Genevieve and her First Fuss by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Genevieve thought; “There was this place where I used to meet my special one, Dillon. The woods had a path; a clearing; only he and I seemed to be aware of. The only way to it was blocked at five points by a series of fallen cottonwood branches. If you were patient, careful, and a little bit athletic, you could navigate them. But, I guess most turned back. This has to be autumn. Like today, the colors have changed and the leaves which aren’t yet on the ground barely cling to
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the trees. Did I draw it? Or is this a picture? I can’t remember or tell. ......... I’ve dreamt of this spot in nights which have been bad and good. ......... Best move on. ....... Of course. Is there another option? Let me think of something else.”
Meeting place in the back country; property of the author.
I’m sure this one is a photo. It’s the calm Boggy Cleave River. It could be a hot summer afternoon. Or it could be a half hour after sunrise anytime between the start of spring and the northern winds coming to announce autumn.
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Boggy Cleave River in summer; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Patrice and Molly! They were always together. Sometimes they’d say the same thing at the same time; and then start apologizing to each other for it. “You go first.” “No, you.”
They were so sweet. We all missed them greatly when their family moved away.
Patrice and Molly; the kind courtesy of StockSnap.io under their CC0 license.
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My last drawing. The rainbow. And a hint of all the animals waiting there for me before beginning their trek to the other side. I saw it in what might have been a dream. That’s what some others say; but I know it is real. I saw it the time I let my mind wander down by the river where I used to meet Dillon. I have to focus on something else right now.
Rainbow; property of the author.
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Genevieve thought she’d rest her head for just a second right on the page. Instead, she dozed off while dreaming of pleasant times and the pooches long gone. She had her eyes closed and lips turned up at the corners throughout the day. At sunset her eyes opened.
“Oh, dear,” she thought. “I’m completely out of sync. It’s time to sleep and I’m wide awake. Maybe I can get some help from the net.” Genevieve switched on her laptop and searched unstructured news. Nothing caught her interest. She closed her eyes and circled the cursor around the screen six times; then clicked. What came up was in Swedish, but there was a nice button which offered to translate. She pushed it and her screen showed what follows.
Aftonbladet;”All the News the Tabloids Fear”
August 17, 2017; Rinkeby. Today police arrested Rudy Sennenhund, a Swiss Citizen, when he refused to obey a Stockholm Police Officer’s request for him to leave Rinkeby “for his own good.”
Mr. Sennenhund, an internationally known book reviewer, author, artificial intelligence maven, chess grandmaster, and all around roustabout (none of this yet fact checked) is reported to have
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been “disobedient,” and is now ruminating over such uncalled for insolence at an undisclosed location.
Wilma (Sonny) Arvidsson, spokesdog for the Stockholm Police told reporters; “When requested to leave, Mr. Sennenhund displayed a surly expression, growled discourteously and questioned what law he was breaking. Informed that he was in a no-go zone, and despite being explicitly told not to go, he attempted to photograph his surroundings, including the helpful officer. He eventually and defiantly squatted on the ground, not for the reason you’re probably thinking, rather than comply, requiring the services of four officers to carry him away. He has been charged with unspecified crimes yet to be determined and in fairness and consideration of that is being held at an unspecified location yet to be determined. We have confiscated his smart phone, and initial reports of its contents indicate involvement with subversive elements identified on Interpol’s master list. In addition authorities have noted an inordinate amount of visits to a site still under investigation known as
‘Hefty Black Mamas,’ the name possibly indicative of underground activities or an offshoot of the American manufacturer of garbage bags.”
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Conservative leader, Anders (Sonny) Akesson has stated; “We are getting a bit fed up with these foreigners coming here in total disregard for our laws and customs. You don’t have to be a Swedish genius to understand that ‘no-go’ means ‘no-go.’ If you insist upon complete freedom, get yourself a time machine and go back to mid-20th century America.”
Celebrity, US based, investigative reporter Geraldo Burgos-Pointer has vowed to get to the bottom of this matter as soon as his “Dancing with the Stars” commitment has expired.
Florina St. Bernard; Mr. Sennenhund’s travelling companion was interviewed at her motel. She seemed strangely noncommittal in her responses which sounded as if they took on a tone of some degree of disgust. She just shook her head and said; “I’ve got to watch him every second. If I leave him alone the least bit, he just has this knack for getting into trouble. He won’t admit it, but I think he likes it.”
In breaking news, Aftonbladet invites you to check out other articles in this issue including; “Most Expensive Swedish Meatballs” and “Now Everything is Crap Again.”
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Uninterested in Swedish meatballs or crap, Genevieve went to her bed and pulled the covers up. But, despite the subduing nature of the “news,” it did no good. She remained wide awake.
She flip-flopped, in an attempt to see if there was any position she could reach which would bring on that warm feeling leading to contented slumber. Genevieve even tried pulling the blankets over her head. But, nothing worked.
She couldn’t settle into the mindless requirement which sleep demanded. It wasn’t that she had slept all of the day. As far as she could recall she didn’t think so. There was something that was in her head. It was there even stronger than previously, but it still insisted on remaining hidden.
Genevieve attempted to wish it away. Her wishes and tosses carried her through a few hours to when her surroundings seemed pitch black; though that might have been merely caused by clouds which blocked the moon.
With that undefinable thing making sleep virtually impossible and Jack’s remark about not making progress, she decided to take matters into her own hands under the cover of darkness. She got up and looked out windows on each side of her house and saw no lights. Everyone else was already tucked in and dreaming.
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15-Investigation Taken in Own Paws
Her bodily system totally out of sync because of recent events as well as her recent irregular sleeping pattern she went out into the darkness a bit off balance. Genevieve used her little flashlight to get some visibility on the lamp free street. But, whatever clouds had been hiding the evening astronomical body must have dissipated as it greeted her from over the Denials in all its fullness, helping matters some. She wasn’t overly concerned with Clement’s tales of menacing raccoons, but did find some uncomforting difficulty in walking.
The darkness conceals secrets. It was nothing as fantastic and other worldly as the stories in the many “horror” comics available on the net. It was just the ordinary little things, like that little, shallow pit that the Pawsborne puppies had dug while checking out that worm, or that forgotten toy left outside when the dogs scurried inside for dinner.
Cover of horror comic; public domain.
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The Pawsborne indentation was no problem during the day; but at night it was an unsettling and potentially hazardous abyss. A homonymnally inclined bi-ped could easily sprain an ankle or even break a leg. But, she had somewhat of an advantage with such things. For Genevieve, with her four mostly operable paws, a trifling dig was usually nothing more than just harmless child’s play. She hoped she wouldn’t encounter anymore deep, deep rabbit holes, as she didn’t have any desire for another grumpy paw. The worst thing that could happen if Genevieve bumped into a toy was a few annoying scratches. And the toy might just be the toy rabbit that became real in “The Velveteen Rabbit.” That wouldn’t be all that bad, as she could well use a pal in the dark.
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Original 1922 cover of “The Velveteen Rabbit”; public domain.
But, there was no need to make a gigantic fuss of it, as she only had to travel the distance of a few hundred feet before she was at Clara, Barney, and Gizmo’s house. And if for some unknown reason she came to feel threatened, she could always turn back. She was blessed with that full moon who’s light was strong enough to show the patches of snow on the higher elevations of the mountain; the result of the prior infamous night’s drizzle at ground level.
Full moon and Denial Mountain snow; property of the author.
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There was no obvious path to the back yard. The trodden, autumn browned grass in the front showed no irregularities under Genevieve’s flashlight and moon enhancement. Light to the ground, she started to see more clear evidence of tracks on the side of the house.
She expected that. After all, the whole neighborhood had been going to the public cupboard for decades. They went any which way when in the front; and then respectful of privacy, stayed a distance from the side house windows, which were unobstructed by bushes as those in front. She was looking for something unusual; without any idea of what that was. But, Genevieve figured that she’d know it when she saw it. Though the night presented minor difficulties; the quiet and absence of other pooches allowed her to focus in a way she could not when the yard was well occupied.
Suddenly, Genevieve thought that she had seen a pattern courtesy of the moon and her flashlight. There were paw prints all over the area near the community cupboard. While that was the most obvious of anyone’s expectations; what may have been not so obvious was that the barrage of prints served to mask what was therefore overlooked; like “hiding in plain sight.” In the moonlight she thought she saw two more or less parallel lines in the dirt. Whatever caused it, Genevieve was certain of one thing. Paw prints did not cluster in near parallel patterns
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to make such a regular array of marks. Certainly not that she had seen. In fact, she had found that it was rather odd when even one dog walked in a consistent manner at all, never mind fifty. They usually meandered from side to side, veering toward whatever got their attention. And with their overloaded senses of hearing and smell, everything got their attention. Outside and from a distance of one hundred feet a dog can smell what those inside are having for breakfast and hear their conversation.
Parallel lines under the moonlight; property of the author.
