Case of the Pilfered Pooches

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Keying someone’s car – intentionally – is about as low as you can go.”

  Don nodded, “Agreed. Then, a few months ago, the members of one club suddenly discovered pornographic messages on their cell phones. Someone had obtained the list of phone numbers and signed them up on all manner of adult-oriented websites.”

  “Sounds like a juvenile thing to do,” I decided. “Are you sure rival clubs are at fault? This sounds like something – and I’m sorry to say this –school kids would do.”

  “Doesn’t it? However, kids are not responsible for this, but adults. What else can I tell you? I know. How about this? Nearly a dozen members of that hound group reported their credit cards were all confiscated and destroyed when they tried to use them. What do you think about that?”

  “I think someone clearly knows their way around a computer,” I decided.

  “Exactly. Now, your hypothesis is that a rival group is responsible for all this trouble? Including the missing dogs?”

  “Yes. Is there anything about the four clubs I ought to know? Has anything suspicious happened that we should be aware of?”

  “Aside from the cars being keyed, no,” Don said. “Not really. Oh. Wait. Just last month, Medford hosted its own canine competition. You know about that, right?”

  I shook my head, “This is the first I’ve heard of it. What about it?”

  “Well, you probably don’t know that the reigning champion had been dethroned?”

  “It’s news to me,” I admitted. “Who was the champion?”

  “A black poodle. A small one.”

  I grunted once by way of acknowledgement.

  “And the dog who dethroned him? A Basenji.”

  I made a circular motion with my finger, “Those are the dogs with the little curlicue tail, right? Okay, I’m familiar with the breed. What about it?”

  “Do you know what group they belong to?”

  “Herding?” I guessed.

  “Hound,” Don corrected.

  “Interesting,” I admitted. “And that helps me how?”

  “Because the owner of the dethroned poodle just so happens to be the president of the Mini Me’s.”

  TEN

  Loud piercing barks echoed throughout the large, ranch-style home in the northern part of town. Two sleek corgis raced through the long hallway connecting the kitchen to the playroom, going at least Mach 2. Two young girls, ages 9 and 11, were in hot pursuit. I glanced over at the girls’ parents and was rewarded with a welcoming smile. Just then, the two girls zipped by us again, going in the opposite direction, giggling hysterically. Two corgis streaked by, barking maniacally, as they attempted to catch up to their human targets.

  “They needed this,” Tori was saying. “Vance and I haven’t seen or heard the girls laugh since Anubis was taken. Zachary, this means the world to us. Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about your dog,” I replied as I glanced at Vance. “We’re gonna get him back. That’s a promise.”

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. Vance’s oldest girl, Victoria, made it there first. Without bothering to check to see who it was, she pulled open the door.

  “Hey there, short stuff!” I heard a familiar voice say. “How’re you doing, princess?”

  “Hello, Doctor Watt,” Victoria primly said. “Please, come in.”

  “I told you, you can call me ‘Harry’, kiddo.”

  I then heard a high-pitched yip that could have only been made by a…

  “Oooo!” Victoria squealed. “You have a puppy!”

  Like magic, Tiffany appeared next to her sister’s side and gawked appropriately.

  Harry, Julie, and their two kids stepped inside, arms laden with gifts. Instead of holding his customary six-pack of beer – as was the norm whenever Harry visited my house – he was instead carrying a 12-pack in his left hand while holding a squirming puppy in his right. Julie was carrying a large, iconic, red and white bucket of chicken. Their son, Hardy, a stout lad of 13, smiled politely as he handed the bag containing mashed potatoes, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, and biscuits to the closest adult, who happened to be Tori. Hardy’s little sister, Drew, a tiny girl of 6, stuck close to her father and only had eyes for the new puppy.

  I glanced over at Vance’s youngest daughter, Tiffany. She remained rooted to the spot as she watched Harry gently set the puppy down. The 8-week old Australian Shepherd yipped excitedly and took a few hesitant steps toward the girls. Right about this time, I heard doggie toe nails clicking on tiled floor as Sherlock and Watson approached. Both corgis were silent as they studied the new visitors, having completely missed the young puppy standing stock still near Harry’s ankles.

