Post by Eagle on Dec 21, 2012 10:33:02 GMT -5
Name:
Dr. Fish McKinley
Goes By:
Fish, Fishy, Doc, Dr. McKinley, Mick, Doc Mick, Kinley
Age:
Three Years
Gender:
Male
Appearance:
Overall, Fish is a medium sized dog. He's best described as a mix between Jack Russell Terrier, Australian Cattle Dog, and Australian Shepherd. There may or may not be Farm Collie in that mix as well.
He stands about seventeen inches to his shoulder, and weighs around 30 lbs. He has thickset tail, inherited from the ACD and JRT of his heritage. He has a square body shape (as long as he is tall) and is quite quick and agile. In fact, he has more energy than he really knows how to cope with.
His color is a merle roan dog. He has tan markings as well. But that is just a general description of his color. He has one light colored ear (right, which is mostly merled. His other ear (left) retains a dark coloration. His right eye is dark brown while his left eye is an icy blue. He is a pretty moderately merled dog, with enough big dark patches to prevent him from looking completely washed out. His tan is a light orange on his cheeks, but it fades to stipple where it goes into roan tick-marks where his white markings lie. He has nose has a small pink spot on it.
He speaks with a bright tenor to match his smallish frame and his boyish energy will seal him as forever young. Fish uses fast running words, as if he can't help but speak. He also uses advanced vocabulary, placing the words into his speech as naturally as anybody else.
Personality:
Oh, Fish, where to begin. I suppose the best way to start would be to point out that Fish is incredibly intelligent. He has a genius level IQ. (like off the charts genius) and the encyclopedic knowledge to go with it. Most of his knowledge is medical or psychological. He can play both doctor and psychologist parts well. His drive to understand more have always been especially towards these two subjects. He gives the impression of a dog that has a lot of book smarts and little to no street smarts, but that wouldn't be completely right.
Oh, he definitely has street smarts. His life had been nothing but the streets. His former owner was the all-around doctor for the mob and it rubbed off on Fish. He has a chilling lack of reaction to blood and violence. Fish also had to be tough. He always has a touch of paranoia about him. You never know just who wants to kill you.
Also, inherited by his owner's association with the mob (and by extension his own), he will never turn anybody away--as long as they have something for him in return. Sure he gives away free services from time to time, but the reason why is because he's absolutely fascinated by malady of either the body or the mind. He makes no effort to hide his love of deformity and his obsession with the demons that could affect anybody's mind. His empathy is high, which means merely that he could guess, usually correctly, what the other dog feels. But that only makes his observations of their suffering even more delicious to him as he has no true sympathy. He has no qualms over digging open a grave and dissecting the body. In fact, if anybody would allow him to, he'd gladly perform a vivisection.
He's obsessed with play and lights and shadow and running, and anything that can cast a bright reflection off of it is a treasure for him. He actually knows how to read and spends a lot of time deciphering the words of medical books or books on the theories of psychologists. He delves into other subjects from time to time. Most of the subjects remain scientific, however.
He usually has a calm, cool, casual outlook on life. Though he can be frenzied into the highest level of euphoria over chasing a light and can become giddy as anything over the possibility of something new and of something which he deems interesting. He is manipulative and too full of himself, but knows how to have a good time and if he truly likes someone, he tries to keep himself in check and let him enjoy them. As such, he is normally attracted to dogs with problems. One can say that it is sympathy, but really, it is an attraction, the same as if a dog preferred a dog with amber eyes or a thick and powerful build.
All in all, he finds enjoyment out of the fact that he is a little contradiction. Rather than being the doctor who resigned himself to pulling bullets out of mobsters like his former owner, Fish is the doctor who loves suffering. Rather than being the knowledgeable ear who let the goodfellas speak about the true effect that a violent lifestyle had, Fish is the psychologist that probably should be institutionalized himself.
But this is a canine world and well, dogs don't really have a means to give out licenses or revoke them. Or even sue for malpractice. And that in itself is Dr. Fish McKinley's license.
