Genevieve and her First Fuss by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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book will be too difficult for
grown-ups, then you write it for
children."
-Madeleine L’ Engle-
Oh, the sun was in their eyes.
And the desert that’s dry.
In a country town.
Oh, the dancing and the singing.
Oh, the music when they played.
Oh, the fire that they saw
there.
On the grave of no return.
Sometimes they found it.
Sometimes they kept it.
Often lost it on the way.
Pawnee shadow to possess them.
-Mountain-
1- Genevieve Rises and Reads the News ......................... 1
2- The Community .............................................. 8
3- Invasion .................................................. 15
4- A New Fragrance ........................................... 25
5- The Mystery of the Pineapples ............................. 35
6- Going Home Slowly ......................................... 40
7- TV Compatible Escape ...................................... 51
8- Genevieve’s Little Book ................................... 59
9- Uninformed and Uniformed Protection Providers ............. 68
10-Protection Mercenaries .................................... 83
11-Repeat Shows .............................................. 88
12-Politician Brand Security ................................. 97
13-Homeland Security Report ................................. 105
14-Genevieve’s Old Photo Album .............................. 111
15-Investigation Taken in Own Paws .......................... 129
16-The Island Hideout ....................................... 139
17-Air Raiders .............................................. 149
18-A Sweet Reader ........................................... 160
19-A Morning Shade .......................................... 167
20-Genevieve’s Most Dreaded Call ............................ 180
21-A Liberating Truth? ...................................... 197
22-Delicate Decisions ....................................... 205
23-Genevieve Hits the Road .................................. 216
24-Neighborhood Meeting Plus ................................ 221
25-Serious Reactions from the Jabberwockers ................. 234
26-A Brief and Necessary Paws ............................... 246
27-The Love Letter .......................................... 253
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1- Genevieve Rises and Reads the News
Genevieve groaned just a little bit as she got her first vision of the new day thanks to the morning light streaming through her eastern window; the one without any blinds or curtains. Her Maltese’ furry, white snout released a murmur so low, the sound could not have been heard by anyone, even had they been in an adjoining room. As a matter of fact, there weren’t any in such a place, but even if there were .......
Those thin and wispy, cirrus, white, and lazy clouds had again congregated into their segregated Western quarantine; mixing only with the departing yellow. Having no eyes this was not seen as such by the little liquid droplets. Neither was this point of non-view mentioned by the periodically loud, and one-eyed, richer and dark, loud mouthed varieties. Nor did the details matter to Genevieve. To her it just meant another waking sunrise.
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Sunrise; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.
Such respect for downy attendance duty occurred most every daybreak. It practically had to be that way. The result was that it became a chronic custom for the ill-mannered, insistent, and marginally spontaneous sunrays to fill all of Genevieve’s room.
That is except for that little corner cranny where she kept the light sensitive paraphernalia which kept her computer more or less functional. It was her four thousand, one hundred and twenty third sun; but nobody was counting.
The previous night’s drizzle had ended sometime while Genevieve had slept. The eastern window she had left just a bit open had allowed in the water augmented, genial scent of the
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sprinkled fall boundary between summer and winter. The pleasant, musky fragrance of the still un-frozen earth mixed with that of the hardiest leaves. Those which still held on to their branches, despite the freezing night winds, remained in their warm weather, lofty perches. Genevieve’s bedroom was saturated by the start of another day on Pacific Lane.
Genevieve stretched out all four of her furry, white paws; even the one in the back which preferred being left alone. She groaned again; just a bit louder this time. That attention seeking paw had been making a big deal of little things ever since it twisted ever so slightly while stumbling into that hidden rabbit hole two years ago.
Genevieve; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
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But, of more significance than the whimper caused by a cranky back paw, to Genevieve it was a new day. As she had come to expect, the light remained persistent. At 7AM it was still filtered through the remainders of the colored autumn leaves not yet taken by the seasonal wind; but from experience Genevieve knew that this was only the beginning.
And now after having been stretched a bit, even her naggy little hind leg was grudgingly ready to go. Genevieve rolled out of her wickered willow doggy bed and she said “Ouch” out loud. A partially extended, broken strand had stuck her in the belly, leaving a red mark. “One of these days I’m going to fix that,”
she thought. Genevieve once again forgot that thought as soon as she was firmly on her feet and the little red line once again blended and faded into relative unimportance.
Genevieve did look behind for all of one second. When she saw no trail of blood, the view of her nearby coffee machine popped into her mind. She entered the kitchen and got it started. She stared out the window while the machine’s percolation resounded like the relentless beat of one of Trinidad’s steel drum bands graced with a fine-tuned pitch disturbing the early morning quiet.
Showing one more flaw in her time worn vow not to do so; Genevieve was compelled to turn on her laptop. She navigated to her local news show, and was shocked to find that a crime had
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been committed right here in her well-loved Poochville. She again recalled that breaking her vows never led to anything good. This was no small event, as it was Genevieve’s first encounter, even remote, with unpleasantness, and she was not exactly a newborn. Her initial thoughts were that it had to have been some kind of a mistake or that she had accidentally accessed one of the net’s disguised fake news sites.
Genevieve had spent her entire life in this town and had never, even via the mistake of an occasional unfounded rumor, had to be subjected to any such doings in reality. Worse, when she brought the full story up on her screen, the incident was not only happening in Poochville; it was happening right where she lived on Pacific Lane. The top of the screen said; “NEWS
BREAKING RIGHT NOW,” which was accompanied by an archived summer green photo of Pacific Lane and a “concerned” voice over which said; “There have been reports that there has been a crime committed on Pacific Lane in Poochville. We are not yet certain of the circumstances, but will be covering the event for you as of right now.” Genevieve looked out her window and saw a commotion just two doors away at the very moment. She thought that she might just “cover the event” for herself.
“Oh my; what could have happened here?” she thought as she rushed to fill her cup. Genevieve carried it as best she could in her snout. She pushed herself through the unlocked and hinged
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front door, and wolfed down the contents only spilling a little on the worn dirt walkway.
She got to the paved sidewalk; dropped her now empty cup and immediately saw the hubbub. Block residents whom she knew were milling about while two strangers were standing still, holding onto papers. The outsiders seemed to be in charge; as in addition to holding on to their important papers and appearing stern, they weren’t dancing around at all. Genevieve would soon find that the official strangers were called Billy and Jack, though it was extremely difficult for those not familiar with badges and body language to tell the two Scottish Terriers apart.
Billy and Jack; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
They confidently stared, asked questions, and typed into their smart phones. This was serious business, indeed. But if
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anyone saw what their finger lacking paws were typing they would have wondered what “nedgt uiikdff hbedeg8 y0t7dhb jguty yufhb”
meant; probably concluding that it was some secret code.
“So, who else might have seen anything?” barked Billy.
The street residents who were now standing still and just shuffling their many feet in the front yard were quiet. They cautiously looked around to see if anyone else was going to offer any information.
One problem they all had in coming up with something to say was that the house was a high traffic area. People from the area went there regularly to leave an offering or to take a gift. To highlight anyone doing this yesterday would likely be incriminating a neighbor for no good reason.
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2- The Community
Genevieve walked to the homeowners who were standing away from the rest of the group. They were the ones who had called in the report and already had been questioned. Barney, Clara, and their son Gizmo all looked worried. Genevieve asked; “What on earth is going on?”
Clara, Barney, and Gizmo; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Genevieve had known the little family before they were the current little family. She was friends with Clara and Barney’s parents before they were born. They were nice pooches; though Clara’s father Mazda was sometimes a bit of a rapscallion. If he saw a bird on the ground he’d bark and run full tilt at it. This startled many residents as they were usually taken by surprise
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by his unannounced and sudden bursts. But, despite their initial, momentary jolts they came to see that Mazda never caught a bird. In fact, he never even got all that close. He probably didn’t really want to as he certainly wasn’t trying to sneak up on any of them. If his efforts had any effect whatsoever, it was to induce winged flight. Yet, his seemingly spontaneous strivings remained just the least bit unnerving to some. Mazda had spent a few years in the military during the
“Great War.” He was “in the action” overseas and everyone now knows that that sometimes being subjected to life or death conflict can have long term effects as well as its attendant acronymmed syndromes. Mazda would never specifically speak of those times. He would only say that it was done so that the kids could grow up in a peaceful world. Though never said out loud, some wondered what effect his unconventional behavior might have on his children.
Today, Clara seemed to be the most clear of the trio.
Barney’s darting and unfocussed eyes quietly acted as if he was a victim of shell shock and little Gizmo kept babbling things which didn’t yet make any sense to Genevieve. “It’s for everyone. And they took it. They just can’t do that.” His distressed comments showed that he too was shocked, though unlike his dad, still vocal. Clara nuzzled up to Genevieve. She
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stifled a tear and said; “Overnight someone took all of the food from the sheds.”
“Oh, no,” said Genevieve, more befuddled than she was just prior; and in fact ever had been since the time when YouTube first started to show old films of varied public aesthetic and economic reactions to the alleged “finding” and Christie auctioning of Tiny Tim’s, “Ed Sullivan Show” utilized ukulele.
Tiny Tim being rudely annoyed; modified public domain.
She nuzzled against Clara and said; “I can’t believe it. I have to see for myself.” She walked to the backyard sheds by herself, circling around and under the overhang. To her confirming disbelief and dismay, she saw that they no longer held any of the stored vegetables and other canned goods. It had taken years of co-operative efforts to establish the community
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cupboard, and just one night to end it. The salt and vegetable mixes held in tightly sealed jars were all gone, though some of the empty jars and nine pineapples remained. Genevieve found that curious; and hoped it was a possible clue of some sort if she could conjure up some theory as to why the thieves did not take everything of value.
Genevieve vaguely grasped her calling. She had unknowingly been destined to be the Poochville incarnation of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple. Well, she had read or seen; most likely seen “A Pocket Full of Rye,” and had made full note of the coffee cup.
Stylized possible cover of “A Pocket Full of Rye”; property of the author.
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The cupboard doors were always left unlocked. When a family needed some help, they could come to Clara’s sheds and take what they needed without any questions or observations. When a family was enjoying good times they would stock the sheds with their surplus. They received no notice or awards for their efforts, which made them proud to be sufficiently blessed as one of many anonymous contributors. Over the years those blessed far exceeded those in need. The cupboard had grown and grown. Until now.
Left pineapples; property of the author.
Looking at the ground, Genevieve started to walk back to Clara, Barney, and Gizmo. But she was startled by the gruff growls of Billy and Jack, who had left the front yard to again view the back.
Jack loudly barked; “You’re not allowed here. This is a crime scene!”
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Genevieve scooted as Jack continued to bark at her, saying;
“You could have destroyed evidence.”
She instinctively answered; “I was careful to stay on the path.” This was a bit of an intended deflecting subterfuge, as no well-defined path was apparent.
“There might be paw prints there,” said Billy; as he ignored what seemed to be the primary point of there being no path.
Genevieve replied; “They’d have been wiped away in the drizzle anyway. Did you see the other ones in the dirt?”
Billy said; “We know how to do our job ma’am. Now, if you would just please vacate the area, we have investigative work to do.” They began to string the yellow tape which said; “CRIME
SCENE; DO NOT ENTER.”
Genevieve dawdled and looked back. Billy said; “What is your name and address?”
Genevieve said “Genevieve, and I live two doors away at 947
Pacific Lane.”
“And where were you last night?”
“I was in bed sleeping.”
“Can anyone vouch for that?”
