{Intelligence Training} Stay

Grant barrelled towards his handler on tiny, powerful legs. Chittering nervously, he could relax only when she lifted him into her arms for a reassuring cuddle, “I wasn’t abandoning you, silly. It’s only a trick! Shh now…”

It was the one trick that the smart digger kit didn't seem to get, and his handler could not fathom why this could be. Grant had mastered far more complicated things fairly quickly, and she had been immensely proud of his progress. He could roll over, beg and play dead. He would fetch the mail; he could hold a pen in his mouth gently enough as not to break it. So what was the problem?

"Grant, stay." She had said calmly, placing her hand atop the small digger's head and then withdrawing it. Obediently, he sat in place, ears pricked and eager to please. The only movement about him was his small nose, which remained ever-trembling like a rabbit’s.

However when she took a slow, hesitant step back, he darted forward nervously, crashing into her feet in his haste. Grant made small squeaks of distress which she interpreted roughly to mean that he was frightened without her presence at his side. She sighed, and knelt down to scratch between his ears. What was it that he didn't understand? 

"Grant." She repeated gently, her tone as soft as she could make it. His ears twitched at the sound of his name, showing that he was listening. "Sit."

He lowered himself onto his haunches readily, an almost instant reaction. Likely he anticipated approval or a treat.

"Now," she held up a hand to him, and then pointed at his feet. "Stay."

The digger cocked his head, remaining still. He watched as his handler stood upright. Then she slowly, carefully, inched backwards, keeping up a constant reassuring monologue, “It’s alright. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, everything’s okay.”

Grant looked uncertain, his muscles tensed as he readied himself to spring up. Each time this happened the handler would stop in her tracks to reassure him. Eventually, once she was around twenty feet away from him, this proved too much. His poor eyesight left his handler a faraway blur which he ran towards as fast as his tiny legs could go.

She scooped him up gently into her arms, filled with praise for him, “Good boy, Grant! Just like that!”

He chirped happily, rubbing the top of his head against her chin. Next time she figured she could go further, but it was good progress for the time being.

She had never known that putting so much effort into training that one problematic command would be beneficial. She darted through the woodland, weaving through trees, hoping to confuse them. Hoping to throw them off her trail, if only for a few precious moments. At her heels was a Digger imp, fully grown but still young.

“Good boy, Grant…” She panted, her heavy breathing in sync with his.

Casting her eyes upon a dent in the undergrowth, she threw herself into it, beckoning Grant to follow. Once she was tucked inside, she pulled some papers from her pocket. Scattered summaries of her research, a few blurry photos.

“Grant.” She said, and the Digger looked up at her expectantly. He was handsome, but plain. No ImpInc scientist would look at him twice. The distant footfalls grew louder, closer.

Tears in her eyes, she set the papers at his feet, knowing he would be gentle enough to carry them to safety, somewhere. To finish what she could not.

“Stay.”

Many years later, an old digger sat at the crest of a hill, where dense foliage had once grown. He had made his home here, a burrow in the ground beneath a twisted tree. He had waited.

For some time he had anticipated her return. For years now he had known better. Still, he had eked out a decent life for himself, a family. And he had followed her command, he had stayed. For truly it was not cowardice that drove the digger to so often confine himself to his warren, but a small glimmer of hope that one day, she might return for him.

He knew better, he knew humans did not have long lives. He knew that even if she had escaped she’d likely be long gone, but still…Still he would stay.

The soft pad of paws accompanied by the sharp clanking of metal startled the elderly Digger, and he swerved to find Nicodemus standing behind him, awkwardly shuffling his paws. He eyed the Gremlin warily, his son in all but name, “Yes?”

“Ya wanna go out, Pa? The weather’s nice today, it ain’t gotta be far, I just thought --“

Grant cut him off with a dismissive, regal wave of his paw, “I’d like that.”