She remembered what she had forgotten, or thought she did.
Such things can be difficult to accurately determine. If she had truly forgotten it, how is it possible for her to now remember
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that which was not remembered a moment prior without remembering the forgotten memory first and then using that as a comparison to that which she thought she had just realized now? She quickly decided that the whole thought was a totally useless distraction, and the best thing she could do was to try to keep her grouchy hind leg out of rabbit holes in the dark and focus on the mysterious lines. Besides, the night autumn air was a bit colder than she had expected. Hence, Genevieve had left her jacket at home, and was beginning to shiver.
These lines were not necessarily driftways, the indentations created by peak period water runoff, or heavily used paw paths. Genevieve thought; “They could have been made by cartwheels!” Victor Override, the mayoral hopeful had pulled one, and her old photo album might have surfaced Genevieve’s buried memories of Maddie and Old Bruno doing the same; they now again “living” in her aged photo album thanks to her viewing.
The tracks left by carts drawn by two wheels ....... more or less came into her mind; more strongly than its measly, trifling, and wretched ambiguity warranted. But, it was nonetheless there; well supplied by her many previous experiences with pooches of the evidence seeking variety. “More or less” just won’t do. She sighed when she thought; “If one is going to act as a sleuth, the need for irrefutable evidence comes with the package.”
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While she could substantially dismiss that sort of thought as a trap into a silly, never ending quest for what was right in front of one’s face; she was not sure if the moonlight was playing tricks on her. A cart’s wheels were a certain, fixed distance apart; but these “tracks” had some variability. They were wider apart at some points than they were at others. Could the wheels have been slipping that drizzly night? Or were the faint lines not really there at all?
Genevieve again sighed audibly; and then put a paw in front of her mouth as if that would prevent someone from hearing that she was near territory roped off by the police. She thought it best to leave.
She was finished for the night. Genevieve had possibly seen the elusive thing she couldn’t recall. But now, it was even more confusing to her. Even if she had correctly seen the lines, she didn’t know what it meant. Genevieve decided to go home and once again try to sleep. She thought; “This isn’t my job. ........
But, nobody else seems capable of doing it.”
As Genevieve slept under her covers, the next morning other stunned and confused residents of Pacific Lane started doing similar things. They began conducting their own investigations; though they were not inclined to challenge the authority of the yellow tape left by Billy and Jack.
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But, within the confines of the established boundary, the nervous dwellers of Pacific Lane were too, watching the ground, often in un-traditional, accidentally chanced pairs. The most venturesome of the lot were doing that outdoors in unprotected territory. They went to the land behind Pacific Lane; a wild area which separated the tidy yards from the land bordering the Boggy Cleave River. The land was periodically subjected to the fierce running water of a river overflowing. Not wanting to be carried away in a flash flood, no proper pooches lived there.
There were occasional rumors of homeless or dangerous dogs taking up stakes on the site. But, no one had ever found the source of such rumors, nor had anyone seen anything of the sort.
For most it was just kind of a place to go when one needed to feel rebellious and solitary in probable safety.
But it was also possible that the place now harbored food thieves. Each making their decision on their own, Willy and Daisy decided to “comb” the area. When rounding a blind bend created by a cluster of five foot tall Apache Plume bushes; Willy and Daisy, going in opposite directions, plowed into and scared the hell out of each other.
Upon seeing that it was Willy, Daisy put a paw to her chest, exhaled deeply, and jokingly said; “We have to stop meeting like this.”
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Upon seeing that it was Daisy, Willy put a paw to his chest, exhaled deeply, and said; “If only Waylon was a bit more understanding. ................ That’s a battlefield joke! What are you doing here anyway?”
Daisy said; “Looking for undesirables and I may now have found one.”
Willy said; “Me too. Let’s stick together in case we find thieves.”
Daisy said; “Okay. Going my way?”
Willy said; “Yeah,” and they continued their exploration in tandem.
Willy and Daisy investigating the back country; property of the author.
The overgrown brush was well above their heads. Each step they took flattened what was right ahead of them and chanced an encounter with something unknown and potentially harmful. Though
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they knew of the possible dangers from the outset of their individually chosen journeys; they were now almost completely relaxed. Somebody had their back.
Their finely tuned ears essentially picked up the sound of the dry grass crunching under each footstep. Background music was provided by the whooshing rush of the river over the rocks and the occasional somber call of one of the solitary birds perched on a now barren tree top.
Daisy on patrol; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
The screeches soon became commonplace and ambient, adding lesser mid-tree points of howl to their catalogue. What can one expect from bird brains? Songs?
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16-The Island Hideout
They had no particular plan in mind. But, Willy and Daisy’s natural tendencies produced movements which gradually took them to the clearings and the hints of paths which bordered right on the river in most places. The billions of footsteps taken by the now unseen animals on their many ways to and around the Boggy Cleave had created a series of river bordering concealed paths now only suitable to the growth of the resilient and uncultivated, southwestern staple called Indian rice grass.
Currently, as in the fall of every year, the Indian staple was virtually all tan, sparse, broken, and trampled upon through the complete passionate disregard of those seeking nearness to the river, coupled with the discretion which dictated not leaving the safety of the shore.
Daisy went right to the edge. The water was moving fast enough to produce white caps at every sizable, imbedded river rock; like an intermittent and consistently recurring display of grayish-white germanium shields. The surging abundance of short lived insolences was sufficient to look to Daisy like a flash near a flash next to another flash; much like the appearance of colorless lights on a Christmas tree, or the flashing bulbs on an old camera being rapidly snapped. In the modified writing of a somewhat observant poet, it was a relentlessly marauding army
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of insignificant armors; sword-less, yet trying to appear threatening in their pebble induced fraction of a second lifespan.
Stylized cover of James Joyce’ “Ulysses”; modified public domain.
Willy said; “Wooo.” It wasn’t as if he was afraid of the water as one might wrongly and easily conclude. He just wisely knew his limitations. His thick body was supported by small, unwebbed feet and he had never been able to swim. Frankly, he wasn’t overly fond of baths either. He said; “I know that you’re going to do it. Just be careful.” He watched her.
Daisy knew that the river could be surprisingly and extremely cold this time of year. In it, the slightest slip and too long a stay could result in death from hypothermia, if you didn’t first drown. Yet there were unexplored islands out there.
These were the little things of just a few acres created by the likes of a dead log which diverted the flow around it; and the
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subsequent accumulation of gritty dirt behind. Even littler things grew there; and twenty foot trees packed together on the older ones. Those with tall, wild, and mature foliage cover were potentially places where a thief might find safety. Daisy continued to stand at the edge thinking about it. Right in front of her was that one island which was host to deciduous evergreens which made it an excellent hiding spot. Her view may have helped her forget the risks of the cold current.
She stopped thinking about it and made the leap. Despite having anticipated, she was initially shocked by the coldness.
But, it didn’t immediately render her immobile. It was more disturbing to her that her paws didn’t reach bottom. She had to swim and she had never been properly taught how to do that. Her paws were, like Willy’s, not webbed, but her legs were ten times the length of his. The current pushed her away from the island where she wanted to go, and toward a wide expanse of landless sea. Daisy was more scared than she had ever been previously.
She had the benefit of having had made this trip before, though it had previously always been during the warmth of the summer when the water’s lower temperature was a relief rather than something ominous. She used her natural instincts, enhanced through practical experience. Much of the time Daisy kept frantically doggy paddling at an upstream angle which was intended to compensate for the current’s relentless thrust
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toward open sea. Sometimes she just floated. The hard work paid off for her. As she finally approached the island the water became much shallower. Her paws again touched ground. It was only then that she was sure that she was okay.
Daisy exploring the islands in the river in summer; property of the author.
She used her front paws and a hind leg leap to pull herself onto the island. Willy stopped watching Daisy. She was all right and now about to be hidden by the island trees. He breathed a sigh of relief, and resumed his land based search.
In her climb up the side Daisy used her nails as claws to get traction in the mud. Upon reaching the surface she shook
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herself, throwing off some of the water and the majority of the island mud on her coat. She carefully stepped through the broken branches on the ground; one eye necessarily on that ground and the other elevated. Having been to this place on other occasions she knew that the other side of the island was periodically inhabited by things which did not want to be seen. They were successful in that no one had ever seen them. Daisy had only previously seen the food wrappings they left, paw prints, and the blackened tiny branches still piled up neatly, which at one time, together fueled a campfire.
Willy in the bushes; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Things can get a bit covered sometimes. Things can get a bit covered when in the woods. Things can get a bit covered when
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the lower growth is thick. Things can get a bit covered .......
too much of the time. Willy was seeing only that cover as he continued his land based search. It wasn’t his fault for not having been blessed with x-ray vision.
His eyes saw only what shows. His ears heard the sound of his own steps and a few screeches from solitary, fleeing birds, disturbed by his surprise approach to their once secluded haven.