“Of course not. That’s a silly question.”
“Live alone?”
“Yes.”
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“Join the others in front. We’ll have more questions later.”
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3- Invasion
Now feeling like a suspect, in addition to being befuddled and upset, Genevieve blindly did as she was told. Daisy and her husband Waylon were peering around the next corner. Genevieve was again startled when she almost bumped into them.
Daisy and Waylon; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
She put her right front paw to her chest and said; “I’ve already had a lifetime’s worth of shocks today. You shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that.”
Daisy said; “Sorry, Genevieve. We were just wondering what those cops are doing.”
Waylon added; “Yeah. We’re getting’ treated like we’re the criminals here.”
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Genevieve said; “I’m glad to hear that I’m not the only one who thinks that way. Do either of them have any ideas about what happened?”
Waylon said; “If they do they ain’t tellin’ us.”
One has to understand that Waylon was truly very upset, though his bluster worked well to convince everyone otherwise.
He knew that he would be a primary suspect; as he had a prior record of arrests and had spent some months in the pen, which the investigators had or would soon undoubtedly find out about.
Excepting old Clement he was the newest adult on the block and unlike Clement or anyone else currently residing on Pacific Lane he had done time in jail for dealing in stolen goods. He said that he was set up by crooked cops as a patsy. Despite his pleas the thick steel doors echoed shut with the compelling and hollow finality of a contented lion’s roar anyway. Every day he had spent there had felt like a month in the pen’s dank drear, and there was no way he was going to go through that again. It was not even a valid option. He simply couldn’t. Yet, he also knew that he had been behind on some of his bills, until the checks he had just brought to the Post Office today. He knew that wouldn’t look good for him.
Drifting, Waylon had come to Poochville by way of Grainsilotown, Arkansas. Initially, he had a wandering spirit
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which was only curtailed by a few stops in Southern pokeys. He sang and danced in cheap, backwater honky-tonks. He just kept moving. That was until he got to Poochville and met Daisy. He has been settled ever since.
Daisy was born in Poochville and had lived there all her life. Her instincts were to “root in.” And why not? There was no better place for a pup to call home. Internet “news” informed her of the criminal, bizarre happenings elsewhere. With all of her Dalmatian energy she often took long pleasant walks by the river. Alone, she’d “disappear” for hours, going through all the paths otherwise not taken. The natural land near the Boggy Cleave River was perfect for her. Her deceivingly thick coat could withstand the coldest of days. It also protected her skin from the briars and thorns which stopped every other Poochville resident. She went where only she could and saw things no one else would ever see or understand. For instance, the shallow water at the edge of the overflow ditch was most always warm.
Even on the coldest of winter mornings, if the sun was unobstructed, it would be like a spill from a hot tub. The tiny frogs liked it the most. They were no more than a quarter of an inch in size; but sometimes there were so many of them that when she sought water Daisy would have to be careful not to step on or swallow one of the tiny beings. Apparently content to be
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frolicking in the warm water, the little buggers seemed to pay no attention to her whatsoever.
Daisy deep in thought; property of the author.
Regarding the terrier investigators, Daisy said; “Don’t be too hard on them. Did you see any badges? Maybe they’re not even from here in Poochville. Maybe they’re cops from Rapidtown.
....... They must be. We don’t have any cops as far as I know.”
Genevieve said; “Oh. Goodness. On the news I’ve seen some of the goings on in Rapidtown. ......... Silly me. I should have known. Poochville has never needed a police force. ...... But, these two have some kind of badges. I’ve seen them around their necks. And they act so official.”
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Rapidtown; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Flashes of unpleasant images they had all seen of Rapidtown went through their minds. Their TV’s and the net had been uncharacteristically consistent about Rapidtown. It was evil and dangerous.
Fierce kittens in Rapidtown; property of the author.
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Daisy said; “Yes, those difficult to pass, Denial Mountains between us are a blessing.”
Waylon said; “Yeah; that’s all that separates us from the mess that goes on in Rapidtown.”
Denial Mountains, reflected in the Boggy Cleave River; property of the author.
Daisy added; “Some good things must happen there along with the bad. Otherwise everyone would have left. There are tons of problems. But, it’s possible that ultimately it’s what you make of it.”
Waylon sniffed and said; “Yeah, stuff like this. There are too many vicious curs over there. And they run in packs. If you like it so much, why don’t you take a trip there? I bet you’ve never even been.”
Daisy hesitated a bit, but said; “No thanks. I don’t want to leave Poochville and you.”
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Scared kitten in Rapidtown; property of the author.
The three walked back to the summer tended front yard; it’s evenness still obvious in autumn. As they turned the final corner, Genevieve tripped a bit, and they all heard a yelp and a growl.
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Willy; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
It was Willy. Appearing to be sad, the dachshund was lying flat on the ground. With their minds on other things, the three accidentally stepped all around him, a paw or two perhaps making contact with one of his long, black ears.
Willy sprang to his hands and feet. He sighed as he said;
“Oh, it’s you.”
Genevieve said; “Well, that’s a fine greeting.”
Willy said; “Sorry. Things are getting strange around here.
I guess I’m nervous. First someone steals the neighborhood food reserve and then someone steps all over my ears. Whew.”
Daisy said; “Can you believe it? Right here in crime-free Poochville.”
Genevieve beat Willy to the answer as he used his back paws to check on the condition of his ears. She said; “No, I can’t.
The horrible news of this morning is just settling in. I hope I wake up and find that this was just a bad dream.”
Willy got up on his front paws and seemed extremely alert.
He was focussed on something above head level, or might have just been staring at a bird in the treetops. He didn’t say.
Willy had consistently been an agreeable dog; though suspicions were that he had always been disposed to extremes of
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mood. Outwardly, the Poochville native appeared to be the height of civility. The views on Willy’s mood changes were quite possibly incorrect as the thoughts arose from subtleties observed in his behavior. But, after one knew Willy a long time, it became apparent that sometimes he just said what was necessarily said in the situation and other times he was quite the chatterbox. Models of complete consistency are unusual. And it was of no real matter to the Poochville residents. Sometimes he felt quiet and other times he felt talkative, just like everyone; but to a greater degree. One and all had their quirks; and little Willy’s periodic lack of conversation was probably nothing more than a lack of thought caused by his mind being on something else or not knowing anything about the matter at hand.
When such matters were on the agenda, Willy was always proud to say that he was a regular contributor to the communal cupboard and never one who took from it. Those types of observations were not the ones the other pooches were interested in hearing. They kind of disturbed the anonymity non-rule suggestion; but maybe that was all Willy could think of at the time.
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Alert Willy; property of the author.
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4- A New Fragrance
The other front yarders were still milling about. They seemed to be in a daze; especially Clement. It can be truly alarming when something with which you have become accustomed is taken away overnight. Making matters a little worse for the Pacific Lane residents was the fact that they had been there so long without anything like this happening. They had unconsciously come to expect the continuance of perfection. This was a terrible first; and firsts are unnerving, unpredictable, scary, and occasionally exhilarating. They can climb the lofty peaks; unseen from ground level; or fall to the bottomless depths, unseen from ground level. The distinction, if any, is a subject of tedious debate, regularly proffered by those who were adequately credentialed by having “gone to LSU, went in dumb and come out dumb too.” Though most often, after the tribulation induced by the coffee cup tempest, they settle into being merely another routine manifestation of a very old story. However, in the moment, virtually none could escape the perception that whatever had happened was always a matter of the utmost urgency.
The non-virtuals retained their “credentialed” positions through remaining silent. On a comedic level, the most current event was always popularly seen as something “new” and compelling. Few events or contemporary exhibitions would be deemed as
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sufficiently significant to receive any largesse, primarily, for having had or having had not attained the “experts” designation of “adequately worthy for purchase by the publically funded museum;” the well-arranged PBS television production to “soon”
follow.
One might risk an infinitesimal chance of being truly wrong, concomitant with a guaranty of being popularly seen as wrong, primarily because of simultaneously being without doubt contrary to all known forms of economically established news reporting in saying that here was just another such innocuous event. Tsk, tsk; stupid. Such observations do not fill valuable
“entertainment” air time.
So, conveniently to all parties involved, this double-bound problem was treated as “new,” and in some sense it was; being a first in Poochville.
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Pacific Lane; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
The tranquility of the place had been broken. The quiet was still there, but it was a worrisome quiet. It seemed to bode evil for the first time anyone could remember on Pacific Lane.
The tall trees which everyone loved for their beauty, summer shade, and autumn colors were now a potential hiding spot for a thief. At the very least a thief; maybe worse. Every shadow was now a potential menacing predator; their evil aims a frightening unknown; taken to the maximum depths of worried, confused and previously untouched minds.
Clement was slowly pacing around by himself with his mouth open. There wasn’t anything that he particularly wanted to say.
It was just the way some comfortable older creatures look most all the time; until a common fly inevitably and impolitely disturbs their slack jawed serenity. No doubt their jaw muscles aren’t what they used to be; but that’s not really what it’s about. That’s much too ephemeral an explanation to have any truth, as opposed to the fine distinction of real, validity.
Whatever the physical diagnosis assigned to his exterior, Clement’s eyes told a different story. He looked as confused and distraught as he did when he first arrived on Pacific Lane years ago.
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Clement; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Despite the age shown by his whitening coat and his five years’ time of habitation, Clement was actually one of Pacific Lane’s newest adult residents. Waylon was the first to have seen the stranger in the neighborhood. “Just passin’ through,” was all of what Clement wanted to say. Waylon thought that he posed no threat and that he might have been homeless. The Pug family, Bailey and Temporala, had just vacated their house at 858
Pacific Lane. They had moved to Orlando, Florida, wanting to be near their growing pups. Waylon asked if Clement would like to stay there a while. That’s all it took. That was it. And Clement was still there.
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Easygoing Clement fit in with the rest of the residents well. He was always the first to offer a cheery “Good day” to anyone he met on his morning walks; but little else. He kept to himself and slept away a lot of the rest of the day. He never spoke of his past. Most pooches didn’t want to press him on the matter. They were content that he was a good neighbor and suspected that there were things he didn’t want to talk about, bringing up memories.
When Gizmo was a very little pup, like any curious child, he boldly asked Clement where he was from. Clement said; “All over the place. My father was in the military and we moved all the time. It’s nice to have a real home.”
Genevieve approached Clement. Initially, he didn’t take notice of her as his mind was somewhere else, deep in thought.
He actually bristled when she called his name; as if he had just accidentally touched something carrying uncontrolled static electricity; a brief hint at an uncontrollable mini lightning bolt. He then composed himself and evenly said; “Hi, Genevieve.
What is this all about?”
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Lightning; property of the author.
His question surprised her in a way. She thought that by now everyone present knew that there had been a cupboard theft.
Genevieve, just a tad warily replied; “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Clement said; “All the cops. It brings back bad memories of Panama. I didn’t know that there were any police in Poochville.”
Genevieve said; “Neither did I. Up until now I also had never heard of any crime in Poochville.”
“Crime?”
“Yes, of course. ........ It was a theft. Undeniably. What else?” Again Genevieve was surprised by what Clement had said as everyone considered theft to be a crime. She suspected that his strange reply reflected his age and disorientation.
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Clement said; “Oh, yes, yes. Of course. I just never expected to see cops here. I guess the two go together. Silly me. Oh, look! The Pawsborne quads have found something.”
Clement and Genevieve walked ten feet to the four puppies.
The Pawsborne quadruplets; property of the author.