History:
The oops litter between a Texas Heeler and a Jack Russell Terrier resulted in Fish. The man with the Heeler wanted to do right since both were dogs of potential, but the little puppies promised to be of no use. Their herding instincts were mixed with the fire of the terrier and the fire of the terrier was quashed by the cerebral energy of the cattle dog. You can't have a cattle dog that just wanted to bite at cows and you can't have a terrier that asked questions before jumping in a hole and fighting a rodent. So, the man sold the puppies. It just so happened that a doctor was riding up the road, his wagon full of supplies. He saw the sign. "Frie Puppys." First, he was surprised that a farmer was literate enough to write that sign and that impressed him enough to check out the puppies. It's a dangerous thing to check out puppies because their cute button eyes and their sweet expressions make it hard to resist taking one home. That's what Dr. McKinley did.
He was returning to his home in Center City, with new supplies and, of course, a new puppy. "I'll call you Fish," he said. Fish played on the wagon as the Doctor drove the horse.
"What'cha doin' with that pup?" was the question for the first few times a new soldier of the mafia came in to have his wounds checked or to be fixed up.
"He's Fish, he's my dog," was the doctor's answer, always.
Soon, Fish became a fixture at the place. He was always thoughtful. He always listened eagerly to what the good doctor said. Knowledge coming in. He learned to read the signs on the doors and windows of the many establishments as he passed them. For the most part, he saw dogs at a distance and never got to meet them.
The first dog that Fish met opened his eyes to the fact that he definitely was a world apart in terms of intelligence. It wasn't that the dog was stupid or couldn't communicate with him. It was simply a note that Fish made in the same way someone with a genius level IQ makes a note that probably nobody else in the world could match their intellect, so they shouldn't expect it to happen. Add that to the fact that many with normal intelligence can say profound things and knew a lot more things than Fish did and that gave him motivation to learn more. He had the intelligence to, why not learn all that was possible for him to learn?
He adored his owner and so, chose to learn medicine. As he listened and learned and read, he realized his interest was also in psychology. He read deeply into that subject. Hungrily he read and hungrily he learned. He watched everything his human did as he was pulling out bullets and filling prescriptions, making bottles of medicine He figured out that men had two names: A first and last. He adopted his master's last name. Fish McKinley. It was as good a name as any.
Then, one day, his master let him loose to play in the yard. He saw a dog, limping heavily, his paw at a disturbing angle, and it made Fish's heart quiver with delight. The dog looked at the pampered pet and gave a small snarl. "I'm a doctor, you know," was Fish's reply. He explained what he could do and finally the dog entered the yard.
"Your leg healed wrong," Fish said as he felt up and down the leg with his mouth, his teeth fluttering up and down, feeling the mended bone. "Did you break your leg?"
The dog confirmed that he did. Fish led the dog to underneath the porch. Fish smiled and then broke the dog's leg. The dog yelped and Fish, unflinchingly, twisted the leg until it looked right in his eyes. "It should heal if you keep it like this. Don't worry, I'll take care of you." He allowed the dog to sleep under the porch until the leg healed, feeding him scraps from his own dish. Fish lost weight, but seeing his own work coming together made him glad, too glad. The dog was allowed to limp away, find his friends, on the condition that he return to get his leg looked after. It seemed an easy prescription to fill.
When the dog healed, he looked at his leg, it was mended almost perfectly. His movements were freer, and he could hunt again. Fish's practice started, advertised by nothing more than word-of-mouth. Then, it extended, just like his learning did, to psychotherapy sessions. He learned how to manipulate others, to socialize easily, because he met many dogs. He had so many dogs open themselves up to him. He didn't see it as curing them. He saw it as merely solving puzzles with the right solutions using the right words or the right techniques.
When he was three, his owner died. Gunshot to the chest. He tried to heal that man, he did. But you can't be involved with crime without that risk. Fish thought he'd be more sad since he felt he loved the man. He didn't feel much of anything, just a little pain in his very soul. He had some gratitude and missed the flashy men with their guns and their ruthlessness and bravado that used to come in. But then he decided to just keep living. That was the most anybody could do, anyways.