Willy sought the unusual; at the same time afraid to find it. His four paws moved consistently, but only with the speed of a turtle agitated by the easily detectable presence of a skunk.
“Brrr-aaack,” loudly said the rotten, soft tree branch. Out on the island, Daisy was startled by the sound. She jumped to her left and luckily landed an inch short of the steep slide back down to the middle of the cold Boggy Cleave. The sound of
“Blut-bam” disturbed the air once again, as she saw the rotten branch tangle with a live one for a while, before hitting the ground and taking one final bounce. She was annoyed at the momentary shock and muttered; “Darn dead thing. Had to make noise just when I wanted the quiet. Didn’t you? Well, that’s the last noise you’ll ever make.”
Daisy resumed her investigation, and made her way through the living trees. “Brop-bop,” came the petty, muted insistence.
It came from the direction of the unplanned tree branch
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cemetery, back behind Daisy at ground level. She saw a young, white rabbit with a wide streak of some other darker color mixed with island, underground mud running across its back. From Daisy’s distance he seemed tiny. He was apparently disturbed from his daytime slumber by the rude sounds made by the fall of the dead branch. With speed and a healthy, youthful curiosity he had come out to investigate the entire ruckus. He went right to the dead branch and pushed the fallen and deteriorating black thing with his pink nose. He sneezed; clearing out the grime which had temporarily resided there. The rabbit’s push caused the thing to flop over onto its other side. The thing’s legs were now in the air, like an unmoving dead bug. The permanence could only now be altered by a miracle. “Brop-bop.”
The rabbit went back in its hole and Daisy moved through the trees. She saw nothing unusual. No tracks. No low broken branches. But, from prior experience she knew that if she was going to find anything, it would be in the back of the island.
Willy struggled through the remains of last summer’s overgrowth. The brown, brittle residue was dead to the point of breaking apart at the slightest touch. But, the fact that the dead congregated in clusters, made them able to trip up an explorer. All in all, it was nothing more than a minor nuisance to Willy; a possibly comedic event for watchers; and excepting
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the birds, there was no one around this day. The tangled clumps of residue just slowed him down a little.
That minor inconvenience might not have been any consideration at all for a long legged labbie. But Willy was a pure bred Dachshund, and had legs shorter than a Chihuahua. He was slow from the get go. So, he wasn’t getting very far. But he was extremely thorough with the little land he could cover.
“Twattascreeproooovom;” rang in Willy’s enormous ears and gave him a momentary start. Or maybe it was more like a momentary pause. Be that as it may, what was happening was a bushtit. The tiny, solitary, bluish-rosy bird made a tweeting fuss as it flew from the bush thicket Willy was approaching to the thicket ten feet ahead of it.
Bushtit; property of the author.
Willy exhaled strenuously; and said; “Should have went further than that. I’m going to catch up again in a second.
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...... Well, in a few seconds anyway.” The bushtit hung upside down from its new perch and looked at him.
Willy thought; “Is this silly bird playing with me? This isn’t the time for that. I’ve got serious business here.”
As if it had heard and understood that, the bushtit said;
“Brapafondue” in one of the upper octaves; the key of G sharp with seven pitches.
Willy’s big dachshund ears were well attuned to the sounds which humans can only imagine. Right now, he wasn’t particularly happy about that ability, as it blurred his ability to detect the sounds of the food thief. He stuck out his tongue and went
“thrrrpfft” back at the bird in B flat.
The bushtit said a short “erru” in the questioning aspect of C major, and flew away, over the bush tops, and out of Willy’s range of vision.
Willy felt terribly as he thought that the bushtit might have felt insulted by his flat response. He didn’t want that. He just didn’t need any distractions right now; as he was on an important mission which required his full concentration.
He continued to move on the brushy path through the bushes.
Bushtit calls continued to greet him every ten feet. Willy made friendly nods to them and remained silent. The bushtits remained on their perches and watched him.
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After what seemed like a year of searching, Willy looked to a bushtit and asked; “Have you seen anything unusual around here lately?”
His only response was one “mmmmng.” From the tone Willy suspected it was a question, but since he did not speak Bushtit he didn’t know which one. And he thought that even if he could speak the language he would still have to translate the meanings of “unusual” and “lately” in a manner which bushtits might understand.
The many steps taken by his little legs were taking their toll on him. Willy felt as if he had run the Poochville Annual Marathon. He decided that it was best to turn back and return to the Boggy Cleave edge where he had last seen Daisy.
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17-Air Raiders
Daisy made her way through the thick trees. She followed the easiest “path,” that of the “drainage lines.” They’re the foot wide, shallow gouges in the earth caused by excess surface water runoff, some call driftways. Since nothing grew on them, they provided a place to walk with few obstacles down low.
Their twisting trail initially took her away from the river and Daisy moved inland on the island. She was blocked from outside view from any direction including the sky above. The tree and bush branches clustered five feet above her, but there were none to hinder her movement at her ground level. Daisy noticed that the sounds made by her steps had gotten louder.
Then the path turned back toward the river on the island’s southern side and ended there. She walked the edge, continuing her journey toward the back, the water furiously crashing against the island a few feet below her, before diverting in both directions. As she got closer to the back, she felt a chill. It was not caused by any wind on her still soaked coat; it was more something which emanated from her mind. Daisy knew that if any of the bad guys were around this was where they would be. The back was the place she had previously seen evidence of the things which don’t want to be seen. If they were there now, she was alone with them. She didn’t find that a
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comforting thought; but, on the other hand, that was the whole reason she was here.
Daisy was encouraged as the splashes of the rushing water drowned out the thumps of her steps. She realized that she didn’t have to confront them alone. She could locate them and quietly go back to Pacific Lane for help. That was no insult to Willy, as if he tried to swim the river he’d wind up submerged in its mouth.
She peered around the corner when she neared the clearing.
All but her snout and eyes behind the last tree, she saw the clearing and the Denials across the river. Daisy was both relieved and disappointed. There were no thieving marauders.
There weren’t even any discarded Snickers wrappers.
Daisy advanced to the place where she had previously seen the remains of former camp fires. Either nobody had been here recently or the wind had blown away any signs of them. She sat.
It had taken her some risk and effort to get here. So, she decided to wait a few minutes in case something popped out which was hidden upon her first arrival.
She gazed around. The “shoop, shoop” and periodic “gulp”
made by the river increased in volume. Daisy relaxed and settled into the humming music of the continuous flow. Her eyes fluttered; then closed and she lay on her side. The warmth of the sun felt good on her wet coat. She may have drifted off.
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Rudely breaking the river’s mellow song, there was a shriek. Daisy alertly stood up. A broad winged gull was making its presence known as it swooped down to the river’s surface.
The gull got quiet as it returned to the sky with a fish half its size in its beak. The entire week’s food shopping operation lasted about two seconds; bettering the swift conveniences offered by the highest paid consumer programming talent lured by Seattle’s Amaway.
Swooping gull; property of the author.
Suddenly feeling too exposed, Daisy sought protection at the edge of the woods. Upon re-engaging the trees, she looked in all directions to see if any other loud dive bombers were anywhere near. Not seeing or hearing any, she took another step and her front leg tripped on something which protruded from the ground. It was a turtle shell she had not previously noticed.
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Turtle shell; property of the author.
She jumped back when she realized that the shell might actually be housing a turtle which might be hiding from the air attack. “Some of these guys snap and can take off a paws digit or two. No fun,” she thought.
Prints left by hobbled, no fun paws; property of the author.
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But, she was curious. The shell had trees in front of it and driftwood behind; as if it had been seeking shelter for some time. She pushed some dirt toward it. When there was no movement she extended a paw and gave it a quick pat. Still nothing. She put her head to the ground trying to see if there was anything under the shell. She saw nothing.
She got a little braver. She gave the shell a push.
Nothing. “Hmmnnn,” she thought; “This shell must be exactly and only that. A shell. Poor guy must have made a wrong turn toward the woods, lost track of the water, and died here.” She bit at the shell. Yes, bit at its edge! Having once before been presented with a turtle shell to chew, as an alternative to a bone; Daisy picked up the acquired taste quickly, and appreciated that the thick shell lasted much longer than any bone she had previously known.
“Aaarrrgh,” came the agitated, but simultaneously matter-of-fact yelp from under the shell. Daisy jumped back and saw the angry little head emerge from somewhere down under. Her brief first glance, prior to her necessary parting reaction, was unclear as to whether it belonged to a turtle, a snake, a creepy-crawly escaped from a Cronenberg movie, or a shy and somewhat reluctant, gaseous and ringing, alien visitor from Saturn.
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Seeing that her first thought was correct; that most pleasing to good old Occam’s simplicity, in that the protuberance was indeed a turtle head, she breathed a huge sigh of relief; and said; “Bad turtle. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Annoyed turtle; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
“Bad turtle? Bad turtle? How dare you say that madam? You have disturbed my slumber only to bite me. Your manners are that of an untrained mongrel dog.”