The Pawsborne quadruplets; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette didn’t even look up at Genevieve and Clement as they were entranced by something on the ground.
Genevieve purposely brushed by Ozzy, and then said; “What do you guys have there?”
Ozzy said; “I don’t know. I’ve never smelled anything like this before. It’s ...... musky.”
Clement said; “I suppose my sense of smell has faded some; but I don’t smell anything. ......... A raccoon maybe? Never saw one around here before though.”
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Genevieve put her nose to the ground and detected something with which she too was unfamiliar.
Bernadette said; “What’s a rack roon?”
Clement said; “Ooooh, a raccoon. Something you never want to see. They’re about ten times bigger than you and they don’t play around when they rassle. They try to hurt and they’re good at it.”
Genevieve thought that Clement’s comments were unnecessarily worrying and could give the kids nightmares. But, like the “theft,” the deed was done. She saw no reason to further possible consideration of Clement’s overly ominous comment and said nothing. She tenuously hoped for a cessation of the net-like supply of un-ending, redundant overstating drivel accompanied by an “exciting” flash which all too soon faded into the most banal of everyday, vulgar, Madison Avenue “enticements”
to buy more “enhanced and 25% stronger” Tidy Bowl. Genevieve knew that ultimately this brief, effective process of producing catchy slogans created a bored and disinterested demand for what some occasionally call “too much information,” as the watchers do their best not to regurgitate the portions of the pizza, which were their lunch an hour prior.
Elmo seemed worried and he stuttered out; “W-w-w-what do they l-l-look like?” not referencing the pizza parts, but the forgotten and possibly non-existent raccoons.
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Clement patted Elmo’s head and said; “Don’t worry. If you don’t bother them they won’t bother you. They’re big and fat with short, gray fur and tiny legs. They wear black masks across their eyes like the thieves they are.”
Not to be left out, quiet little Sarah chimed in with;
“What should we do if we see one?” Her eyes were alert.
Clement said; “Well, you shouldn’t see one if you’re good puppies and get back home before dark. See, they only come out at night. If you see one during the day, run home. That means that it probably has rabies.”
The quads sniffing ended and they turned sideways and every which ways. Their eyes darted in every revolving direction, fully expecting a masked marauder to be coming at them from every angle.
Clement saw that and repeated; “Don’t worry. They only come out at night.”
Genevieve pulled him away from the four and said; “Clement, Clement! What are you trying to do? The kids have had no fears.
Their lives have been ideal. And now you’re compelled to tell them that there are things to be afraid of? What’s wrong with you?”
Clement sighed, and eventually said; “It’s not me. I didn’t bring this situation to Poochville. There comes a time, and this
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is it, when you have to learn how to protect yourself or be killed. Under the circumstances, it’s for their own good.”
Genevieve said; “There is no evidence of thieving, murderous, rabid raccoons in Poochville. Only some missing food.
You are over-reacting. That’s understandable in the situation, but you don’t have to scare the kids.”
Clement hung his head as he walked away from Genevieve, and mumbled; “I said what I said.”
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5- The Mystery of the Pineapples
The Billy and Jack duo finished their yellow taping and whatever else they were doing in back. Their appearance put an official end to any ongoing discussions. They confidently strode to the center of the front yard. At the moment, they seemed larger than they did earlier that morning.
Billy and Jack; property of the author.
They took everyone’s name and address. They said that no one should leave town as they may be wanted for more questioning. They also said that everyone was a suspect; confirming what some had already believed. They started to walk to neighboring houses to conduct more interrogations.
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Waylon became put off by their offhand, professional attitude and bravely spoke up. He politely said; “Officers. Are you with the Rapidtown Police Force?”
Jack said; “What else?”
Waylon followed with; “Well, I’m just wondering. How did you get over the Denial Mountains so quickly? It’s at least a three day trek if nuthin’ goes wrong and the weather stays all right. And that’s if you got big feet like me.” He expected some laughter from the Pacific Lane residents which did not materialize.
Billy said; “To answer that would involve the disclosure of official police procedure and we are not at liberty to disclose that information for your own good.”
Waylon said; “Hmmnnn.” He simultaneously thought; “Not very cooperative,” then asked; “Learn anything yet?”
Billy said; “We’re asking the questions here. What’s the story with the pineapples?”
Left Pineapples; property of the author.
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Seeing that his questioning was getting nowhere, Waylon replied; “They’re good for breathing, coughs, colds, and a whole host of other things. It’s just not the best of ideas to try to swallow one in one bite.”
Billy tried to resume his walk with Jack until Genevieve called out her own version of discontent, saying; “Have you analyzed the paw prints you said were at the crime scene?”
With an air of disgust Billy said; “We have the matter well in our professional hands.”
Genevieve continued; “It seems to me that to be able to get that much food out of here overnight would require the work of a group.”
Billy replied; “Ma’am. That’s highly speculative. We have the situation well in hand. Leave it to the pros. Okay?”
As he and Jack again walked, Genevieve mumbled. Those near her heard; “I suppose that they are not in need of any possible help from those who merely live here.”
Daisy giggled and said; “Why Genevieve. I do believe that for the first time you are showing a note of sarcasm.”
Genevieve was uneasy that anyone had heard her off-the-cuff remarks. She was unsure of how to follow up her sincere thoughts with another which could possibly contradict her heart-felt feelings. Yet, she did not want to be seen as just another
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grouchy critic. She said; “Oh my. I didn’t know that anyone was listening. My big mouth got ahead of my brain again. It just seems to me that some sort of sharing partnership with the residents would help solve the crime. These two are from Rapidtown; not Poochville. Things are different here; or at least they used to be.”
Daisy sighed heavily and searched for an adequate response.
In her momentary lapse, Waylon said; “Yeah, the authorities. The un-knowing authorities. Can’t live with them and can’t live without them. Before, never an issue in crime-free Poochville.”
Genevieve quickly reflected on her lifelong, protected existence. She remembered her excitement the first day she was big enough to have her own bone. In the blink of a fur-challenged eye she said; “I don’t see any reason why we should be barred from the investigation.”
Genevieve’s memory; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
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Willy said; “Me too. But we are. Might as well we all just go home for now.”
The rest of the gathering took Willy’s advice and trudged off with their tails between their legs. What else was there to say? That is all except the Pawsborne quadruplets; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette. They apparently thought that something exciting was going on. They were half right.
Whatever their thoughts on the matter; they had a good time following Billy and Jack around. The policemen weren’t exactly fond of this behavior. But, they endured in their duties and tolerated the playful yipping and rassling of the tiny quads.
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6- Going Home Slowly
Genevieve attempted to walk back to her house. She was deep in thought for all of a few seconds. But her concentration was shortly broken. Almost as soon as she had exited Barney, Clara, and Gizmo’s property she ran right into Pacific Lane’s slowest starters of the morning.
Tardiff and Lenta cautiously approached Genevieve and Lenta whispered; “What is going on?” She and Tardiff were a cute couple. They were full grown Shelties (Shetland Sheepdogs); who looked exactly like collies, but were about one third their size. Little Genevieve could look them right in their engaging brown eyes without looking up or down.
Tardiff and Lenta; property of the author.
The inseparable Shelty duo had apparently not been listening to the news, and was just out for their usual morning
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jaunt. They simultaneously said; “Good morning, Genevieve.
Lovely day.”
Genevieve said; “Good morning,” but had her reservations about how lovely it was. She correctly suspected that Tardiff and Lenta were unaware of the food theft, and she did not want to be the one to break the bad news. Like her, the pair was not in the least bit accustomed to anything bad happening. This was generally taken for granted and unsaid; but up until now this was what was expected on Pacific Lane and in all of Poochville.
Lenta said; “Is there a party at Barney and Clara’s? It’s not Gizmo’s birthday, I don’t think.”
Genevieve replied; “No, no. Not that I know of. ...... “
At the pause Tardiff interjected; “What prompted the social gathering?”
Genevieve said; “Well, I might as well just say it. You’re going to find out in about two minutes anyway. All the food is gone from the community sheds. Except a couple of pineapples.”
Lenta said; “No!”
Genevieve said; “Yes. I was just there.”
Tardiff said; “No!”
Genevieve said; “Yes. Some of the neighbors were there with two cops.”
Lenta said; “No!”
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Tardiff said; “Cops! We don’t even have any cops in Poochville. No crime; no cops.”
Genevieve said; “Now crime; now cops. Trust me on that one.
You can ask anyone there.”
Tardiff said; “We’re not going there. Not until all this is straightened out. We’re little. Come on Lenta; we’re going back home.” The two turned and headed back toward their house about three times as fast as they left it.
Genevieve called out; “It’s probably on the news.” She heard a voice say; “I knew it. I just knew it. What exactly is probably on the news?”
It was Bella. Bella was probably the most misnamed dog in all of Poochville. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a pretty pooch. It was that she had always been the prophetess of gloom. She had spent her entire life in Poochville. She was a Corgi and had a long term Corgi companion named Lucky. Some dogs joked that he might have been misnamed as well. But it was only a joke because everyone knew not to make any judgements regarding other dog’s relationships. But, Bella had spent a lot of time googling conspiracy theories and came to “specialize” in the one which claimed that the forty-seven year old moon landing was faked because the shape shifting alien reptiles in charge of the world wanted to impress the green people who live on Mars that Earth
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is no technological slouch, and that somehow all earthly dogs were harmed by this studio production.
Lucky and Bella; property of the author.
Genevieve said; “Hi Bella. Hi Lucky. Looks like somebody has stolen all the food from the community pantry.”
Bella turned toward Lucky and said; “See. I told you that something bad was going to happen.”
Lucky looked at Genevieve and said; “All of it?”
Genevieve said; “Yes, except a few pineapples.”
Bella said; “Pineapples. Aha! That’s one of the foods that the shape shifting alien reptiles can’t digest. I told you something bad was going to happen. And I was right.”
Lucky said; “You’ve been saying it for ten years.”
Bella said; “I’m ahead of my time.”
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Lucky laughed and again looked at Genevieve, saying; “This girl says she’s a Corgi. But, I bet there’s a lot of Basset Hound in her.”
Bella said; “One hundred percent Corgi.”
Lucky said; “I’ve never seen any papers.”
Bella gave him a little whack with her paw. Lucky again looked at Genevieve and said; “We know those jokes about her name. They’re actually wrong. Her name is Bella, but it is spelled with one “L,” as in Bela Lugosi.” He made as if he was using his cape to shield him from the light.
Lucky ran toward Barney and Clara’s with Bella playfully chasing him.
Genevieve watched them a second, smiled and again looked forward. She saw Maureen.
Maureen was a solitary Beagle mix. She always politely smiled and acted cordially. But, Genevieve always suspected that she just didn’t feel fully at ease around other dogs. Not that Maureen ever avoided them; but it was as if she often said precisely what was expected to be said and kept the conversation brief. At times she had a faraway look in her eyes as if she was dreaming of somewhere else. She never said anything about that, perhaps because it might not have been appreciated in perfect Poochville. Most importantly everyone liked her, wished they felt closer, but respected Maureen’s seemingly distant wishes.
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When Maureen neared, she stopped and in her customary slow and calm cadence said; “Those two playin’ again?”
Maureen; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
With her very first sentence Maureen reminded Genevieve of something else that was unusual about her. Over the years Maureen had demonstrated an ability to understand difficult subjects, like calculus and computer operations. But, she spoke very colloquially. Maureen dropped her “G’s” like Bob Dylan and said a lot of “Yeahs.” Nobody had any particular problem with that. It just seemed odd.