  The puppy yipped enthusiastically at the appearance of my two corgis. Sherlock’s nose immediately dropped down and zeroed in on the tiny ball of fur. His ears jumped straight up and he cocked his head in perfect ‘what’s this?’ canine fashion. He let out a soft woof, which alerted Watson, since she had missed hearing the tiny puppy’s bark. As soon as Watson noticed the puppy, she let out a high pitched bark as a greeting and bounded like a damn gazelle over to the small stranger. Watson lowered her head, kept her rear up high, and wiggled her short nub of a tail.

  “That’s encouraging,” Harry observed. “I’m not sure about Sherlock, though. I remember him being somewhat standoffish when I had him at the kennel at my office.”

  “I’d expect any dog at a kennel to be standoffish,” I remarked. “Think about it. The poor fellow would probably wonder what they did to end up on the shit list.”

  All four kids turned to give me a scandalous look.

  “Pardon my French,” I automatically murmured.

  “You said a bad word,” Victoria admonished as she shook a finger at me. “Mommy says we shouldn’t talk like that.”

  Properly chastised, I could only nod, “You’re absolutely right. I don’t know what came over me. If I should happen to utter an abhorrence like that again, then you have my permission to… to… wash my mouth out with soap.”

  That statement garnered me a grin from the young girl. She waggled her finger at me again.

  “Don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”

  I glanced over at Vance to see him grinning at me and holding up his cell phone. I groaned aloud.

  “You recorded that, didn’t you?”

  “I’ve been on the receiving end of Vicki’s scolding before. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see someone else get into trouble beside me.”

  “So why are you recording this?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? I still have to find some way to get back at you.”

  I was taken aback, “At me? For what?”

  “You’re the one who made me put on that damn Peter Pan costume last year.”

  “Daddy!” Victoria scolded. “Language!”

  Tiffany suddenly ran out of the room, only to return moments later holding a large, clear Mason jar sealed with a slitted metal lid. She held it up to her father, who immediately frowned. Visible inside the jar were numerous dollar bills and loose coins. Looks like the Samuelson family had a swear jar! I was also willing to bet that Vance alone was responsible for all the contributions that jar has seen.

  Frowning at his daughter, Vance pulled out his wallet, extracted a single dollar, and held it out. My friend noticed I was smiling at his misfortune and immediately held the jar out to me. Knowing full well what he was trying to get me to do, the Samuelson girls turned their cherubic faces to me.

  “Daddy’s right,” Victoria confirmed. “You said a bad word, too. You need to pay the jar.”

  Tiffany immediately handed the jar to her sister.

  “I don’t have a one-dollar bill,” I reported, as I check the contents of my wallet. “I only have a ten and a twenty.”

  Victoria’s face beamed brightly, “Oh, a ten-dollar bill will do!”

  Her face was too eager. What was I supposed to do? Say no to the girl? Reluctantly, I held out my ten. Victoria snatched it out of
my hand, as though she thought for certain I’d change my mind, and fed it to the jar.

  “Tell me something, kiddo,” I began, as Victoria finished shoving the bill into the jar. “Who benefits from all that money in there?”

  “Why, we do!” Victoria exclaimed. “Tiffany and I get to purchase gift cards for our phones, so we can buy music, ring tones, and games.”

  I shook my head with bewilderment, “Phones? You use the money to buy stuff for your phones? Whatever happened to buying normal toys?”

  “Those are toys to them,” Vance grumbled under his breath. “All the kids have them. If they want to buy something, then they have to use their own money. Those phones will only run on gift cards.”

  “Yet, you seem to be the major contributor,” I pointed out.

  Vance held the jar up so that I could see the contents.

  “Not any more. Look at that pretty ten in there. You now have the highest bill in there.”

  “And we greatly appreciate it,” Victoria announced, snatching the jar from her father’s hands. “We’ll be listening. Whenever someone uses a bad word in this house, we pull out the jar. So, feel free to use whatever language you’d like! The stronger the word, the more you have to pay. Isn’t that right, daddy?”

