, he seemed eager enough.
In truth, Superman didn’t need Krypto’s help at the scene. But it was a good way to get the dog some publicity—and some pictures for Jimmy Olsen.
I dealt with the damaged cars and helped the grateful policemen redirect traffic. Krypto sat where instructed and watched the moving cars with interest. I could hear the constant clicking of a camera, and a visual soon confirmed my suspicion: Jimmy Olsen, though sleep rumpled, was at the scene and taking pictures.
When things were getting back to normal, he nervously asked if I would pose with my dog. I agreed, and we took a few different pictures of me and Krypto. Then, I told him I needed to leave, and Krypto and I disappeared in a blur.