Genevieve said; “Sure are. Bella was finally vindicated.”
Maureen said; “What happened?”
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Genevieve said; “Somebody took all the food out of the community sheds last night. They just left the pineapples.”
Maureen unhurriedly said; “Three quarters of pineapples are grown in Costa Rica, where they make heavy use of pesticides; which is associated with cancer and birth defects.”
Genevieve was puzzled by Maureen’s response and said a tentative; “Oh, I didn’t know that.”
In her typical dawdling tempo Maureen said; “Just tryin’ to figure why they left the pineapples. Guess I’ll go there and see what’s what.” She shrugged and walked away.
Curious about Maureen’s seemingly detached attitude, Genevieve said; “You’re not upset?”
Maureen said; “Sure I am,” and kept walking slowly. After a few more steps she stopped and turned back toward Genevieve. In a suddenly agitated and elevated voice, she said; “Exactly what did you mean by that? Did you fully expect me to convince you of my proper level of distress with a tearful demonstration over the whole affair?”
Genevieve said; “No. No. Not at all. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just surprised how well you handled the upsetting news. It was a bit of a complement in a way as everyone else, including me, freaked out.”
Maureen snorted a half smile. She returned to her relaxed talking rhythm and slurred; “Oh, okay. You’re fine. Me bad. You
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know, I know this cool psychologist in town. Give ya some pills that’ll cure all your ills. Know what I mean. Ciao, Gen.”
Maureen commenced her gradual walk toward Barney and Clara’s.
Genevieve was not quite through being the neighborhood source of news. No sooner than she turned away from Maureen, and back toward her house she saw Maggie and Tanner. For the entire time she had known them, they always seemed to be in good spirits. Genevieve strongly suspected that they would have some difficulties with handling this.
Maggie and Tanner; property of the author.
Maggie and Tanner were a mixed age couple. Maggie had a few years on Tanner, and apparently this occasionally came into play in their planned activities. Neither could be considered
“young,” and maybe this united them in a way others couldn’t fully comprehend. They wanted their remaining years to be a constant source of life affirming happiness. They could joke about it too. One time while talking with Genevieve down by the
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river, Genevieve said something about being tired; therefore having to head back home. Tanner replied; “That’s what happens all the time with Maggie. Whenever we get something good going, she needs a nap.” For that he got a bit of a playful nudge which didn’t exactly bowl him over.
Morning greetings were exchanged prior to Maggie asking Genevieve about the source of the hubbub which had been just ahead of them.
Genevieve skirted the overwhelmingly likely reality and was still truthfully able to say; “That’s yet to be determined. An investigation seems to be underway.” She probably didn’t realize that she managed to sound either like a Physics doctoral candidate or Maureen stoked with Xanax, or both at the same time.
Tanner said; “Investigation? May I ask? An investigation of what?”
Genevieve raised and contracted her front shoulders, in an attempt to convey a casual attitude, and said; “Perhaps a misunderstanding of some sort. It seems that the community cupboard has been relieved of most, but not all, of its food.”
Maggie looked worried and said; “How much?”
Genevieve felt guilty. While she was not lying, her responses to Maggie and Tanner were also not the best description she could make. However, the best descriptions she
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could make were also exactly what Maggie and Tanner did not want to hear. She wished she was in her house, even if she had been forced to watch “Keeping Up with the Kardashians.” She sighed and said; “Most all of it. About nine pineapples are all that is left.”
Maggie said; “Three quarters of pineapples are grown in Costa Rica, where they make heavy use of pesticides; associated with cancer and birth defects.”
Genevieve said; “I’ve heard. I’ve heard. That might explain why they are one of the foods that the shape shifting alien reptiles can’t digest.”
Maggie said; “Shape shifting alien reptiles?”
“I was just speaking with Bella,” and then Genevieve added;
“It’s a tragedy. And right here on Pacific Lane. There were some cops over at Barney and Clara’s investigating. Maybe they’ve come up with something already.”
Tanner said; “Maggie and I should go see.”
Maggie said; “I think I need a nap,” while grinning just a bit.
They said goodbye to Genevieve and walked toward the scene of the crime.
Genevieve said “Bye” in a hushed voice. She was amazed as she had been sure that Maggie and Tanner were going to go
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through all kinds of drama. She again started to walk home thinking; “Go ahead and figure.”
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7- TV Compatible Escape
Genevieve picked up her coffee cup near her curb, went down her path, and entered her home. The place which had provided her with warm shelter for so many years now seemed overly quiet.
Genevieve’s house and back yard; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Her house was pleasant enough to the touch with its controlled temperature twenty degrees above what was now outside. The comforting waft of warm air had hit her face upon entry. It made her feel welcomed and once again safe from the perils of this day. Her white tail elevated and pointed toward the sky. Well, right now it wasn’t exactly the sky. It was the lower ceiling. But, to Genevieve, there seemed little difference between them in principle. It was just a matter of the randomly chosen paint color, one’s location, and one’s abilities with
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obvious abstraction. ...... She had always suspected that it was best to keep her view her little secret.
“Yes,” she thought; “Without any doubt, that was too simple for some and too complicated for others. But it’s just right for me. A ceiling is a ceiling. That’s all. The common, divisive findings supplied by prized preparatory places and their plugged-in, parasitic private project pickpockets have perpetrated their predatory presences passably and provide a platoon of piercing, worker ants to those not plugged and unwilling to properly worship. Their net results are the likes of Rapidtown. .............. Oh my goodness. Better stop. I’m sounding like them. ....... The ages, heights, colors, and textures involved do make the appearances different.”
When she stopped she again noticed the encasing quiet. It rolled in from all directions like the water racing for the open drain.
Genevieve reclined on the carpeted floor. To take her mind off things she turned on her TV compatible laptop and watched her favorite absurdist comedy. It was one of those
“inexpensively” produced “reality,” un-reality shows wherein the characters who were just being “natural” had a funny habit of staring and squinting at the camera, perhaps trying to read their cue card. That was the most comedic part. This one was titled; “The Hominid Family.”
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The two-dimensional cartoonish production depicted a family of four strange looking creatures who moved about; when they did infrequently move about; on only their hind paws. Their front paws were held higher and seemed to serve the primary purpose of making some sort of an occasional gesture to an unseen someone who must have been off camera; if in existence at all.
Perhaps more significant to Genevieve was the “humorous”
manner in which the characters spoke flatly; showing no emotion.
No silly momentary expectations could be allowed to possibly be the source of future, long term disappointment. Broken hearts never fully mend for the timid. They’re forever like that broken wooden wheel; just waiting for the first flat excuse to stop rolling.
No pooch-like happiness or pooch-like sadness was detectable. Their tails were covered with some fabric at all times. So no outward hint of inner thoughts was overtly displayed. Genevieve most often regarded them as a comical warning of sorts; examples of something she and the other residents of Poochville didn’t want to be. She understood that the sense of popular humor required to be amused might be seen as something like laughing at cripples. Yet, the show had gigantic ratings which meant that either pooches liked it a whole lot or that there was nothing else anywhere near as entertaining on at the same time.
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Periodically, she found that thought disturbing; but always promptly recovered in her convenient belief that these expressively dead things were only cartoonish actors provided for mass entertainment. Only cartoons. Only squigglies in some computer programmer’s mind, capable of duplication with the most minor of adjusting special effects. Only the berserk imagination of some Hollywood guy trying to do something “different.”
....... Yet, something had prompted that someone to be capable of thinking of these things; and since they could do that they were likely to have been ................. “Stop,” she thought.
She didn’t want to ever bring those kinds of thoughts inside.
“TV is TV; and real life is real life.”
Genevieve watched the colorized screen, whose pigments she could change or eliminate with the most minor of cursor movements and mouse clicks. To avoid the possibility of time consuming, banal, techie, jargon-laden “complications” she left the screen as-is in the default position. The somewhat green appearance of the hominids was not particularly disturbing on an imprecise visual level as it continued to be consistent with their “successful,” long standing financial attributes; as recorded by the heirs of Nielsen and their less revered plagiarists. For some, including Genevieve, the opening sequence of letters strongly hinted at the 1947 Camus offering, plainly titled “The Plague,” “La Peste” in its native French, a not so
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fictitious story, though no doubt an embellished one, basically concerning the undocumented invasion of uncontrolled and infectiously diseased rats from elsewhere, which swept the French Algerian city of Oran. The seventy year old scenario may well have been an approximation of 2017 Poochville; and then again it may have been totally coincidental; and then again it may have been quite alarmist, psychotic, and Nostrdamically delusional to even consider the rational possibility of any such vague association. And then again who has the time to pay any attention to that which is considered “undefined” or theoretical? The facts are only inconveniently right in your face. Maybe Genevieve? Maybe all of Poochville?
“The Hominid Family;” property of the author.
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As she needed today, the presentation was almost sufficiently silly and innocuous as to provide a break from the reality of the day’s disheartening events. Reflection was provided without the “help” of a glossy, “gold embroidered garment,” formerly referred to by the less “enchanting” term of
“gold leafed garment,” appearing much like the borders of a discarded RSVP’d invitation to somewhere the recipient had no desire to go; that, like all others, not quite a unanimous viewpoint.
Unknown “noble” attired in gold applique, ca. 1500; modified public domain.
Some remnant of something that maybe never was continually gnawed at the corners. Possibilities, in their many easily dismissible false incarnations hovered, like the stationary wing beat of the dragonfly drone, made fleetingly noticeable only
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through the uninspired, routine work of a harried and routinely addicted cameraman married to his financially based, union carded, security blanket.
Like everyone else, Genevieve watched as the hit show went on and on. The amusing attributes were placed somewhere between hubby’s placement of his hat on the do-it-yourself, balsa wood rack near the entry door and his wife’s programming which obliged her to say; “Hi, honey,” and offer a perfunctory hug before departing into some other “necessity,” the details of which do their best to attempt failed variation on a daily re-run basis.
The predictability on the screen made Genevieve’s mind digress to some difficult to place point in her own time. The warmth provided by a generous paw or a cuddle with which some are provided with a continual comfort were not to be Genevieve’s adult destiny. She could no longer recall the details of those early days or those middling days. That perception was likely her choice; rather than a quirk of her eyes or mind. The particulars were not of any conceivable further interest to anyone including her. It was just an indescribable feeling which had become a source of commercial “hilarity” in their absence, producing another regular ratings report for the droning
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financial calculators and secondly for the lucrative and growing market of reclusive and otherwise inexperienced TV addicts.
The two screaming little digits following the dot are increasingly contented in direct proportion to the number of screaming little digits which preceded them. At the end, the two screamers were the source of some presumptive, content based, conjectures into “social” norms after having been primarily the fodder of bankers, actuaries, rating systems, savvy investors, and other similarly “skilled” and feral predators.
Genevieve did not realize how tuckered she was from the morning’s profane circumstances. Her eyes felt heavy and whenever she tired of fruitlessly attempting to resist nature they comfortably closed.
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8- Genevieve’s Little Book
Genevieve roused and cared even less about watching the current laptop display of “Good Girls Revolt” than she did during her earlier, pre-nap “Hominid” experience. It was tolerable; almost all right; but ultimately a poorly disguised petty rebellious repeat of many prior sitcoms; dating back at least as far as the inventive “Mary Tyler Moore Show.” Mary’s 1970-1977 show was set in a newsroom; just like “Good Girls Revolt.” The latter was cancelled in 2016 after one season.