  Vance grumbled something, but I couldn’t make it out.

  “There’s this new game that I’d like to get for my phone,” Victoria continued. “Between you and daddy, we should probably be able to get it before the week is over.”

  “Clever little entrepreneurs,” I observed, as I watched two corgis and one mini Australian Shepherd follow the girls out of the room.

  “Tell me about it,” Vance grumped.

  “That’s actually a great idea,” Hardy decided, speaking his first words since entering the house. He gave his parents a hopeful look. “Do you think we could do something like that at our house? I could use the money to buy stuff for my own phone.”

  “Hell no,” Harry automatically answered.

  The gaggle of kids was back, including the three dogs. Victoria held up the jar and jiggled it. Harry groaned as he handed over a dollar. Smiling profusely, Victoria skipped away.

  “That can get old real quick,” Harry observed. “That wasn’t even a proper swear word. Trust me, I can come up with a few doozies.”

  “Something like that would help you clean up your language,” Julie observed. “Tell you what, Hardy. Your father and I will think about it.”

  Satisfied, Hardy turned to follow the rest of the kids as they headed out of the room. Sherlock and Watson were leading the way, with the little puppy following as best he could. Directly behind him were the three girls. Hardy brought up the rear.

  “So, what are you going to call that cute fluff ball?” I asked, as I looked over at Harry.

  PV’s only practicing veterinarian cracked a beer open, handed a bottle to me, and then another to Vance.

  “Festus.”

  “Festus?” I repeated. “How’d you come up with that one?”

  “Jules. She said she wanted to give the pup a suitable name. You saw him. He’s always happy, and is a royal kick in the pants to watch. So, she came up with ‘Festus’. Jules says it’s a biblical name, which I’m not crazy about, but as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.”

  Vance nodded, “Smart man.”

  Inspiration struck. I took a pull from my beer and turned to Harry. I only had to wait a few moments until he looked my way.

  “You’re the town vet. You must have treated most of the dogs here in PV, right?”

  Harry nodded, polished off his beer, and reached for another.

  “Have you ever noticed anyone complaining about other dogs or their owners?”

  Vance clapped me on the back, “And the winery owner comes up with the play of the day. Harry, what do you know about the different dog groups?”

  “Are you talking ‘bout the AKC groups? I am a vet, you know. What did you want to know about them?”

  “Do you know anything about the four dog clubs here in PV?”

  Harry tipped back his bottle, drained half of it, and let out a belch so loud that he could have broken the glass out of a window, had he been facing one.

  “Harrison Stanton Watt,” a woman’s sharp voice snapped from down the hall, in the kitchen, “if you do that again, you’re going to be personally donating so much money into that swear jar that Vance’s girls won’t need to worry about their college tuition. Is that understood?”

  Harry’s face reddened and he looked sheepish, “Sorry, Jules.”

  “Don’t apologize to me, buddy,” came Julie’s harsh reply. “Apologize to our hosts.”

  “Okay, okay. Umm, whoops, my bad?”

  “Is that how you apologize?” Julie’s voice demanded. “What are you supposed to say?”

  “That definitely tasted better going down than it did coming back up,” Harry chuckled.

  “Three strikes and you’re out,” Julie said, using an eerily calm voice.

  “My sincerest apologies,” Harry hastily blurted out. “I wasn’t thinking, and if I had been properly thinking, I would never have allowed myself to release so much internal pressure at the same time. Indoors. It will never happen again.”

  “Hey, no harm done,” Vance assured him. “In fact, feel free to do it again. You’re going to pay for the girls’ tuition? Be my guest!”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Harry grumped.

  “So, back to those dog clubs,” I hastily interjected. “Have they been known to bicker amongst themselves?”

  Harry choked on his beer, “Have they been known to bicker? Oh, man. Where the hell do I start? How about… those people are bat-shit crazy?”