“It wasn’t a bite. It was more of a friendly little gnaw,”
Daisy replied indignantly.
“I never gave you permission to ‘gnaw’ me, as you put it.
In my circles, gnawing only becomes an option after proper introductions are made and the intended gnawer and the intended gnawee spend suitable time getting to know each other.”
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“You’re not from around here; are you?”
“No. I have allowed the current to carry me far from my starting point. I was given little choice in the matter.”
“See anything strange around here?”
“Only you and the dive-bombing gulls.”
“I beg your pardon.”
The turtle calmed down. He said; “I apologize. My name is Haashir.” He offered his right front flipper for a shake.
Calmer turtle; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Daisy hesitated. It was understandable, as she had never previously shaken a flipper. In fact, she couldn’t recall having had shaken much anything except the water off her coat. But, she surmised that Haashir was attempting to make a peaceful gesture.
So she touched his flipper with her right front paw, claws
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retracted, and said; “I’m Daisy.” Their varied limbs intended a clasp, but of physical necessity settled for a glide and a mutual giggle at the phenomenon of yet another strange extension.
“Daisy. Glad to meet you. That’s such a pretty name.”
“Aw, thanks. But, it’s a pretty common name around here.
Now, Haashir. That’s a name very uncommon here.”
Haashir sighed and said; “Here too? I wasn’t sure. It means
“the gatherer.” Where I come from we have about ten thousand Abduls. Abdul this, Abdul that, and Abdul the other thing.”
“We used to have a basketball player named that.”
“You’re really sweet, Daisy. You come from the mainland?”
“Yes, Poochville. Never been to Rapidtown. ........ Never been much anywhere, I guess. You’ve been all over. Right?”
“Yeah. ........... As far as the water can take me. I’m kind of slow; especially on land. These flippers are better in the water. But, mostly it’s just going with the flow. ......
Tell me. Why did you come out here?”
“Searching. You see, we have had a crime committed in Poochville; a theft. Nobody has been able to find the culprits.
So, Willy and I, ............ Willy’s back on shore because he doesn’t swim too well; are out looking for them. Most dogs never come all the way out here, but he and I have a few times. So, we met out here. .............. I mean, we’re not married or
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anything; but we both just came here today .......... unplanned.
We just happened to meet here; well not here on the island as he doesn’t swim all that easily, but on the land bordering the river, and the next thing you know I was out here and he was
...... “
“Yes, yes. I understand. I was once your age in turtle years. And instead of a thief, you managed to find a tired old turtle with a funny name who was trying to hide from the gulls.”
“Well, you did hide from the gulls pretty well. You just were detected by a snoopy dog.”
“Who bites.”
“Gnaws. Are you starting again? You want to see a real bite?”
“I was joking. We have a weird sense of humor where I come from. I’m getting sleepy in this sun.”
“Okay. I really should be off. My partner’s waiting for me on the mainland and I shouldn’t keep him waiting. Wish I could stay longer. Nice meeting you, Haashir. Watch out for those gulls.” Daisy rubbed her nose against Haashir’s shell.
After a quick shiver, Haashir said; “Tease,” and retreated into his shell.
Daisy made her way back the way she came. She followed the coast, then turned inland and followed the driftway. She hesitated a moment before leaping into the river. On this trip
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she found the waters of the Boggy Cleave to be warm as her coat was still wet with the water from the original swim, which had been cooled in the autumn air. This time her biggest concern was just to buck the pushy current most of the time; of necessity again going against it. On her first trip, she had been reminded for the first time since the end of last summer that at times she could effortlessly float; and only required a small amount of contrary adjustment to reach her precisely chosen destination.
Willy was anxiously waiting on the shoreline when Daisy arrived. She hopped up easily as the shore’s bank was less steep than that of the island. When he got close to help her; belated as it was, he was perhaps fittingly greeted with her excess water shake off. Surprised by the cold spray, Willy recalled the time he accidentally stepped into a cold shower and could not easily get out with both feet slippery and two cringing paws unable to reach the shut off valve.
“Thanks a lot,” he said; with one paw backhanding his eyes.
“It’s good for you. Wakes you right up and cleans out the old snout. See anything?”
“Just a bunch of singing bushtits who don’t understand the language. How about you?”
“A reclusive wandering turtle.”
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“The thief?”
“Not a chance. He’s just trying to get away from the gulls.”
“ ........ “
“It’s a long story and don’t tell the others about it. They might misunderstand. Speaking of secrets, I think we should have another one. It might raise some eyebrows if we were seen walking back to Pacific Lane together. So, you hang behind me five minutes and listen to some more bushtit songs.”
“Fine with me. Catchy stuff.”
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18-A Sweet Reader
Pablo was worried. He was more worried than the morning he had accidentally ventured into the hornet nest in the tall grass he was exploring alone down by the river. They jumped up and stung him many times. But, Pablo used his long, muscular legs to outrun them; and the pain they inflicted ended by late afternoon. But, this was different, milder most of the time, but much longer lasting.
He had seen the previous morning’s news and knew that there had been a commotion on Pacific Lane. The follow up reports stated that it was a police matter involving theft. Much too early he had become a dog who had learned to prefer to get lost in the fantasy of his books or the fantasy of being alone in the woods to mingling with the other dogs. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like them. He just wished that they would have liked him better.
He guessed that the whole thing was a result of his tough appearance and harsh sounding bark. After having attempted some early entrees into the social life of a friendly pooch; in time he had come to some clear conclusions. He could sense that the others were wary of him because they always leaned away in his presence; then always found a “reason” to withdraw.
This dynamic wasn’t easily accepted by him. Something foolish in him wanted to believe the current versions of the
“reasons” given, in hope that the next time would be different.
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It had taken many repetitions of the same pattern before he made his retreat. The time his former acquaintances, Jasper and Droolsbury excused themselves because Jasper said that they
“need to see a dog about a horse pronto” finally did it for Pablo. Not only did they walk away snickering and nudging each other; but Pablo already knew that that there were no horses anywhere around; and even if there were, no dogs had ever owned or purchased horses; either slowly or pronto.
To this day, at the still un-accused age of ten, Pablo was aware that if he barked the slightest bit, it became something the other dogs shied away from. If something bad happened the others assumed that it was his doing; though they would never say so. He actually wished they said it out loud; as it would have given him the opportunity to present his side of the argument. No such good fortune was to come his way. Pablo was silently charged with some unspecified crime, had no attorney, and had no way of clearing his good name. He was truly alone as a result of their beliefs and good manners; though those fine attributes could not transcend appearance and sound; or where the others thought that he was born. In actuality it was on the other side of Poochville; but he was certain they thought it to be Rapidtown.
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Cover of “The Trial”; modified public domain.
At some point Pablo had made that aloneness official. He had the company of his many books. Franz Kafka and his “The Trial” were well worn by many strokes of his paws.
Pablo; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Now, he was again fearfully looking through his window. He was hopeful that he might be able to see something which would make him be able to be a hero by finding the true culprit. At the same time he was gnawed at by the logic which suggested that it was much more likely that he would not see anything useful
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from the vantage point of his window. He fretfully had a more likely expectation. If he saw anything it would be the authorities coming to take him away. It’s the same as the feeling one gets when the computer stops working and you were the last one to touch it.
Pablo was reminded of his recurrent dream. The good-looking little white lab puppies were frolicking without a care in the world. Sometimes he was one of them and other times it was as if he was watching them from a distance.
Pablo’s dream Lab pups; property of the author.
So adorable. But, the dreams were not something Pablo sought. He had no choice in the matter. For Pablo the result was always the sad same. Eventually he woke up. During his dream; if he was watching them from afar he was saddened by not being one
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of them. If he was one of them, he would sooner or later wake up to find out that he was not. Though the latter sometimes seemed worse; the net result was not worth making any fine distinctions between. The effect was sadness. Things were the same ten minutes later. He was Pablo, the deserted.
The dreams which he had been trying to bury for years resurfaced because of the Pacific Lane theft. In these thoughts Pablo was distracted from his books. He again thought that if he could prove himself to be a good, useful friend that the others would be able to see through his tough appearance and hear the dance rhythm behind his harsh sounding bark. He stared out his window hoping to see something which might solve the mystery of the missing food.
When he tired, Pablo abandoned the window, and went back to his library. He stared and stared at his accumulation of friends; puzzled, panicky, perplexed, and finally again pleased, positive, placid, and peaceful. His books were like magic for him. They took his cares away and he would be transported into another life; some more tragic than his own.
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Pablo’s library; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Today, he was particularly drawn to another one of his Franz Kafka books. “The Metamorphosis” seemed the appropriate return to normality. He didn’t know what took him so long to make the decision. Upon his touch of the outside binding he was immediately morphed in his head; just like when a kid dreams of becoming Babe Ruth.
Pablo’s transformation; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
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He became an unconventionally handsome prince of Terra Firma also known as Earth. Pablo pawed through the pages slowly, gliding, imagining that his clunky paws had become gliding wings and graceful legs.
