by Nero Blanc
“It’s awfully cold without a toasty house to return to,” Kit mused with a purring sigh.
And although Belle hadn’t a clue as to the opinion being given, she inadvertently echoed it. “Our three buddies must be as chilled as we are. They look as though they’re asking to be taken home.”
Her remark caused Winston to raise his heavy head. “Hardly puzzling given the temperature,” he snorted to Princess, who returned the gibe with a yipping:
“Don’t be cross, Winnie. It’s us canines who usually have the final word.”
If Dogs Made Crosswords
ACROSS
1. Mild oath, dog-wise
4. Dog ___; baboon
7. Nose out?
12. ___ Dawn Chong
13. Chew up
15. Illinois river town
16. Rin Tin Tin’s network
17. German admiral
18. Brought up
19. Favorite oilman?
22. Verdi opera
23. Oxen collar
24. River in Spain
28. Inventor Nikola
30. Buster’s housemate
33. Stanley’s housemate
34. Point
35. Black
36. “Cool!”
37. Favorite horse race?
41. 41-Down source
42. Some dog-walkers
43. Royal letters
44. Director Lee
45. Salty dog’s domain
46. Old anesthetic
49. Chow
51. Abrade
54. Lemon drinks
56. Favorite Peck film?
60. Dog photo maker
63. ___ blue
64. Ghostly sound
65. “With bated ___ …”, Shak.
66. Posted
67. ___ dog
68. Jockey wear
69. HST-JFK link
70. A talking horse, et al.
DOWN
1. Persona non ___
2. Dog track tease
3. Encrypt again
4. Mild oath, for Winston
5. Young love in Rome?
6. “with a woof-woof here” refrain
7. Boxer O’Grady
8. Yip, yip, yip, yip
9. Taxing grp.
10. Mild oath
11. Craze
14. Collar locale
15. Tense lead-in
20. Of the snout
21. Actor Edmund, et al.
25. Result of 50-Down
26. Some TVs
27. Wordsmith’s vol.
29. Favors one leg
31. Where, and how, to buy meat?
32. Push forth
35. Tiebreakers; abbr.
37. “… her poor dog a ___”
38. With 41-Down, a breakfast order
39. Noah’s early dilemma?
40. “Gotcha!”, var.
41. See 38-Down
47. Like canned dog food
48. Refill the gun
50. Noise order
52. Dog ___; circus highlights
53. Chew up
55. Messes
57. Leftovers
58. Cheer
59. Fountain or Rose
60. Lassie’s network
61. Uris hero
62. ___ Blanc, Wile E. Coyote’s voice
To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords
Twelve
BELLE gave Rosco a huge hug the moment he walked through the door. Happy to be home at last, Gabby jumped up and placed her paws on Belle’s thighs, received a rather distracted pat, then trotted off into the kitchen for a long drink of water.
“I was so worried about you!” Belle gushed. “What if you three had walked into Don Oliver’s a few minutes earlier? You could have found yourselves on the wrong side of those guns.”
Rosco gave her a long kiss. “Hey, that’s what we were trained for, Belle—stopping felons in the act.”
“Not dressed up as Santa Claus, you weren’t. I can’t believe Al left without his pistol. What was he thinking of?”
“Kids?” Rosco chuckled, but the sound contained as much relief as it did humor. “You’re right. The Police Academy rules should specifically outline toy collecting procedure: Don’t conduct clandestine operations without a significant means of defending yourself; i.e., make sure your Santa suits have pockets for concealed weapons … not to mention I.D. And a clip for handcuffs might be wise, too.”
“I’m not joking, Rosco.”
“I know. And I’m glad you’re not. I much prefer the greeting I got, than, say ‘What’re you doing home so soon, pal?’” He kissed her again. “I do love you, Belle.”
“I love you, too … but I still wish you’d be more careful.”
“Gathering holiday gifts for needy kids isn’t supposed to be a high-risk occupation.”