Genevieve smiled as; “You’re gonna make it after all” once again played in her head. She got up and went to the William and Mary chest.
William and Mary chest; modified public domain.
She remembered how to carefully maneuver the brass teardrop handles, so as not to damage the darkly stained, walnut burl
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veneer. She pushed aside the old, yellowing address labels from the WWF, ASPCA, and Humane Society, which cluttered the top, and Genevieve retrieved the book she hadn’t seen since she was a pup. Today was the right day for it.
Two Purple Rabbits property of the author.
There’s a rabbit
in our boardroom.
Can’t miss her.
So I thought.
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She’s eight hundred pounds,
defies the catalogue,
and always sports
a purple tinge.
Boardroom; property of the author.
When she first told me her name.
She said; “Joelle.”
But I knew her alias was Trudy.
I tried to introduce her
to the uniformed suits
in our boardroom.
But they joked or ignored us.
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When I attempted their game
and joked back in their vein
they got uniformly angry.
Trudy, the purple rabbit; property of the author.
So, Trudy and I left
the moneyed “well-bred”
and polite equivocations
of blind sophistry.
In search of fresh air
which was rumored to dare
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blow wild
through our hair
on the other side
of the boardroom windows.
We had a backup plan
as failing that
we’d be sure to reach
a settlement for
another vocation.
Though I did not ask
Joelle shrugged her head
and told me
that she’d review my book
and put it in the great
New York Times.
I know she sometimes lied.
But, she was being sweet and kind
in telling me what she thought I wanted to hear.
So, I didn’t tell her
that I didn’t really care.
She, herself was super, super fine.
But, to me
the book was just one of many.
An avalanche of
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more were certainly coming.
Fools ask why we left
the high and proper place of largesse.
But, the answer seems too simple to say.
More fascinating were Trudy’s bold lies
than those told by the stagnating suits
sitting uniform in need of bespectacled eyes.
So compelling were her lies,
that to return her favor
I figured that I’d tell some myself.
Our attempted escape
was exposed to the drone
of the voice activated elevator.
Surviving that dull hum down,
we surged through the revolving door,
one compartment for our trip
and we had escaped.
To both our dismays
Trudy and I soon found
it was raining outside.
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Me and Trudy in the rain; property of the author.
And my umbrella could not cover us two.
So I gave it to her.
I was pleased but not surprised
when she tore it and threw
the pieces at the public loo.
We were soon saturated.
And neither of us cared;
in fact we couldn’t help but
nastily laugh
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when the dry passers-by
pointed their crooked fingers and
said that we were not
nice rabbits.
Push enter after
the word
of your choice.
You then
have the option
of saying
that you read poetry.
A boardroom neighbor might
feign being awestruck
or similarly unimpressed.
Genevieve’s day went on like that. Her old book was not only her old book. It was a source which sparked many divergent thoughts; some of now, some of the past, and some of no particular place or time. Heavy eyes and a few hours of insistent nightfall eventually provided their own reasons for her to snooze. She used her laptop for what it was best for; an ignored nightlight and a small drone at the left of her bed.
Modern technology had provided something very conducive to
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abandoning all forms of thought and going to sleep. It was as good as the nocturnal, camouflage adept, chirping crickets; with a slightly negative effect on the electric bill.
Cricket; property of the author.
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9- Uninformed and Uniformed Protection Providers At dawn, and very inconveniently before coffee, Genevieve experienced another rude insistence. It was a “knock, knock, knock,” and an all-too-quick follow-up of another “knock, knock, knock, knock, knock” with a more demanding gusto on the last two knocks drummed very un-musically on her front door.
The long gone “Hominid Family” program she was now not watching on the convenience of her TV compatible laptop had been taken over by a blank screen. Genevieve had again failed to comply with the most rudimentary commandment of Internet Technology. Because she had hit no key for over five minutes, the thing had gone blue; no tribute to Picasso. This default IT
operation was said to be one which “saved” one’s screen from something not yet witnessed. The alleged and generally accepted
“burn-in” produced by a static screen seemed to have no relevance during the “moving” depictions of “The Hominid Family.” But, here was again clear evidence of the pre-emptory
“protection” perpetrated through the precision of the powers that be; perhaps another outgrowth of DuPont’s old “Better things for better living through chemistry” commercial; the joking aspect forgotten in burglarized 2017 Poochville.
Genevieve, now reluctantly roused from her pleasant slumber thanks to the rude sounds of someone who had found their un-
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announced and un-invited way to Genevieve’s front door, rolled out of bed and shuffled across the room. She looked through her window and saw that it was Billy and Jack. She briefly considered not answering, but decided that would only prolong her ordeal. “Best to get this over with, fully awake or not,”
she thought. She opened the door and said a gracious; “Good morning. May I help you?”
Genevieve heard two obligatory and brief “Good morning”
responses, or something akin to that by way of “Mrng.”
Jack followed with; “Sorry to trouble you so early. But we have just a few questions.”
Genevieve said; “Oh, I had hoped this was a social call.”
Undeterred and uninterested, Jack said; “We understand that you have lived your entire life on Pacific Lane.”
Genevieve said; “Yes.”
Jack said; “You must have become aware of certain patterns which tend to repeat here. Have you noticed anything the least bit unusual over the last few days? Odd delivery men?
Strangers?”
Genevieve said; “Now that you mention it, I recalled that I saw something strange and odd just yesterday.”
Jack said; “Yes?”
Genevieve said; “Strange new people in the neighborhood.”
Jack said; “Please go on.”
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Genevieve said; “You two. We’ve never had any Scottish Terriers here before, never mind black ones.” She alone found that amusing.
Billy said; “Ma’am, we’re engaged in serious business here; and we’re just doing our jobs.”
Genevieve said; “I’m sorry. It’s a bit early in the morning,” and then she had to stifle an obvious chuckle. “For me. No, the strangest thing I’ve seen was yesterday’s news report. ...... You guys aren’t much bigger than me, and you look so serious all the time.” She again chuckled.
Billy brushed his paw against the tag which hung from his collar. He said; “These badges give us all the size and authority we need.”
Under the circumstances Genevieve didn’t want to say that to her the badges looked more like silver Milk-Bone treats shining in the morning light.
Genevieve volunteered; “It would be strange if anyone noticed any goings on at the sheds. We all tried not to stare at anyone there. We didn’t want to possibly inhibit someone who might be in need. Nor, did we want to convey undue reverence to those who happened to be running a surplus.”
Jack said; “How long has this been going on?”
Genevieve said; “Gosh. Most all my life. Clara’s parents; Mazda and Sassafras started it before Clara was born.”
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Jack said; “And everyone on Pacific Lane participated?”
Genevieve said; “Yes.”
Jack said; “Any other participants?”
Genevieve said; “Not that I know of.”
Billy said: “I suppose there were dogs who moved away from Pacific Lane over all that time.”
Genevieve said; “Yes, but not very many. Bailey and Temporala followed their pups to Florida. Patrice and Molly’s family also moved away when I was still a puppy. But, outside of those two families I can’t remember any.”
Billy said; “Did any others, not from Pacific Lane, know about this?”
Genevieve said; “Sure. Probably plenty. We never tried to keep it a secret.”
Billy faced Jack and rolled his eyes, receiving a “Law and Order” type shrug in return.
Genevieve said; “I guess you think the whole thing was silly.”
Jack winced a bit when he said; “It’s best when some type of rules and control are put in place. But, listen. We’re not here to evaluate or give advice concerning operating procedures.
We’re just collecting information in order to find the perpetrators. Sure wish there was more to go on. Is there
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anything you can think of which might point us in some direction?”
Genevieve said; “I wish I could. This is all so new to me.
I’ve never had to think about such outrages before.”
Jack said; “Well, thank you for your time. If you do think of anything, please let us know.”
Genevieve said; “Where may I reach you?” in expectation of a business card with a phone number or e-mail address.
Jack said; “You can find us right here on Pacific Lane until this is solved. Good day.”
Genevieve said; “Good day,” and shut her door. She looked out her window and watched as Billy and Jack glumly trudged down her path, on their way to the next one. Now, she thought them merely strange rather than pushy outsiders. “This can’t be any fun for them; yet they plod on.” She also suspected that her
“ideally” protected existence on Pacific Lane was what made her unable to understand that.
Further irrelevant thoughts took a backseat to Genevieve’s practical starting of her coffee machine. The grounds put into it the past evening just needed the switch switched and the water poured in the receptacle. She bravely avoided the addictive laptop diversion while the coffee made incessant and totally repetitious bloop-bloop-blooping sounds as the machine percolated the tap water.
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Thinking she was probably now relieved of the possibility of unwanted intrusion, Genevieve aimlessly stared at nothing in particular. It was relaxing, off point, and completely a luxury.
Her living room still contained the same items of mahogany, pre-1830 American furniture reproductions and hung pictures of long gone people playing musical instruments which were there for at least a decade prior. But they took on a different tone in the moment. They were neither important nor unimportant. They were just there; and that seemed right and was quite fine with Genevieve. She was spaced somewhere between a recollection of the past and a vague mystery of a present, which had temporarily departed on good terms, virtually duplicated through the reproductions of the past.
The high pitched blast of the coffee machine whistle brought her all the way back to the intrusive present. Genevieve was unduly scared for a second; then calmly walked to the signaling machine. She poured herself a cup and stared out the kitchen window.
She knew that some of the half defoliated trees were larger than they once were and that some were now gone. But, the changes had been so gradual over the years that her eyes had followed suit by gradually adjusting to them. So, while things had changed when her memory intervened, in a sense the view was the same one she had been accustomed to seeing in autumn all her
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life. Genevieve considered this to be inconsequential reverie and the deceptively stationary, natural view was more soothing than any of the garish displays of importance on the web.
After obtaining a caffeine boost she decided that she would spend at least part of the lazy day touring the old neighborhood. The unobstructed sun had been warming things up to a seasonally inviting morning after having cleared the jagged peaks of the lofty Denials. The absence of any wind made bundling up totally unnecessary; so Genevieve could move as well as her grouchy back paw would allow.
She exited her front door and turned right at the end of her personal path. Genevieve was moving toward the scene of the crime. Her mind now fixed on what is now most relevant to all of Pacific Lane, she forgot that her naggy, little, back paw hurt.
She saw that the Pawsborne puppies; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette were walking strangely and in unison. If Genevieve didn’t know better, she might have thought that they had found one of her wine bottles. They were taking very tiny steps and bumping into each other, laughing.
She then saw the real source of their merriment. Billy and Jack exited Willy’s house taking those quick, tiny steps that terriers do. When the quadruplets saw them, they returned to the normal gait that their younger, but longer legs allowed. Led by Bernadette, they all found that funny. Billy and Jack went out
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of their way not to notice. Their mutually exchanged side glances accompanied by a fraction of a second of a sarcastic smile, was the evidence. They diligently trod toward Clara’s house, the scene of the crime; Billy saying; “Kids.” The kids followed, fifty feet behind.
There were no signs of activity at Clara’s. The little family was sequestered in their dwelling. Genevieve’s guess was that she, Barney, and Gizmo had had their fill of thieves, investigators, chatties, and the generally curious. They had no answers for any of them and were probably already tired of having received so much unwanted attention. But here Billy and Jack were coming to make a request them again. The first wearying infraction and stupid imposition is never the last.
When Billy and Jack entered Clara’s house Genevieve went over to the Pawsborne quads. They were doing their quick, tiny step terrier imitation, laughing and bumping each other.