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19-A Morning Shade
Once more, Genevieve gruffed her way out of bed and started the coffee machine. If not for her concerns over the recent goings on in Poochville, the sun rising over the Denial Mountains would ordinarily have portended another glorious day for her. But, this morning it cast a long, thin shadow where Genevieve had never previously seen one.
Through the living room window she saw it on her front porch. It looked something like an armless and legless torso. It had a shock of hair sticking up equal in size to its body; like a midget rasta man’s dreadlocks in a particularly unruly upsweep.
Genevieve was un-nerved and yipped like she hadn’t since she was a pup. She wanted to make a ferocious bark. But, her little voice box and lack of training in being fierce resulted only in a series of nervous yips. Her sounds were not capable of scaring a “fraidy kitten” away. The thing reminded her of a punk humanoid out of am extremely low budget movie.
But, this deformed thing couldn’t be removed with the push of a button. And Genevieve was concerned that her night time snooping might have attracted some unwanted attention. But, right now it didn’t matter what had led to her uninvited visitor’s rude company. It was there. Genevieve called out;
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“Time to bring out the old shotgun,” in reality a bluff, as a shotgun was something neither she or anyone else in Poochville had.
The thing didn’t move. It remained right where it was and made no sound. She stomped her paw in frustration. Genevieve, then proceeded to jump a foot in the air as the coffee machine beeped its accomplishment broadcast. “Oh, shut up, you,” mumbled Genevieve.
She filled a cup and paced in circles; her tiny paws frantically moving. Each time she passed by the living room window she hoped that the thing was gone. Each time she passed by the living room window she saw that it was still there.
Genevieve dreamily recalled the days of her puppyhood; when her biggest concern was whether or not her winter coat was enough to withstand the breeze boosted freezes of winter. Her short lived, fortunate, and contented distraction faded and quickly disappeared as she became more and more alert with each coffee sip.
Genevieve surmised that she was in some sort of “new”
Poochville. And she didn’t like it one little bit. However, she also knew that any personal choice that she might have had in the matter had some severe limitations recently imposed upon it.
No matter how much Genevieve concentrated, meditated, wished, prayed, or conjured; even aided by the “fairy wooden box
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keepsakes” obligingly obtained when for the entirety of one month she used to attend weekly “New Age” meetings, there was nothing that was going to bring back the idyllic life of old Poochville; least of all this “monster” that had taken up residence on her front porch.
Little Genevieve; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
On the other hand, this thing waiting by her front door had not moved in ten minutes. Perhaps more; as she only knew of the ten which had passed since she had woken up. Genevieve considered the non-threatening possibility that the uninvited guest was dead. Maybe it had just chosen her front door as the inconvenient place to pack it in; though apparently standing up.
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Her level of fear returned to the height of what it previously was, when she realized that the thing could just be sleeping. Well, could be. Who knows? Horses and cattle sometimes sleep on their feet, hooves, cloven hooves, or live soles. Maybe some other things do too.
In a moment of defiance she put down her coffee cup and walked boldly to her front door. She opened it just a bit; ready to slam it back shut if necessary. She got a glimpse and recoiled in horror. It was worse than seeing a spaceman with creepy tentacles coming out of its head. It was a solitary pineapple which defiantly sat on her porch.
She feared that it might connect her to the theft. At the very least its possession could easily be seen as “proof” that she had violated the crime scene restrictions by going back to the taped community cupboard. She thought; “Somebody is trying to get me into trouble.”
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Lone pineapple; property of the author.
Genevieve did the only thing a rational pooch could do under the circumstances. She took the lone pineapple in. And that wasn’t easy for a little girl.
“Whew,” she said after she got it two feet inside the door.
“Whoops, hold on there fella,” she added when she noticed that the pineapple was rocking on its base. She was afraid that it was showing a sign that it might topple. Genevieve leaned against the pineapple to steady it.
She refreshed her coffee cup and sat next to Mr. Pineapple.
“I’ve got to get you back to the cupboard. .......... I think you weigh as much as I do. ........... I guess I could eat you.
But, that would take some time. Somebody’s bound to come here and see you before I finished. Then they’d charge me with destroying evidence. ........ That’s a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.”
Genevieve was trying to amuse herself as her work and worries had just been further complicated. She had intended to go back to the cupboard and re-check those “cartwheel” lines in the daylight. But, now she also had to find a way to get Mr.
Pineapple there too. She didn’t own a cart, she didn’t want to be seen, and one leg was not what it used to be.
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As she sat there, cup in paw, she looked at the clouds through her living room window. There must have been a high wind as they were moving rather quickly and changing shapes. “Aha,”
Genevieve thought. “I could dye my hair and cut off his. ......
On second thought, maybe not. I’d probably come out blue, and I’m not sure if he wants to be a baldy pineapple.”
Genevieve concentrated. Soon, she got another idea. She could go the back way and probably roll him for the entire trip.
“Why didn’t I think of that right away?” she thought. “All these goings on just clutter one’s mind.”
She knew that this trip was not one to be undertaken on an empty stomach and a disagreeable foot. She couldn’t do much about the foot part. But, she could well spend the next fifteen minutes devouring her Chewy Life Protection Brand’s blend of rubbery sweet potatoes and salmon.
It took Genevieve a bit more time than she had anticipated to devour the meal. She washed it down with her favorite “Fine Wine for Dogs from Howl Vineyards” brand; this bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon Bark taste and aroma variety. Simplified descriptions of red or rose will suffice for the uninitiated.
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Genevieve’s wine; property of the author.
At any rate, after the first glass, well initiated Genevieve started feeling warm and giddy. She decided that it wasn’t any particular rush to get Mr. Pineapple back home. Nor would a few more minutes matter in the overall scheme of things.
She convinced herself well, and Mr. Pineapple wasn’t raising any objections. Besides, she was feeling more and more up to the task with each swallow. She thought; “Courage is essential for this dangerous trek, ........ and I could use a little more.”
Three glasses later with the sun just a safe bit shy of his moody, misleading, mid-day mount; Genevieve decided that this was the correct time for the foray. A fourth would have left her with a perfect excuse for a fifth and a headline banner of
“Tomorrow.”
She got up. Her bad back leg seemed to have been properly medicated. However, the other three seemed to indicate a certain
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degree of possible wobble. They seemed to have an agenda all their own. And it went over, under, sideways, down, left, right, forward, and back; often three at a time.
Genevieve patted his head and said; “Time to go back home, Mr. Pineapple. Please forgive me if I appear a bit careless, but you’re about to get knocked over and rolled. .......... Glad there are no objections.”
She leaned her shoulder into him and shoved. He rocked around on his base for a few encouraging whomp-whomps, like your kitchen-table-vase does when you try to polish around it and always manage to give it a whack when you get too close. He then re-settled a few inches from where he started. Genevieve tried another shove and the same thing happened. “One more time,” she said and proceeded to use her weakened balance to fall right into him. Excepting the one more than usual whomp, he did the same thing again.
However, Genevieve was now sideways on the floor with her butt a few inches higher than her head. She found that amusing, though she also recognized that her efforts had not moved Mr.
Pineapple very much. In fact, he was standing there, arrogant as can be. Genevieve remembered that lately people had come to her windows for a peek. And she did not want to appear to be “heels over head” for the visual benefit of just any stranger who might trespass on her property.
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Genevieve righted herself and shook off any dust which might have impolitely nested on her coat. She gazed out her un-curtained living room window to verify that no “surprise”
audience was waiting. Then she rolled back on her side and giggled. She said; “Mr. Pineapple; your stubborn nature requires me to think about alternative plans. ............ It wasn’t my choice. It was dictated by your behavior.” Genevieve was again successful in amusing herself. She stared up at the pineapple’s super, super Mohawk.
Genevieve said; “Enough of this frivolity. Realities intrude. It is more than high time to figure out what to do.
........ I must find a mechanism with which I can sweep you off your feet.” She laughed as she got to her feet and walked around her house. In one of the kitchen drawers she found her spatula, which she used to mix, spread, and lift her foods. She slid it under Mr. Pineapple. Its broad, soft, flat, and flexible edge led the way to avoid any cuts. When the spatula was fully under him, Genevieve lifted the handle, and with a dull whump and a rock, Mr. Pineapple was on his side, in no position to put forward any arguments.
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Spatula; property of Genevieve.
Genevieve swapped pushing with her snout and body. Either way she and Mr. Pineapple were on their way out the door and through the backyards to Barney, Clara, and Gizmo’s sheds. She knew that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, and Genevieve didn’t want to spend time dawdling in full sunlight. However, the sway caused by her wine influenced legs resulted in some zigzagging delays. Her legs were not totally at fault for those delays. Mr. Pineapple had an unexplained liking to sometimes roll on his sharply curved head area, which resulted in roundabout movements to the left as well as the right. Apparently not high-low biased, he showed no preference as he sometimes rolled on his smoother base, causing a zig, but almost no zag. This further delayed matters a bit.