“Maybe you should be carrying your gun, too. At least until those cons are back in custody.” Belle sighed and held him closer. “Everyone was so worried when they heard the news: Bartholomew, Martha—”
“How is everyone’s favorite comeback artist, anyway? I’ll bet she had some choice observations concerning the Lawson’s break-in. ‘No warm honey-blueberry syrup today, folks; we’ve been hit!’”
“No. Oddly she didn’t have many wisecracks …” Belle paused in thought. “I think Sara’s right about Martha … something seems to be bothering her—”
“Being subjected to a felony can have nasty side effects, Belle. You don’t have to be physically present at the time of the crime to feel violated. And Lawson’s is like a second home to Martha—”
“I don’t think that’s it. Besides, apparently nothing was taken. The police who responded to the call felt that Kenny’s arrival put the kibosh on—”
“If it was the same clowns who robbed Don Oliver’s Gun Shoppe, our Dr. K. wouldn’t have scared them off: six-foot-four or not. Don said these guys were a pretty rough lot.”
“Maybe they just wanted some food, and—” Belle stopped, glanced at her watch, and spun around. “Oh, my dog biscuits! I almost forgot … the timer should have gone off by now.” She flew into the kitchen while Rosco followed at a more reasonable pace.
“You’re baking dog biscuits? What’s wrong with the kind that comes in a red and yellow box? We don’t hear many complaints about them from the girls.”
Belle didn’t respond to his questions. Instead, she whipped a cookie sheet out of the oven. Creative pride sparkled in her eyes. “This batch is banana and peanut butter. Then I’m doing honey and banana. Winston loves bananas—at least according to Bartholomew.”
“You’re making biscuits from scratch for Winston?”
Belle looked at her husband as if he’d lost either his hearing or the momentary use of his brain. “For my Secret Santa gift. Sara’s instructions ‘suggested’ that we ‘either find a reasonably priced remembrance or create something handmade.’” Belle slid the finished product onto a cooling rack, then rolled another ball of dough and began stamping out more cookies with a bone-shaped metal cutter.
“And Sara assigned you a dog? What’s Winston supposed to give the person on his list? Or is a hand-me-down chew toy okay? Maybe something with a little slobber still attached? Or perhaps a molested slipper?”
“Rosco! These are for Bartholomew!”
“I know the man’s last name is pronounced ‘cur,’ Belle, but I didn’t think he ate dog food.”
“You know, sometimes you are so dense.” She chortled, then returned the cookie sheet to the oven and looked at her watch once more. “Twelve minutes … I don’t know what’s wrong with that timer.”
Rosco shook the small clock near his ear and said, “You need to wind it up. It works much better that way.” He then set it back on the counter, peered into the glass bowl with the remaining dough, and frowned. “I didn’t know you could bake cookies. In fact, I didn’t think you could bake anything.”
“I can’t
,” was Belle’s breezy reply. “At least I couldn’t until just now. I found the cutter in that fancy, new cooking store in town this morning. The owner also supplied two recipes—and voilà, or should I say: ‘Here you go, matey’—biscuits for the English bulldog, Winston!”
“And how are we going to know if they taste okay?” The question was asked with a certain amount of delicacy. He reached into Kit and Gabby’s ceramic jar and removed one of their treats. “Have you ever noticed that these store-bought dog biscuits have the word Tasty embossed right on them? See, dogs read that, and they know what they’re getting into.”
“What, you don’t trust me to make dog treats?”
“Well …”
“That’s it for you, buddy,” Belle chuckled. “I was going to add to my repertoire and begin making you gingerbread bones, but you can just forget about it after that crass comment.”
“Bones? What happened to the traditional ‘men’?”
Belle held up the cutter. “I only bought one cookie shape. I considered getting one shaped like a Christmas tree, but then I thought, what would a dog do with a tree?”
“I can only imagine.” Rosco then nodded thoughtfully. “And how, may I ask, were you intending on separating Winston’s, or rather Bartholomew’s, gift bones from my bones—the ones I might find edible?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” Belle admitted.