Genevieve said; “Hey, that’s not nice. They were born with short legs, and it’s not right to be making fun of them for it. They might be sensitive about it.”
Elmo said; “They shouldn’t be. We were just playing.”
Genevieve answered; “Well, how would you like it if someone made fun of your little ears?”
Sarah said; “My ears aren’t little. ........ Are they?”
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Genevieve said; “See what I mean. No, they are not little.
They are the perfect size for Sarah.”
Genevieve smiled and continued walking. After a few seconds of appearing to be undergoing perplexed extro and introspection, the Pawsborne quads were off running in the other direction, merrily in pursuit of a zigzagging red leaf; a changed coat for a survivor of last summer.
Genevieve was near exuberant when she saw Tardiff and Lenta emerge from behind a tree. The shelties were out walking again, after only a day of choosing to be house bound. The miniature collies, for all intents and purposes, were valiantly striding down the road that just yesterday had them seeking the shelter of their indoors sanctuary.
Tardiff and Lenta; property of the author.
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“Hi!” Genevieve called out.
Tardiff and Lenta both smiled sheepishly and returned the
“Hi.” Lenta added; “We got brave. This is our home.”
Tardiff looked over his shoulder and joked; “You didn’t see any creeps, did you?”
Genevieve joked back; “Only the usual ones. But, hey, it’s great to see you guys.”
Lenta said; “My pleasure. ....... Er, our pleasure. We’re taking back our neighborhood! The few thieves who snuck in here under the cover of darkness will not make us abandon our territory.”
Genevieve said; “My compliments. Tell me. Did you see anything the least bit unusual today?”
Tardiff said; “Only those Scottish terriers. They said they were the cops investigating the case.”
Genevieve said; “Yes, they woke me this morning. I was a bit rude under the circumstances. But, they seem okay. They can sound gruff sometimes; but they do have a difficult job to do.”
Lenta said; “Did you see the babies mimicking them?”
Genevieve said; “Yes. They’re such playful little scamps.”
Lenta said; “Well, we better be getting home. We’ve been out some time and are getting a bit tired.”
Tardiff said; “Speak for yourself.”
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Easy-going, pleasant smiles were exchanged and everyone was back on their way.
Genevieve slowly walked the length of Pacific Lane. She enjoyed the warmth and hoped that she’d meet more pooches to share the nice day with. Being a block containing only ten houses, five on each side, it wasn’t hard for her to walk up and down it a number of times, despite her periodically troublesome back leg.
She saw no one other than the Pawsborne kids and an occasional glimpse of Billy and Jack, as they dutifully made their rounds. Genevieve was disappointed. However, she was not deterred. She decided that if Pacific Lane’s pooches were not coming to her, she would go to them. Being “of the community”
she decided that she had more right to be intrusive than Billy and Jack.
Over the course of the afternoon and early evening, Genevieve stopped at every house in which the occupants answered the door. That was all but Pablo and Clement. Each of her visits was remarkably similar. The pooches were cordial, yet distracted. They didn’t want to speak of the depressing and unfortunate event offensively imposed on them in the current time. But, since this was what was prominently on their minds, their conversations were limited to the expected, distracted pleasantries.
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Genevieve drank a lot of tea and ate as many crumpets as her little belly could hold. About thirty thousand times, or what seemed like it to her, Genevieve complemented the extraordinarily good nature of the tea, while declining a refill. About thirty thousand times, or what seemed like it to her, Genevieve complemented the crumpet, while declining another.
Genevieve attempted diversions; mentioning and inquiring about Barney, Clara, and Gizmo’s oil painting of a nineteenth century, female Beagle playing a lyre; Daisy and Waylon’s “wild western” canteen with sunburned, tan fringe; Willy’s Oriental, gray-blue, lacquered, bone inlaid, teak, ground level, circular dining room table;
Willy’s table; property of the author.
Carlo and Lizzy’s unkemptness, courtesy of four rambunctious and great kids, which was not of Genevieve’s interest or concern, however she made reference to the Jackson Pollock “Blue Poles,”
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or as the artist first named it “Number Eleven” print, which was at a seemingly appropriate off-center angle, to the left of the dining room window, perhaps reflecting the public’s unsuccessful search for the poles, which usually results in an overlooking of the deep blue lines;
Pollock’s 1952 Blue Poles print; public domain.
Lucky and Bella’s latest David Icke book, “The Perception Deception; or It’s All Bollocks; Yes, All of It,” prominently displayed in hardcover in Bella’s lap; Maureen’s triptych poster of the top half of Jim Morrison in the porously bordered center, and the entirety of Aldous Huxley’s “Doors of Perception”
original 1954 cover sitting to his left, and to his right the seemingly same theoretical concept, but with the cover changed from the first, which contained the discordant ripping red lightning bolt, a reference to cubism, and probably a multiverse, to the psychedelic era’s op art concentric circles
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in washed out yellows and pale greens, with the overlapping oo’s in the approximate middle of the word “Doors;”
Huxley’s original 1954 cover of “The Doors of Perception”; public domain.
and Maggie and Tanner’s sideboard (buffet) sitting, abstract painting, which was entirely the same shade of golden-brown, excepting the periodically broken, thin, straight rosy line about a third down from the top, assuming the painting wasn’t hung upside down or sideways, in this setting conveying a similar appearance to the dotted and perforated line where one separates their electric bill from the plethora of useless information above or below; all this to no obvious avail.
Completely exhausted from “the dog day” of having had to endure the tiresome by continually being obliged to “go on
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neutral” as dictated by fruitless social constraints, Genevieve made her way home at the first sign of sunset, and for a few moments flopped right on the rug upon entrance. After some recuperation, which allowed her to make her way to her proper bed in the next room, she fell right asleep for the second time.
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10-Protection Mercenaries
Genevieve’s following day more or less “started” with the identical “Knock, knock” pattern of the previous. She had been already awake for some time, and was just enjoying the warmth of her double blankets, as the slightly open window allowed in the fresh coolness of the autumn air. In the not too distant past, she had used this time of the morning to entertain light daydreams, which she seemed to have some ability to influence, but not entirely control. It was sort of a “free” entry into the movie she knew she would like, but didn’t know all the particulars, especially the ending.
Genevieve in her bed; property of the author.
As the curtain prematurely dropped, Genevieve sighed and slowly elevated from her wicker bed. It seemed best to try to accommodate the interlopers as quickly as possible, as bad news
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is prone to keep coming back; making the disturbance an extended affair. She walked to her window and saw that there were two dogs there. They appeared to be reasonably normal. So, she opened the door.
This day the eager knockers were smiley and playful. That was not their names, though their real names were not yet known to Genevieve. While they were waiting, one had hopped onto her birdbath, took a drink, and was balancing himself on top of it.
That initially struck Genevieve as being rather bad-mannered, but in a moment she saw that it was also playful and harmless; a curious combination which caused her to smile, while simultaneously wanting not to.
Buddy and Guy; property of the author.
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The one who would soon be known as Buddy said; “Good morning, Miss ....... Ms. Genevieve. How are you this treacherous day?”
Genevieve said; “Feeling descended upon. And you?”
The soon-to-be Buddy one said; “Just wonderful madam. I’m Buddy and this is my partner Guy. We’re here to help you out and there is nothing that could make us happier.”
Genevieve said; “ ........... “
Not the least bit deterred, Guy said; “We represent
“Homeland Isolated Private Security Systems” and we noticed that your house is unprotected. In this time of increased crime, this is just inexcusable. Tsk, tsk.” Buddy emphasized his worry with a knuckles-in-the-mouth display of poochy concern mixed with a note of something akin to the threat of a current building code violation. “We want your home to be safe. Don’t you?”
Genevieve said; “Of course; and it is.”
Buddy said; “Unfortunately, not any more, my dear lady. You are aware of the events of that sad evening. Are you not?”
Genevieve said; “I think so. But, I was unaware of anyone breaking into my house. Wait here. I haven’t yet checked my closets for vampires today.”
Guy said; “No, no. That won’t be necessary. And we want to keep it that way. We at HIP care and we provide our friends with
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affordable systems. We ensure that your home is protected from burglary, flooding, fire and smoke, carbon monoxide, temperature, and medical alerts.”
Genevieve said; “I think that I’d like to continue to have some degree of temperature and access to medical alerts.”
Buddy said; “What do you mean by that?”
Genevieve said; “I think that I’d like to continue to have some degree of temperature and access to medical alerts.”
Buddy said; “Uhh. Yeah. I understand. I guess we can leave those parts out and save you money at the same time. Anywhere you go in the world, from the comfort of your smartphone you can easily manage your HIP security system with the ability to arm and disarm the system, receive security alerts, adjust your thermostat, control lighting and appliances, lock and unlock doors ......... “
Genevieve said; “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry to interrupt there, chief ............. er, Buddy. But, I don’t want it and have other things to do. Besides, since everyone knows about HIP I know it will cost a few grand to install and a couple of hundred per month afterward under a long term contract.”
Guy said; “We offer different plans to suit your needs; like the Affordable ......... “
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Genevieve said; “Whoa, whoa, again. I don’t have any money and live day to day from Social Security. Comprende?”
Guy said; “Yes, yes indeed, ma’am. We’re sorry to have taken your time and hope you have a wonderful day.”
Genevieve closed the door and thought; “Why didn’t I say that to begin with. Works every time.” She turned on her laptop and to that extent engaged her Hominids. She made coffee and poured herself a cup. Genevieve tried to relax.
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11-Repeat Shows
Genevieve may have dozed right on her Hominid show until there was another “knock knock” intrusion.
The dog who would eventually identify himself as Werner said an oddly cheery; “Good morning Ms. Genevieve. I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you are on this difficult day.”
Genevieve said; “Perhaps you already got some ideas by peeping through my window.”
Werner continued his mirthful approach when he said; “Ha ha. That’s the point. If you had one of our “Solely Safe Security Systems” Osama and I would be talking to the police right now rather than you.”
Genevieve said; “We have no police in Poochville. Guess you’re not from around here, ....... .”
Werner said; “Werner. No, my partner Osama and I travel quite a bit helping people out. Our founder Anton discovered a serious problem in the home security business. The companies charge huge fees and lock you into long term contracts.”
Genevieve said; “Tell me about it.”
Werner said; “Well, Anton designed something new; ‘Solely Safe,’ SS for short. Now, it’s the fastest growing company in the US. And ‘Why?’ you ask. Because it’s only $29.99 per month.”
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Werner and Osama in the window; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Genevieve said; “ ......... “
Werner said; “Most alarm systems are much too expensive, and here’s why. Unlike SS they use manufacturers, distributors, dealers, and salesmen. All of those people extract a profit; right out of your pocket. We here at SS ............ “
Genevieve said; “Well, aren’t you two salesmen?”
Werner said; “No; we’re agents and ......... “
Genevieve said; “Doesn’t someone have to manufacture it?”
Werner said; “No. It is formed naturally in the earth with the proper ingredients. All it takes to get it is a little inexpensive digging. The other companies fool you with a $99
offer, and you soon find out that the fine print says another seven to eight thousand dollars is due for the installation alone. And their systems use the tired old wired technology. SS
is only $299 at current exchange rates. SS does everything their
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systems do plus gives you a lightning fast cellular connection, on-the-go mobile control, smash proof protection, monitoring of your gun safes, chemical cabinets, ........”
Osama interjected; “protected explosive shelters and more.”