Genevieve wore no gold watch, not even a Timex “True Blue.”
So she could not precisely calculate the amount of time they spent on well lit, daytime detours. However, the precise calculations were beside the point as the duo arrived at the sheds without attracting any unwanted attention.
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Genevieve saw the eight other pineapples sitting on the shelf behind the yellow police barrier tapes. They were huddled together like impounded idols only three feet above the ground.
“How am I going to get him up there?” she thought.
Genevieve’s Mr. Pineapple was lying on his side, back, or front.
It’s hard to tell with a silent pineapple. And since he had chosen to give no indications, it seemed reasonable to her to conclude that he either doesn’t care, is unconscious, or is open to a number of interpretations. Still, Genevieve thought that she should do her best to put him back where she remembered him originally being. She also thought that her memory might be faulty, but that thought just led to further doubts, and to further doubts, and to further doubts, and to further
...........
Still, she couldn’t pick him up. He was much too fat for that. And he wouldn’t co-operate in the least; not offering the least of jumps; not even a little jerk. Genevieve rolled him to the base of the shelves which held his eight siblings. “There,”
she said; “When they see you they’ll think that you fell.”
Now that she knew where to look, Genevieve had no trouble re-finding the tracks she had first seen the previous evening.
Having no better idea of what to do with tracks, she figured that she’d follow them.
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Parallel lines in daytime; property of the author.
Genevieve was no longer afraid of being seen. She had broken no laws. Well, not really, unless someone wanted to get very picky-picky technical. And she was no longer near a restricted area. She still had some concern over the mysterious appearance of the pineapple at her door. But, she concluded that whoever had done such a secretive thing was not likely to do anything in the open. Their specialty, if any, was apparently limited to sly and covert attempts at the falsification of
“evidence,” like in a CIA false flag operation. She hoped that it wasn’t the wine that was doing her bold thinking.
The tracks stopped at the door to Clement’s barn. She looked through the nearby window and saw a cart which could have made the tracks.
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Clement’s cart; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Genevieve did not expect this at all. And she did not like what she was seeing. She tried to find reasons which would explain it away. “Not Clement. Not Clement,” she thought as she also said those words out loud.
She observed through the window. The cart’s front wheels had roughly the same distance apart as the tracks. The fact that the cart had two sets of paired wheels; the back set floppy and at slightly different distances was a good explanation for the irregularities in the tracks. Genevieve moved away from the window and searched the ground. She hoped to find more tracks, but couldn’t. They ended at Clement’s barn door.
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20-Genevieve’s Most Dreaded Call
Genevieve used the shortest and slowest steps she had taken since she was two months old and even tinier than she was now.
In only her second month she had happened to be right next to it when all of the stuff chose to fall out of the curio cabinet. It must have been a minor earthquake. Her older sister’s glass figurines smashed at her feet. Genevieve was only looking at them at the time. But, from the ensuing days of questioning, tears, shouting and harangues, she learned that when a disaster occurs, it is best to be as far away from it as possible.
But, this was a little different, as the disaster only seemed likely rather than one hundred percent certain. There was no broken glass; at least not yet. Any possible disaster might still be averted.
Clement was her long term friend. Clement was all of Pacific Lane’s long term friend. For a second she considered forgetting what she had seen. It took her just another second to realize that if she could find the tracks that eventually somebody else would too. The most probable somebodies were Billy and Jack. Genevieve had found them to be decent dogs, if a bit pushy and routinely so; in the pursuit of what was their difficult job as policemen. Overriding any unimportant reservations was that they were there to be protectors of the
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innocent. Still she also knew that they were bound by black and white statutes in the coldness of written law, which once prompted Charles Dickens to write in “Oliver Twist;” “The law is an ass.”
1846 cover of “Oliver Twist”; public domain.
She kind of decided that her old friend Clement would be better served if she was the investigator. Kind of. ..... It was a tight fit. Her fear was twofold; that she would go through the porous border and become a reluctant judge, and/or that she would get herself in trouble. She decided to go ahead, as there was no downside for Clement; only her.
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Genevieve went to Clement’s front door and knocked. She heard some scuffling about, Clement making whispered shoo-shoo sounds and interior doors closing. Seeming out of breath, he ultimately opened the door saying; “Genevieve! What brings you here? I mean to say to what do I owe this pleasant surprise visit?”
Genevieve said; “Hi Clement. I’m not sure. I’m a bit befuddled. But, I’d like to discuss some things I’ve seen. May I come in?”
Clement stood back and gestured toward his living room with his left front paw and said; “Pardon me. Please do.”
Genevieve hopped onto a chair and sat on her haunches, while Clement did the same on the sofa opposite her. He said;
“Can I get you something? A biscuit or two? Some dry vegan garden medley? Some water?”
Genevieve momentarily giggled when she said; “No, thank you. Though the dry vegan garden medley does sound tempting.”
Clement said; “Yes, it’s quite good. Healthy too. We all enjoy it.”
Genevieve said; “We all?”
Clement said; “Just a manner of speech. Perhaps I’ve been watching too much British or Southeastern United States based television.” He forced a chuckle.
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Genevieve grimaced as she returned the chuckle and said;
“Clement; let me make it easier on both of us and come directly to the point. We’ve been friends as long as I can remember. For the first time we’ve had a theft right here in Poochville, and I’ve become an amateur sleuth. It’s out of necessity as the cops aren’t able to find a thing. ........ “
Nervously interrupting, Clement said; “Yes, yes. They keep coming around here.” He shook his head side to side, as if to indicate either disapproval or reluctant tolerance.
Genevieve said; “Clement; you’re making this difficult for me. It’s hard enough as is.” So as not to risk being sidetracked, she rapidly blurted; “Last night I found tracks in the moonlight. I re-confirmed them this morning and they lead from the pantry to your barn. .......... “
Clement again interrupted and said; “That could well be the result of my many trips there. I tend to follow the exact route each time.”
Genevieve said; “Well, for some reason this time someone brought that cart you have in your barn with them.”
Clement said; “I’m ....... It’s ....... Does anyone else know?”
Genevieve said; “Just me.”
Clement said; “That wasn’t wise to say that.”
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Genevieve said; “I know you Clement. I’ve known you for decades. I know you wouldn’t do a thing to hurt me or anyone.”
Clement sighed heavily and looked at the floor, searching for words. He said; “Sometimes things just aren’t right and somebody has got to step up and do something about it.” Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes.
Genevieve got up and joined Clement on his sofa. She rubbed her paw on his head and said; “We have to know. Tell me what happened.”
Clement kind of stumbled, but caught himself after a brief sway. His voice was kind of in an out, like the tone of a squeaky stop made by a 1954 Chevy with the original footbrakes.
He said; “You know; it’s a lot of things. It’s not as if anything happens in a vacuum. All things are related and they kind of merge. Some of them aren’t good. If somebody doesn’t stop the bad ones from following their natural courses they get worse. I mean like these things are not permitted as evidence in courtrooms. They say it’s irrelevant. The jury is told to ignore it and it is stricken from the record. Sergeant Friday says;
‘Just the facts; only the facts.’ But, what does he know of
‘facts?’ There are no accurately calibrated instruments with which to gauge events in the softest of ‘soft’ sciences. And if you make analogies intended to explain a matter of nuance or parlance which could well be a bridge between the dictated
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disciplines of physics to the newer, but already dictated disciplines of metaphysical philosophy, they find you incomprehensible at best, psychotic at their ‘norms,’ and subject to; ‘I already knew that’ at their pretenses. I’ve always been tempted to counter with; ‘If you knew that is there some date at which you plan on beginning to act as if you did?’
but that is unproductive and likely viewed as contentious.
But, let me get off this general view and just relate the story as I experienced it myself. I have these dreams sometimes, you know. .......... They’re nice dreams. But, I wish they’d go away. Like a week ago there was this new one about recurrent Linda. She was a cheerleader, so different from me. I saw her for the first time freshman year in high school. We were pups then and I couldn’t wait until I was grown enough to have my own place. There was so much time and energy every day; so much time. I used to look at her constantly, trying not to be noticed. I really wanted to know her, but I was too shy to say anything. She was beautiful. I was scared to approach her as she was just too good for me. I always figured that tomorrow would be a better day. You know, tomorrow; when the big pimple was off my nose; when my coat was better combed; when we would just
‘accidentally’ meet at the door; just a natural event, as opposed to her possible perception of a concocted one with ulterior motives on my part. ......... “ Clement snorted out
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kind of a stifled laugh; “Not that they weren’t there; mind you.
They just weren’t the primary thing. I liked her in every way.
And at the time there seemed to be an infinite supply of tomorrows left. I’d see her every day. You see she was in my sophomore, junior and senior, high school reg class. I knew that was to be the case in our sophomore year as the system was designed that way. For some reason they switched you after freshman year, but kept it the same after that.