This time it was Rosco who chortled. “That’s one of my favorite things about you … dining is always an adventure.” He gave her another tender kiss, but the loving moment was interrupted by the arrival of Kit, who jumped up and placed her white forepaws defiantly on the kitchen counter and then leveled a solemn gaze upon Rosco and Belle. The dog’s black and brown muzzle was covered with white feathers; there were more stuck to the top of her head and a few pasted wetly above each eye, where they gave the impression of bushy eyebrows.
Belle gasped; she tried not to smile. “You don’t suppose she’s trying to emulate your Santa wig and beard, do you?”
The woof that greeted this comment was clearly one of disdain. Even the humans couldn’t mistake its intent.
“I thought she’d outgrown her puppy chewing stage,” Rosco observed.
“Seems more like payback time to me,” was Belle’s resigned response. “Maybe she’s mad because Gabby had all the adventures today.”
“Or perhaps she’s annoyed at you for cooking up a batch of treats for another dog?”
“But I’m planning to make more for their—”
Kit interrupted by woofing briskly again; then she charged into the living room with Belle and Rosco on her heels. There, a scene of almost comical destruction greeted the humans. Feathers clung to every object as if purposely attached with glue: A lamp shade was speckled with small plumes of white; the couch and chair looked as though they were about to sprout wings; the hooked rug had an unusual downy finish; even the ceiling was daubed with snow-colored tufts.
“This can’t be the result of tearing apart a single pillow,” Belle said, while Rosco’s sole comment was a scientific:
“Talk about a lot of static electricity. It’s amazing; the feathers are almost perfectly spaced throughout the room. How’d she do that?”
Kit barked in annoyance again, then raced upstairs and flew back down again, a fresh and as yet undefiled pillow clenched in her jaws.
“Kitty, no! Bad girl! Give me that,” Belle ordered, but Rosco had begun to laugh.
“I’d say you’re going to need to make Kit’s days a heck of a lot more entertaining when Gabby spends her time with me. Maybe the sedentary life of a crossword editor—”
“Rosco! This isn’t funny!”
“Actually, it is pretty comical. Look at this room. It’s like the inside of a chicken coop.”
But Belle remained unamused. “This is a serious regression on Kit’s part. Remember my beautiful red shoes—”
He corrected her. “Shoe, not shoes. It was only one red shoe. As I recall, she only liked to munch on a single piece of your footwear at a time.”
Belle frowned as she removed the pillow from Kit’s mouth. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into her.”
But Rosco was still chuckling. “Maybe she’s trying to tell us she’d like a couple of little feathered pals. Is that it, Kitty? Is all this work supposed to be your idea of a message? Are you really a bird dog in disguise?”
Kit’s irate and incredulous yap in response to this obviously fatuous query immediately brought Gabby, who sauntered down the stairs with her own contribution to the cause dangling from her mouth.
Belle shook her head. “And this one’s taken to chewing paper …”
Rosco ceased his chortling in a trice. “Where did you find that, Gab?” He reached down to retrieve the wet and mangled sheet of paper, and his tone turned severe. “That’s a very bad girl.”
Belle glanced at the soggy mess in Rosco’s hand. “She got one of my crosswords … but what was she doing with it upstairs?”
Rosco balled up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He didn’t answer his wife’s question as he wracked his brain for a plausible explanation.
“In fact, where did she even find the puzzle? I never leave them out …”
“I guess you must have,” Rosco mumbled. “Ahh … wait,” he stammered. “Maybe she pulled it out of your trash can. Yeah, that’s it. Then took it upstairs. She’s probably had it up there for months … hidden under the bed.”
“Are you suggesting I don’t look under the bed for months on end?”
“Well, I sure don’t. What’s under there, anyway?”
Belle thought for a minute. “Maybe that old hallway runner that was in my dad’s apartment?… Or?”
“See.”
By now Kit and Gabby had had enough of this useless human parlay, and they embarked upon their own troubled consultation. Gabby, in full terrier mode, took the lead:
“What now, birdbrain?” she demanded of Kit. “We did everything Winston suggested, and we’re in worse shape than we were before. I warned you this wasn’t going to—”
“You expressed no concern with our stratagem whatsoever,” Kit barked back. “It seems to me—”
“I did so. And besides, the crossword Rosco made Belle tasted disgusting! I’ll be surprised if I don’t get lead poisoning!”