Genevieve said; “No, I don’t think so. I don’t have any money, explosive shelters, or anything like that.”
Werner said; “No problem. We can get you credit.”
Genevieve said; “No.”
Werner said; “Listen to this testimonial. ‘We installed our system within two months and sure enough ............. “
Genevieve said; “We installed? I’m not installing anything myself. Please leave.”
Werner said; “We can install it for you at a slightly higher cost.”
Genevieve said; “Will you please go? I’ll call the police.”
Werner said; “There are none in Poochville.”
Billy and Jack; property of the author.
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In the commotion no one had noticed that Billy and Jack, the two cops, were watching the activity. They were sitting calmly on Genevieve’s front lawn. It must have seemed to be the right moment to intervene. They rose and Jack used one paw to flash some silver metal he had on the chain around his neck and said; “Is there some sort of problem here?”
Werner said; “No problem officer. We were just leaving.”
Billy asked; “What are you boys doing around here anyway?”
Werner said; “Nothing. Nothing. Just talking to the nice lady.”
Genevieve profusely thanked Billy and Jack. Billy shrugged it off with; “Just doing our job, ma’am.” They left.
Once again, Genevieve tried to sleep, this time in her back yard away from the front door. But she had difficulty. There’s only so much activity one can handle at her age. She turned off her “Hominid” show, thinking that might be the culprit. But, it wasn’t. She may have eventually dozed a few minutes as the afternoon autumn sun brought the temperature to fifty-five degrees. With her long, furry coat, this was quite comfortable.
Then she heard another “Knock, knock, knock,” and felt much less comfortable, thinking that Werner and Osama might have come
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back. She stretched out and made a sound something like;
“Uurrrmmmmnnaahht.” She went inside and to her window and there saw a very silly looking pup at her front door. His long hair was disheveled and appeared as if he had some particular dislike of professional hairstylists. She was not sure if what seemed to be a peace sign where one would expect an ear was a matter of accident. He had a small pouch attached to his fur. Genevieve’s instincts were amused, curious, and positive. She opened her door and took the initiative. She was a bit cavalier, though it was intended to be taken with humor. She broadly smiled as she said; “So what do you want to sell me today? The line forms at your left.”
The pup on the other end seemed to be initially taken aback by Genevieve’s playful opening line. After a brief pause, he shyly and perhaps with some semblance of introspective humor said; “Something which prevents home invasions and doesn’t cost much anything? I don’t see the line?” His questioning way of saying it was found to be “cute” by one of Genevieve’s age.
She thought it would be amusing to tease him, and said; “I just heard that one an hour ago.”
“ ........... I don’t know. I guess I should go. Sorry to waste your time.” He turned as if ready to depart.
Genevieve said; “No, no, young man. What is your name and what have you got?”
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He said; “My name is Mackie. ........ Well, that’s what they called me in Rapidtown anyway.” His voice started to trail off when he added; “I can’t remember my real name. It’s been so often changed since I was a pup. I’ve been travelling. It was a long time ago when ......... “
Mackie; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license Mackie’s voice became firmer and he continued; “I have these decals which prevent break-ins. I make them myself and I’ve been selling them to the poor dogs in Rapidtown. They work pretty well. Here, have a look yourself.” He reached into his pouch, retrieved one and handed it to Genevieve.
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Decal; property of the author.
Genevieve smiled when she said; “Well, I’ve heard of the Hell’s Angels and they certainly do sound like they’re not someone to cross. However, will they protect me just because I’ve purchased this decal?”
Mackie said; “No. They won’t even know that you’ve purchased it. ..... If you do. You see, it’s a bluff; and an affordable one. They’re a dollar twenty five each. If you stick four of them to four of your windows, the bad guys will go elsewhere. For only five dollars you will have purchased home security.”
Genevieve said; “They’re kind of ugly. ..... Of course, I don’t mean your artwork. That’s quite good. But, the subject matter is gruesome.”
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Mackie said; “That’s the point. It’s the death’s head insignia. The bad guys wouldn’t be intimidated by an image of kittens and flowers.”
Kitten with a rose; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Genevieve said; “No. I don’t suppose so.”
Mackie said; “The use of these death’s head symbols goes way back before the Hell’s Angels. Frequent military use was started by Frederick the Great of Prussia around 1740. Prussia was the predecessor to the German Reich, and included what is now seven countries; one of them Germany. I like learning about stuff like that; but I think something really bad is coming down this time.”
Mackie looked so sad when he said that, Genevieve was compelled to say; “Ah, every generation says that. They’ve been
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predicting doom since a minute after creation and we’re still here.” That seemed rather optimistic compared to her most recent thoughts, but she considered it appropriate under the immediate circumstances. “But, you’ve convinced me. I’ll give you six dollars for four of those protection insignias if you’ll install them for me.”
Mackie was elated. Genevieve showed him in and gave him the six dollars. He put it in his pouch and quickly attached the insignias to four of her windows. All he had to do was peel off the back and stick the surface on. When finished he said;
“You’re set now ma’am. No one is going to break in here now.
Thank you.”
Genevieve led him to the front door. They exchanged goodbyes and thank you’s. Mackie headed for the next house with a confident step and one last lively wave.
Genevieve returned it. But when she closed the door she didn’t feel all that set.
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12-Politician Brand Security
The following morning Genevieve heard another knock, knock, knock on her front door. This was becoming a worse habit than her laptop addiction. To a certain extent she had time to finish her coffee and grooming. So, she merely sighed and looked out her window to see who it might be. It was a smart looking black dog she had never seen before. His long hair seemed to be going every which way. He was harnessed to a cart bigger than himself and he appeared to be smiling, though he also seemed to be having some difficulty in pulling his cart. His long, hang-out of a silly-looking tongue was usually a sign of good cheer or tiredness; maybe both. As he anxiously moved around waiting for an answer, Genevieve noticed that whenever he came to a full halt the difficult-to-manage cart kept rolling until it bumped him in a very rude spot. Each time he’d look back as if he was both surprised and annoyed. She found that funny, opened the door and said; “May I help you?”
He said; “Good afternoon. Ummn, good morning. Apologies, I think. I seem to be losing track of the basics.” He briefly chuckled before adding; “I’m Victor Override and I’m here to help you.”
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Victor Override; property of the author.
In that moment Genevieve felt almost as silly as this burdened man looked. She said; “It’s becoming somewhat commonplace, but I still really appreciate that.” She gestured toward Victor’s cart and added; “Did you bring me some presents?”
Victor said; “Right you are, ma’am. I’m running for Mayor of our fine town of Poochville; and I’m going to put a stop to the nonsense. Why, right here on Pacific Lane we had a theft recently. ........... It wasn’t like that in the old days.”
Victor jostled his feet and was rewarded with another plunk in his rear end. Trying not to show any concern with his toted baggage, betrayed by his momentarily darting eyes, he continued;
“As I was saying, Poochville is dear to us; and if elected Mayor I will make sure that it is returned to the great place it rightfully and always has been.”
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Genevieve sensed a pause and saw a bit of a foot shuffle which resulted in another Victor heinie maneuver, a look back, and a slight hop. She asked; “What are you proposing be done?”
Victor replied; “I’m glad you asked that question. The crime is not generated by the good people of Poochville. No, no, no. No, my dear madam. The crime is coming from those barbarians in Rapidtown. They walk right across the Boggy Cleave River to bring their criminal, immoral wickedness. Give me the power and I will build a wall which prevents that. In addition I will immediately institute a Poochville travel ban on all Rapidtown animals.”
Suddenly, her lack of sufficient rest the previous night came over her. Genevieve noticed a dull, but constant pain right over her eyes. To pay further attention to Victor seemed the polite thing to do, but she had lost the ability to comfortably concentrate. She wished that she was back asleep and pictured when her feet could carry her no more and for a while she had had flopped right on the rug before making it into her bed last night. These constant interlopers were certainly exhausting.
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Sleeping Genevieve; property of the author.
She said; “You must be familiar with Lewis Carroll.”
Victor turned and fumbled through the papers in his cart, taking a series of shots on his hip. When he again faced Genevieve, he replied; “No. Haven’t yet had the pleasure. I think that he lives a few blocks from here, and I haven’t gotten there yet.”
1898 cover of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” by Lewis Carroll; modified public domain.
Genevieve said; “Travel ban? Who will administer such a thing? Won’t it be costly and time consuming?
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Victor said; “No. Not at all. Everyone will freely chip in to identify strange animals in Poochville. Upon spotting one, our citizens will then call our central number and the undesirables will be removed quickly.”
Genevieve said; “Oh, I see. Just like we do with dumped debris. But, tell me; wouldn’t that wall be expensive to build?”
Victor said; “Not for Poochville. Rapidtown is paying for it.”
Genevieve said; “Won’t it block Poochvillers from getting to the river?”
Victor confidently replied; “No, not at all. The boundary line is in the middle of the Boggy Cleave. So we’ll have access to our half in safety.”
Genevieve said; “Oh, now I see. You’re going to build it in the middle of the river.”
Victor acted as if he had not heard Genevieve’s comment.
Once again he turned to his cart. He retrieved a piece of paper at the price of a few more heinie bumps. He handed it to Genevieve and said; “It’s explained in here. Thank you for your time. Vote Override and make Poochville safe again.” He struggled to turn the cart around. But after a few potshots in the you-know-what he was again on the road pulling it.
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Genevieve mumbled; “Bye” and thought that since he didn’t wince, he must have acquired a numb backside. She went back in and read Override’s paper. In bold and crooked letters it said;
My fellow residents of Poochville;
Thank you for the attention. Thank you very much. Thank you,
Poochville. I am so glad to be here. This place has a very
special place in my heart. I’ve been blessed to have lived all
my life in this beautiful and safe community. I love the people
of Poochville and together we are going to make it Poochville
again.
You may not know that I am a candidate for Poochville mayor. You
probably don’t as they like it that way. I've just returned from
a meeting with the Mayor of Rapidtown. We agree on the
importance of ending the harmful flow of people across our
border. It’s not good for either of us. The recent unfortunate
event on Pacific Lane brings that feeling home.
It's our right, as a sovereign village to choose immigrants that
we think are the likeliest to thrive and flourish here, remain
crime free, and love us.
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To all the vested interests, politicians, donors, and special
interests, hear these words from me. There is only one core
issue in this border travesty; and that issue is the well-being
of the Poochville residents. I’ve always said; “Beware the
Trojan Horse.” Watch what's going to happen, folks. It's not
going to be pretty.
Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you really ready? We will
build a great wall along the border. And Rapidtown will pay for
the wall. One hundred percent. They don't know it yet, but
they're going to pay for it. We will use the best technology;
above and below ground sensors; towers, aerial surveillance and
poochpower to supplement the wall. And if that is not enough
there will be enough juice in it to fry King Kong.
In addition I will immediately establish a cost free program to
keep Rapidtowners out of Poochville. Yes, that’s right. This is
our town, not theirs. Good citizens, just like you, will do
their duty. It doesn’t take much. Just a phone call to Central,
whenever you see one of the slithering, hooded creeps from
Rapidtown. We’ll take it from there.
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So, vote for me, my neighbors in Poochville. Together, we will
never, never allow the tragedy of Pacific Lane to ever happen
again.