Anyway, by the time I had noticed that time was getting short, halfway through senior year, she disappeared. Must have moved away. She’s not even in the graduating yearbook. .........
Well, recently, this darn dream came along and in it I was high school age and having my usual squabbles with mom and dad; this time he the infrequent leader of some stupid nonsense. I walked away from them, into the next room and Linda was there. She was at the top of one of those small ladders; working on the wall just below the ceiling. She had medium length white hair, puffed up in a cute way. Linda said ‘hi’ to me as if we were old pals, though we had never previously spoken and she certainly had not been in my house prior to that. For some strange reason I was able to act the same way I am now in the dream; and told her that I was really depressed over this parent stuff. I never spoke about stuff like that to anyone in real life, yet here in the dream I just blurted it out without being asked. Not the
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usual response to someone who says ‘hi.’” Clement smiled at Genevieve and then made the slightest of giggles. She smiled and nodded approval.
Linda; property of the author.
“I always thought that this exuberant, cheerleader type joyfulness Linda constantly showed was a cover for some sadness she wanted to forget and kindly not inflict on anybody else.
Before Linda could respond to my depression stuff; and frankly I don’t even know what the term exactly means; I nervously asked her if she’d like to see a movie.”
She said; “Yes, what’s on TV?”
I said; “No, like at a real movie theatre. Let’s get out of here.”
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She enthusiastically said she’d like that; and that there was a cowboy movie playing that she’d like to see. She asked if I liked cowboy movies and I said yes. She took a newspaper and looked for the playing times. Next thing I knew we were outside on the streets of our mutual town of birth. There were some packaged things which I just knew that my parents had left in the wrong place; on top of something like a perforated sewer cover.
Perforated sewer cover; property of the author.
Linda said that I should gather them and take them to the post office. I considered doing that only because Linda had said so. If not for her saying that I’d have figured that if my parents had left them in the wrong place that it wasn’t my job to fix things. Besides, they never admitted making any mistakes to me; so most likely, at least according to them, this was exactly where they wanted their packages to be.
If it was solely up to me I’d have just left the packages where my parents had chosen to leave them and go to Linda. But,
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most of all I wanted not to offend her. So, I tried to pick them up. Not only were there much too many of them for me to handle; but they were soggy, corroded, or something; unstable for sure; and the two or three of an uncounted multitude of packages that I could at first cradle in my arms quickly proceeded to break apart and fall back into the pile. Each one became two. Given their size, I pictured that if I picked them up again the two would just break up into a four and beyond. The most simple of points was that there was no way I was going to be able to carry this stuff to the post office; and also catch up with Linda, who kept moving. I mean, I thought that carrying the packages could possibly be done, but it would take like all day and a million trips; and it would be like trying to carry a school of dead and decayed fish. And I’d lose sight of Linda for sure. As they fell off my arms I looked up to see her.”
Genevieve smiled when she interjected; “You could have made good use of a cart. That’s what I thought we were talking about at the beginning.”
Clement also smiled and said; “I’m getting there. I’m getting there. You have to put the horses before the cart. So, where was I? Oh yeah. So, I had the decayed residue of the packages on my front paws, and I looked up. Linda was running in the street toward the parked cars a block ahead. I was frightened that she might be running away. In desperation I
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called out; ‘No, no. I understand that no means no. I’m not a pillager.’ She called back; ‘I know that, silly. I’m just running because I’m excited.’ She opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat of one of the cars which was parked that block ahead; a red Volkswagen Beetle. ........ You don’t see them much anymore. Just once in a while an antique collector takes one out for a spin. But, they were very popular with young people when I was young.”
Genevieve covered Clement’s pause with her own comment, and said; “Oh yeah. I remember. They were great little cars. They didn’t cost much and you could leave them parked for months; and with one turn of the key they’d start right up. Wonder why they disappeared.”
Clement said; “I’m not sure. But, I think they started to disappear when they started to bring in all that Japanese stuff.
My dream kind of ended there. I was still uninterestedly fumbling around a bit with my parent’s stuff when I woke up. It was time to get up but I wanted to go back to sleep and continue this dream. I got half my wish as I got back to sleep and I dreamed that I was in my old high school walking through the halls at a class break. I was alone, which was weird, but I knew that if I kept on going through the connecting bridge to the adjoining building that Linda would be there and that everything would be all right. Then I woke up again. My high school had
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four buildings. The two that were used for the college preparatory courses were connected at the second of three floors by an enclosed ‘bridge’ from one to the other. You had to go outside to get to the other two buildings. One was for technical stuff like auto body shop and machine tool classes. And I don’t know what the fourth one was for. Might have never been in it.
Probably was management and administration. I know that the Vice Principal had his office there. Nobody knew his real name.
Everybody used to call him ‘The Axe,’ as it seemed that his only job was to come into the class and get students out when they were suspended. A fat Doberman Pinscher. Can you picture that?
.......... I’m exhausted. Let me just sit here with my ball for a while.”
Clement and his ball; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
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Genevieve registered no objection as she too was feeling more than a bit tired. This simple theft of some food was not so simple after all. That one “simple” act was setting other things into motion, or vice-versa, and having enormous effects on Genevieve’s, as well as all the other lives on Pacific Lane, if not the entirety of Poochville. Clement’s reminisces, coupled with her own recent re-discovery of her old photo album had again aroused some of her own memories and dreams. Her un-remembered thoughts of her high school years and the expectations and loves she had back then raced through her mind; like an old VHS tape set to fast forward. The forgotten, fleeting images came back all at once and raced at breakneck rapidity, like a collage gone crazy. Genevieve wished the moment would go away entirely; willing to settle for a button to push to slow the reel to a turtle’s pace.
Her thoughts might have
been affected by something else too. It was also likely to be true that Genevieve’s two-three hours prior; but who’s counting; unusual and infrequently large consumption; as she would undoubtedly and properly insist; of “Fine Wine for Dogs from Howl Vineyards;” Cabernet Sauvignon Bark was now at the tail end of wine’s gradual wearing off process, and was having its own emotional effect on her. She shut her eyes hoping to be able to focus on the happiest of the cascading pictures; or even better, dream a sweet dream. And maybe she did; maybe not. Only a well-
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tuned clock might have made some suggestion. And Clement felt no need for the personal possession of the precision of the exacting correctness. Besides, the electrically based variety required resetting after the merest of power outages. And the wind-ups ran out if unattended. In either case, Clement didn’t want another tedious maintenance task when he could gauge the time by the position of the sun.
In the quiet, Genevieve’s undeterminably gauged attempt at reverie was interrupted when she heard a door creak. She opened her eyes and saw that one of Clement’s closed bedroom doors was being pushed open by a tiny cat. The action seemed bold under the circumstances, but the facial expression of the cat seemed timid. Or maybe inquiring. Genevieve looked at Clement to see what he intended to do about it. What he did about it was to make the briefest of snorting exhales combined with an elaborate smile. Genevieve yelled; “Clement. There’s a cat in your house!”
The cat stopped in its tracks; half way in and half way out; and made a little apprehensive “Yeow.”
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Puff-Puff, the curious kitten; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Clement said; “No. You’re wrong about that Genevieve, and then he paused.
While Genevieve speculated about his sanity, Clement added;
“It’s not just one. I have six cats in my house. And please don’t yell, because you’ll scare them.”
Genevieve said; “There are no cats living in Poochville.”
Clement said; “Well, you’re obviously wrong about that too.
............... I’m sorry, Genevieve. I’ll refrain from being silly. A few days ago I heard a scratching near my front door.
When I looked through the nearby window, I saw that five scrawny kittens and a much worn looking mother were there. ‘Cats!’ I thought. ‘This is Poochville. What’s going on here?’ I thought of dialing the police, but remembered that we didn’t have any.”
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Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, and Teddy; property of the author.
“I wondered why they had stopped here at my house. Why me?
You know; there are lots of houses all over the place. Then I thought that they may not have wanted to. Maybe they had been turned away from other doors. That was truly unfortunate. But, still, I didn’t consider it as my problem to fix as it was not a problem caused by me.
Momma Sheba; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
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Poochville is for dogs and dogs only. That’s the way it always was, and it worked. Cats would upset the applecart. At any rate, that was what was running through my mind at the time.”
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21-A Liberating Truth?
Clement continued; “I went near the door and started barking, hoping it would scare them away. A few kind of took one step back, but remained. I peered at them through a peek hole I made in the curtain I had just drawn. I opened the door and for the first time I got a good look at the kittens who I very quickly came to know as Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, and Teddy; and momma Sheba.