  Victoria came skipping by, holding the swear jar out as though she was collecting donations on behalf of a street musician. I swear that kid must have been waiting just around the corner, out of sight. Both Vance and I had a smirk on our face as we turned to Harry. With a shrug, Harry pulled out a twenty and handed it to Victoria.

  “Run a tab for me, kiddo. Something tells me that I’ll use that up before the night is over.”

  Victoria snatched the bill from Harry and jammed it into the jar before her father could protest. She then skipped merrily down the hall, disappearing from view.

  “As I was saying,” Harry continued, “those people are out-of-their-minds crazy. Did you know that I was thiiiis close to breaking up a fist fight between several customers at my clinic? Three times, man. People are weird.”

  Vance’s notebook found its way into his hand.

  “Do you remember any details?” Vance asked, slipping into detective mode. “Who was involved, what they were arguing over, and so on?”

  “It was over nothing but trivial shit, man. The last one I broke up, which happened last month, was over which AKC group was best. And do you know what? Each time it happened, one – or both – of the owners wanted me to side with them, as if I’d side with either one of those mixed bag of nuts.”

  “Who?” Vance asked. “Who was involved?”

  “Mrs. Barterson,” Harry recalled, as he stroked his beard. “She has a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. She actually started an argument with Mr. Kirkman, who was waiting to get vaccines for his Jack Russell Terrier. I swear they were moments away from a bare knuckle fist fight when I intervened.”

  “What were they arguing about?” I asked.

  “Which breed has more energy, which is better with kids, and so on. Seriously, man. It’s always over some petty shit that no one really cares about.”

  “Is this Mrs. Barterson as unpleasant as she sounds?” Vance inquired, as he scribbled notes.

  Harry shook his head, “Actually, no. That’s the weird part, man. If you were to see Mrs. Barterson on the street, you’d think, there goes a harmless grandmotherly-type lady who loves to bake cookies. If you were to look up the word ‘grandmother’ in the dictionary, then you’d see a picture of her.”

  “I wonder what set her of
f,” I mused, as I finished my second beer. “Little old ladies usually don’t get that pissed unless you rub them the wrong way.”

  “The only thing I remembered was that it was about some type of event that had just happened, and apparently it didn’t go the way Mrs. Barterson had hoped, or expected. She must have been talking to herself – or her dog – and was overheard by Mr. Kirkman. Now, I can tell you that Mr. Kirkman is a smartass, and has no qualms about admitting that. He probably said something contradictory, just to push her buttons, I’m sure.”

  “What about the other two altercations?” Vance asked.

  Harry shrugged, “One was a Pomeranian versus a Newfoundland. They were arguing about which one made a better lap dog.”

  “Isn’t a Newfoundland like, one of the biggest breeds there is?” I asked, puzzled.

  Harry nodded, “Yep. Males can easily hit 150 pounds.”

  “That’s no lap dog,” I remarked.

  “Tell that to the dog,” Harry returned. “If the puppy is allowed to jump on the owner’s lap while it’s growing up, then it’s going to expect to be able to do just that when it reaches adult size.”

  “I think I’d have to side with the Pomeranian on this one,” I decided.

  “Not if you’re the Newfoundland owner,” Vance argued. “No one breed is better than the other. It’s all subjective.”

  “I disagree,” I stated. “Corgis are the best.”

  “Hardly,” Vance scoffed. “German Shepherds, all the way.”

  Harry made the time-out gesture with his hands.

  “Guys? This isn’t getting us anywhere. You two need to figure out what to do next.”

  “I think we need to talk to this Mrs. Barterson,” I suggested to Vance. “I’d like to find out what made her so angry.”

  “It’s getting late. We’ll hit her up first thing tomorrow morning,” Vance promised.

  “What about that male nurse?” I asked. “Anything going on with the hound group?”

  Vance nodded, “More of this same petty shit. Crap. Damn it!”

  Victoria was back, in less than two seconds. Vance checked his wallet, groaned, and pulled out a five. Victoria snatched the bill out of her father’s hand with a giggle, and disappeared down the hall.