Sincerely;
Victor Override
Your Next Mayor
Genevieve fell something short of being impressed. She may have been too tired to appreciate the possibly missed fine points. But, in simplicity, Victor’s paper didn’t answer her most specific of questions. A wall built in a river that someone else was going to pay for? It would seem that if people from Rapidtown could make it all the way through the Denial Mountains that a wall in the middle of the Boggy Cleave River wasn’t going to stop them. Besides, she knew of no other Rapidtowners in Poochville other than the possibilities of Mackie, two of the other salesmen and the helpful cops; Billy and Jack.
She did the best thing she could think of doing. She used the paper to wrap a fish she had in the refrigerator and dozed through the day. Genevieve was aided by the lack of a knocking at her door and the continual drone of web television.
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13-Homeland Security Report
Genevieve again had difficulty sleeping that night. It came in fits, the lengths of which could only be measured by the position of the moon. There was something bothering her which kept her awake. To complicate matters, she didn’t know what that something was. Sure, she was concerned over the matter of the theft and its aftermath. But, that wasn’t exactly it. If it was something she had remembered she could easily have chosen to forget it. No, it was something she didn’t remember and therefore couldn’t choose to forget. It was as if she had unknowingly seen something significant, and had no way of remembering or forgetting what it was.
Billy and Jack were at Genevieve’s door bright and early in the morning. If not for that she might have dozed through the day out of sheer exhaustion. Their persistent knock-knocks obliged her to get out of bed before she wanted to. Her creaky back leg made her all the more in a grouchy mood. She was greeted with two “Good morning.”’s, “How are you today?”’s coming from the mouths attached to two blank faces and four blank eyes. She regarded it as no discourtesy; just a display of police routine.
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Genevieve was reminded of her greeter supplied well wishes during her last trip to Hound-mart, but decided to keep that to herself. Instead, she followed suit, and said; “Good morning.
How are you today?” making no particular effort to conceal her tiredness.
Billy said; “May we come in?”
Genevieve answered; “Sure.” When Billy and Jack were into their first steps, she added; “If you have a warrant.”
They stopped short. Jack said; “This is getting to be a plague.”
Genevieve was puzzled by the comment. She had intended her comment to be a half joke. She wanted to be co-operative, but she also wanted to make a hint at some sort of line in the sand.
Since she had not officially been accused of anything criminal, Genevieve felt as if her right to privacy needed protection.
But, she recalled their help with Werner and Osama and saw the forlorn looks on their faces. Genevieve made an inviting gesture with her right paw, stepped aside and said; “Of course you can come in. Just don’t search through my drawers. A lady has some unmentionable things she would rather keep to herself.”
Billy and Jack stepped inside. Genevieve led them to the dining room and they all sat at the clear stained, oak, round table.
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Billy sighed and said; “We apologize for being such a nuisance. But, frankly we’re at a loss. We’re hoping that some information we are not yet aware of will lead us somewhere.”
Jack added; “We’ve made no progress.”
Genevieve said; “I’d like to be of help. I’m very concerned that some dogs might need the cupboard, and will not have access.”
Jack said; “That cupboard. Anyone can come and go? No one watches or keeps any records?
Genevieve said; “No. That might sound very naïve; and maybe it is. But, that was the whole idea. It was so naïve that it was perfect. And it was working up until now.”
Billy said; “I don’t follow.”
Genevieve answered; “Well, we were afraid that if there was any sort of monitoring, that those in need might be too shy or embarrassed to take the food when they required it. ....... On a less important note, we also didn’t want the donors to have some sort of ‘bragging’ rights.”
Jack said; “As I understand it, the food was jarred, excepting the pineapples. So, it would be obvious if anyone was carrying a jar in or a jar out. No?”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you? But no. We all refrained from watching. And if we happened to see anything, we kept it under our hats.”
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Jack said; “So you would occasionally ‘see something’?”
Genevieve said; “Oh no; not the way you’re thinking. It was just that once in a while someone who was making a deposit would criss-cross with someone making a withdrawal. That’s all.”
Billy said; “So, there was always a lot of coming and going.”
Genevieve said; “I suppose. ....... I mean, I would go there to make deposits about three times a week. And when I was bored with watching “The Hominid Family” I’d go there to tidy up; put things in neat stacks; you know. And I’m sure everyone else did too. ......... We were proud of the place. Often residents brought their visitors to see it.”
Billy said; “That’s one of our biggest problems. There are tracks all over the place. Everybody from Pacific Lane as well as some we can’t identify. ...... But tell me. There were people from elsewhere who were aware of its existence?”
Genevieve said; “Yes, many. I guess that sounds stupid.
...... I don’t know. I guess it would have been wiser to keep it to ourselves. But, we were so proud ...... “ Her voice trailed off a bit.
Jack bought her some time to recover by momentarily turning to Billy and showing him something on his smart phone. He then said; “So this has been going on for some time?”
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Genevieve said; “Oh, I don’t know exactly when it started.
It’s been here since I was a little girl; as long as I can remember.”
Billy said; “Barney, Clara, and Gizmo. It is on their property. How can I say this politely? They don’t seem old enough to have been around when you were a little girl.”
Genevieve laughed; “I’m reminded of my age every time I move. You haven’t made it any worse. Clara’s folks, Mazda and Sassafras, got the idea for the whole thing. One year they were working very hard, got lucky, were young and in excellent health, and accumulated much more food than they could possibly eat. So this. Barney and Clara kept it up after they were gone.
........ You’re making me remember old times. Clara’s folks were a bit .......... eccentric.
Mazda was always chasing after birds who flew away. Never caught one. Eventually he got Sassafras doing the same thing.
They used to scare the heck out of the neighborhood when they bolted. Maybe they thought it was keeping pooches away from their pantry, because at some point they moved their operations to the unpopulated land next to the Boggy Cleave River. I had one of those early self-developing, swinger cameras and I used to take it on excursions down there. I got a picture of them at dusk. Let me show you.” For some reason, she thought that she remembered that long gone day as if it was just yesterday.
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Mazda and Sassafras at dusk; property of the author.
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14-Genevieve’s Old Photo Album
Genevieve went to her darkly stained, William and Mary, reproduction buffet. She used two of the brass, teardrop handles to gently open one burled drawer, careful not to disturb the decorative china sitting on precarious edge at the top. She brought her photo album to the table. She flipped through the age stiffened pages, careful not to break off the yellowed, brittle pieces at the edges, until she got to the right one. She said; “Here officers. I won’t bother you with the rest of my pictures. But, here’s the only known one of Mazda and Sassafras.
It was taken at dusk and is kind of special to me. See; the birds are well away over the water and Mazda and Sassafras are still looking at them. .......... When I talked to them, they were always telling me about some television show that I never had watched. It was Zorro this, Zorro that, and Zorro the other thing. Oh my, my memory was a bit off. When the Boggy Cleave was bigger than it is today often flood plain pools formed when it went out. You’d have to go through some water before you could get to the edge. And you wouldn’t see that brown strip of land today. Everything changes I guess.” She simultaneously sighed and smirked.
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Mazda and Sassafras at dusk; property of the author.
Jack said; “That’s a very nice picture,” while Billy bobbed his head appreciatively. “Is there anything else you could tell us?”
Genevieve said; “No, not really. There’s a voice telling me that I’ve seen something of significance, but I don’t know what it might be.”
Billy and Jack got up and mosied over to the front door.
Billy said; “Thanks for your time. If you do think of anything else please let us know.”
Jack nodded and Genevieve said; “Bye.” Her photo album distracted her from the weighty concerns of the day. She slowly leafed through her book. Genevieve was first entranced by a photo taken of her when she was a puppy. She looked bewildered at the time. But, she then realized that the passage of time had not changed that aspect of her life very much. And her furry
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coat was so snow white; that its natural, minimal graying was so gradual it seemed noticeable only when viewing things from points of view decades apart.
Little Genevieve in her big yard; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
She then focussed on an old black and white of Madeline.
Madeline was a strong girl. No matter the weather, she took great pleasure in giving her continually growing number of puppies a ride. Madeline was so proud of them that she continued to do that even after her “babies” could get around well enough on their own. The babies seemed content and happy to humor her wishes, and certainly didn’t raise any objections to being given another free ride.
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Maddie pulling her pups; property of the author.
Rex always had his tongue out. When he gave you a big kiss, you got slobbered all over. He seemed to like everyone, and despite that, he never ran out of slobber.
Rex; the kind courtesy of StockSnap.io under their CC0 license.
T-Bone must have come to Poochville from a tough place. He had loads of muscles and always had his eye out for troublemakers. Though he never found any here in Poochville, the
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rest of us thought we understood his demeanor from early TV
crime shows, and appreciated his good heart and his desire to protect the rest of us.
T-Bone; the kind courtesy of Pixabay,com under their CCD license.
“Oh, good Lord,” Genevieve exclaimed out loud. She saw that it was Old Bruno trudging through the oncoming snow. She hadn’t thought of him in years. When such things still existed, not yet out-convenienced by the conflicting absurdities on the web, Bruno made sure that everyone got their newspaper every day.
“That dog never got sick and then the newspapers all went on-line.” Here he was at the end of his route on Pacific Lane. His cart must have been quite heavy for him when he started out.
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But, it’s almost empty now. “I wonder whatever happened to him after everything got digitized. Old dog friends should remain in touch.”
Old Bruno delivering the newspapers; property of the author.
Genevieve laughed out loud. It was little Baxter. He had the whole neighborhood in a panic that one day. No one could find him for hours. Then he popped up out of a polka dotted, empty urn which had been left at the corner of Rex’ back yard that spring day. He was so excited with the return of the seasonal warmth, that he overused his little puppy legs and expended all his energy exploring the neighborhood. Then he needed a nap; and for some reason, perhaps not wanting to go home yet, hopped into the polka dotted urn. It might have been that it was well heated in the sun. When he woke, he looked out at everyone and wondered why they were all there. He said;
“Whassup?” and everyone laughed in relief. He got more cuddles than any other dog ever did before or after. Baxter didn’t know
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what he had done, but if he ever could have figured that out, he’d no doubt have done it again.
Little Baxter; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
“Uh oh;” Genevieve whispered out loud. Thereafter her uneasy silence presided over the area. She saw the drawings a youthful Genevieve had made of some boys she had fancied long ago. For a moment she struggled to recall their names. But, with the beginnings of wetness at the corners of her eyes she quickly decided that it didn’t matter anymore. For a few moments Genevieve remembered her old fascination, their flirtatious essence and her feeling. Then she practically viewed her old drawings the way one might view an old time, sepia tinted,
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amusing photograph of those old time, travelling fairs put on postcards.
Drawing of boy; property of the author.
Drawing of boy; property of the author.
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She viewed the spot she had purposely made blank. The drawing which once was in that place was one she no longer wanted to be reminded about; though the blank spot served to remind her just as well as the now hidden drawing did. There was no escape other than turning the page.
Black blank space; property of the author.
It was “Eager Charlie!” He always was able to take everyone out of their gloom. His eyes always seemed to be crossed. But, no one ever mentioned it, and it didn’t seem to impair his vision. He had this thing for Rosalita. He and she wanted it to be a secret. They probably thought it was; but everyone knew. It was really kind of adorable and cute.
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Cross-Eyed Charlie; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
“Snowy! I don’t have many memories of him, excepting that he was always serious. At first it put some of us off. But, we came to realize that he had bravely taken on the responsibility of watching out for the rest of us.”
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Snowy; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
“Oh, my idealized drawing of the land near the river, looking over at Rapidtown. At one time, I thought that the area was just so wild, that it needed some pruning and redesigning.
So, I did it in watercolors. I was so little then.”
Dog at river; property of the author.