“Pencils are made of graphite, nowadays, my dear Gabby. And for your further edification, I had to rip apart an entire pillow. And do it in the few short minutes that the humans were sequestered in the kitchen.”
“It was your featherbrained idea in the first place!”
“Well, you agreed to the ploy!”
“With reservations!”
“Not that you shared with me!”
“I did, too!”
“You did not!”
“Stop it at once, you two,” Belle ordered, while Rosco put his hands to his ears. Then he took his wife’s hand and gave it a soothing pat:
“What do you say to a romantic fire in the fireplace, a bottle of chilled white wine—?”
“Accompanied by two yapping canines?” she rejoined.
“Doesn’t quite rhyme with ‘wine,’ but you’re close.”
Belle grinned. “I’d say you had an excellent suggestion.”
Rosco also smiled. “Good …”
“Vacuum up our feathered nest now or later?”
“I say let it rest. If the weather’s not going to cooperate, this’ll be our rendition of a white Christmas.”
“And look at the bright side; it’s not going to melt. Ever.”
“How’s about you fetching a bottle, corkscrew, and a couple of glasses, while I start the fire?”
“‘Fetch?’” Belle laughed.
“Okay, how about ‘retrieve’?”
As Belle went into the kitchen, Rosco looked at Gabby. Then he pulled the sodden crossword from his pocket, smoothed it as best he could, carefully refolded it, and returned it to his pocket. “That was a naughty girl, Gabste
rs. You almost ruined my Christmas surprise for Belle. But not to worry; I can still read it well enough to make a copy.”
Gabby whined once, which Rosco assumed was a sign of penitence, but which, in fact, was a display of complete dejection.
“Hooo boy …” she sighed as she curled herself into a small gray ball in front of the hearth.
“Ditto,” Kit groaned while she stretched a feather-filled tummy toward the warming flames. “We’re in major trouble now.”
“You’re darn tootin’, sister.”
This time, Kit didn’t bother to correct the puppy’s commonplace verbiage. In fact, she realized she was beginning to find such expressions rather refreshing. “Hooo boy …” she also sighed.
“You ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie, Kitty,” was Gabby’s muttered response. “Get ready for the invasion of the lovebirds.”
“At least we’re not out in the cold like that stray in the park.”
“Yeah … mutts like that have to eat stuff with beaks and wings for breakfast.”
Kit’s stomach rumbled. “Yuuucchhh.”
Thirteen
WHEN Stanley Hatch first saw his Secret Santa e-mail from Sara indicating that he’d “drawn” Martha Leonetti, a thud of worry banged across his chest. Guys are so much easier, he thought; tie, work gloves, ski hat, belt, pen and pencil set, socks: the list goes on. A no-brainer. Aside from Bartholomew, all the men attending the toy-wrapping party stopped into Hatch’s Hardware at least once a week over the past year, eying one tool or another. If Stanley didn’t know what they had their hearts set on, no one did. And if Hatch’s didn’t carry what a customer was yearning for, Stanley would hear about it anyway: “Man, I gotta get me a new pair of work boots,” or “They say The Sopranos is out on DVD,” or “This wallet’s fallin’ apart on me.” For the last two months, even Rosco had been yammering about what he was yearning for. But did he tell Belle? Stanley wondered. Probably not.
But a gift for Martha? That was another story.
Ever since his wife had passed away, Stanley had taken to eating his breakfasts at Lawson’s, where he enjoyed Martha’s lively and often caustic sense of humor and her ability to put the grumpiest customers in their place—and even transform their sour expressions into ones of contentment. Lawson’s wouldn’t be the same without Martha Leonetti. But what to get her for a gift? Stanley’s mind had drawn nothing but blanks, and now he found himself at the worrisome hour of ten A.M. on December twenty-third. The party at White Caps was scheduled to begin at four that afternoon. If he was going to attend, he had only six short hours in which to make his purchase. The predicament made him wonder whether he should skip the entire event. But that would leave Martha without a gift, and Stanley had a hunch she’d be far more hurt than she’d ever admit.