I said; ‘Shoo.’ They bristled, but did not run away. I again said; ‘Shoo,’ a bit louder this time. I closed the door behind me and walked to them. They held their ground. In fact, Puff-Puff started rubbing against me. They looked so cute and in-trouble, that I thought I’d give them some food and send them on their way. Then, I started to think about my dream of Linda and how I should have been bolder at the time. Then I started to think about how much solitary space I had in this way-too-big house of mine;
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Clement’s house; property of the author.
and you know, the next thing I knew they were in the house, chewing on the edges of the rug and pretty much everything else that’s soft. They were so hungry. I gave them everything I had in the house, and they were still looking for more. I couldn’t throw them out. So, I decided that when the sun went down I’d take the cart to the community cupboard. And you know the rest.”
His gray hair was still there, but Clement looked happy and somehow ten years younger.
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Clement; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Genevieve said; “You left the pineapples.”
Clement said; “Sure I did. Do you have any idea how hard it is to move those things around?”
Genevieve would have silently raised her eyebrows if she had had any. Instead she grunted lowly.
All five kittens and one cat came out of Clement’s bedroom and commenced circling the sofa which the two dogs sat upon.
Clement continued; “Besides, I wanted to leave something there in case anybody got desperate.”
Genevieve said; “You could have made things simpler and told everyone.”
Clement said; “Dogs here aren’t all that fond of cats. You know that. They probably have never even met any. And the cat’s lives were at stake. As soon as I saw how friendly they were, I was thinking that I could use the company.” Sunshine jumped onto Clement and Genevieve’s sofa and sat next to Clement. When nothing bad happened the others hopped up and took turns investigating and snuggling Genevieve.
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Clement and Sunshine; property of the author.
Genevieve said; “Oh, you’re all so wonderful. And you feel so fragile. Not solid like we dogs. Doesn’t Clement give you enough food?”
The sofa cuddling cats jumped to the floor and they all raced into the kitchen.
Genevieve said; “Did I say something wrong?”
Clement said; “You said the only Dog word they’ve yet learned. FOOD.”
Genevieve and Clement followed the kittens and momma cat into the kitchen. To the tune of merry, anxious howls Clement dispensed food into three bowls. The cats scurried around until they reached a workable situation, whereby two heads were in each of them.
Genevieve said; “Clement, you should really consider putting out six. It might avoid all this jockeying for position.”
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Clement said; “I’ve got six. I used them all at first, but the same thing happens. The only difference was that I was left with more to clean up. So, I went with the three.”
The felines wolfed down their chow. After spending some time at the water bowl, they nuzzled against Clement and their new friend; Genevieve.”
Clement said; “See; they’re just like puppies. They’re nothing like those images they show you on TV of those vicious fighting kittens in Rapidtown.”
Genevieve’s attempted response was hindered by a slew of furry tails rubbing against her face. She did her best to refrain from sneezing, in fear that the sources of her tickle would become startled and run away. With one front paw she attempted to pet each friendly visitor while also using it to stifle a sneeze.
Clement said; “So, I guess you don’t have to say anything about all this.”
Genevieve took a few steps away from the tiny, furry causes of her snout tickles and said; “Bluntly, Clement; yes I do. What you did affects the entire community.” Sunshine and Wailer caught up with Genevieve, causing her to add; “Choo.”
Clement said; “Do you have to? They might not like it.” He made no additions as he had already developed a tail-nose immunity.
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Genevieve said; “I know. But, I’ve been thinking about it.
Choo. It’s just a matter of time until it’s discovered anyway.
Someone who is selling ‘protection devices’ could stop here and see them through the window. Choo. And they can’t very well spend their entire lives inside here. They have to be able to go out. Didn’t you ever hear that cats are curious? Choo-choo.
Puff-Puff and Tippy, you are so cute; and I love you all. But, won’t you let the adults speak for a moment?”
Clement grimaced and said; “They have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’m having a little trouble myself, though I can’t take exception with any of the particulars Genevieve. They MIGHT be discovered anyway, but your approach is a SURE
discovery. The cats might not be thrilled about spending their entire lives in here; but it is a life and the place is pretty big. Didn’t you ever hear of house cats? MIGHT is the key word.
And I really need the company. Thank you Teddy and Sheba.”
Now it was Genevieve’s turn to grimace. She said; “I should just learn to mind my own business. Things would be a lot simpler; certainly for me. I should have just brought the pineapple back and left it at that. Choo-choo. You’re so cute.
Forgive me; choo; I’ve forgotten the three of your names.”
Clement said; “Pineapple? What were you doing with a pineapple? And do you really think that I’m cute? You know my name. It’s Clement.”
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Genevieve said; “Yes, pineapple. Yes, cute. Yes, Clement.
Choo. Someone left one by my front door this morning. I thought they might have done it to get me in trouble with the law. So, I struggled with the thing, but got it back where it belongs.
........ Almost. Choo-choo. You’re Wailer; aren’t you?”
Clement said; “No, I’m Clement. I thought that you just said that you knew that. That’s kind of my point with my situation. Sometimes to do the right thing, it’s necessary to do something in secret.”
Genevieve said; “Gets confusing, doesn’t it? Sunshine, you are a persistent scamp; but don’t stop. Choo.”
Clement shook his head “yes,” while saying; “No.” He seemed suddenly somber.
Genevieve said; “I’m tired. Very tired. And I have a headache from drinking too much wine today over that stupid pineapple business. I’m sure I’m not thinking clearly. I’m going to go home and sleep on it. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll be glad to see all of you too; insistent tails and all; no matter what your exact names are. Choo-choo-choo. ........ I hope I haven’t gotten any on the rug, Clement.”
Clement said; “A little bit; but I’m sure you’ll be fair.
Just remember that I’m cute.”
Clement escorted Genevieve to the front door. Both of them had to be extremely careful not to trip over Sunshine, Tippy,
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Puff-Puff, Wailer, Teddy, and Sheba; who circled in front of them. Genevieve gave each a few pets and said; “Don’t worry, little ones.”
As she walked home, Genevieve considered the possibility that she was lying to the little ones. They had every reason to be worried. Then she considered that since the cats couldn’t speak Dog, what she said didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure of that, but she was certain of one thing. She’d be in better shape to try and figure this whole mess out after having slept on it.
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22-Delicate Decisions
When she got home, Genevieve didn’t get on the internet, didn’t watch any TV, didn’t eat, and certainly didn’t drink anything but water. She flopped right into her wicker doggy bed and yelled “Ouch.” That broken wicker strand had again stuck her in the belly. Not in the mood for any nonsense, she finally took care of business. She bit it off and spat it on the floor. “I’ll clean up tomorrow,” she thought as she quit resisting and let her eyes do what they wanted to do; close.
The next thing she knew was that she was on a boat. Not too big a boat; but not too small either. She was holding on to the railing somewhere toward the boat’s center, looking over the side. Genevieve concluded that she was coasting on the slow current of the Boggy Cleave River. It appeared as if Poochville was in front of her and the huge Denials were behind. Genevieve also knew that was impossible as the Boggy Cleave was so shallow in many spots that even a rowboat would soon be stuck on the bottom. She saw that as an irrelevant thought, as here she and the boat were obviously floating.
Genevieve curiously gazed downriver to her left; and then she curiously gazed upriver to her right. She didn’t see anyone else, and for a second thought that strange. It was a gray day with a mild wind. The resultant slight chill took her mind off
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other matters. The boat bounced along for a bit; and then Genevieve heard someone call her name.
She looked toward the voice and saw her long gone Dillon, the Irish Setter who had long ago charmed her. Though it is best not said out loud, as not to be offending to well-loved numbers, two, three, and etcetera, there is always that special number one. Isn’t there? Dillon was hers and the feeling seemed mutual.
Genevieve thought; “This can’t be. You’re dead.” She said;
“Dillon?”
Dillon; property of the author.
Dillon was standing still with his mouth open; just like he had always. That is, until the last time Genevieve had seen him, as he went off and left to “do his conscripted duty,” marching off to the Second Rogue River Conflict. He moved toward her, but after a few steps was jerked back. Genevieve saw that Dillon was now wearing a collar which was attached to two chains.
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Demons; Plutus and Camulus; property of the author.
The menacing holders of those chains came into her view.
They were winged, dark gray, and each had one arm held to the sky for no apparent reason at all. Perhaps the gesture was the now beside-the-point result of a habit picked up from scratching a higher head no longer there or some method to attempt to get their withered wings to fly. Or maybe there was just some simplistic finger gesture involved. Genevieve instinctively knew that the names of the chain holders were Plutus Cash and Camulus Battle. Plutus Cash lost hold of his handle, but Camulus Battle held on tightly to his. Plutus Cash smiled maniacally as if this was his precise expectation; him now either appearing to be the
“good guy” or the “incompetent guy,” thereby throwing the burden on his partner, Camulus. Camulus Battle showed no emotion. He may well have expected Plutus’ performance, as it was far from
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the first time that Plutus Cash had let go of his chain. Though it was impolite, imprecise, impious, improper, impeachable, and otherwise resultant of a royal pain in the posterior to say so out loud Camulus Battle confidently knew that he was the stronger of the two in his total disregard for the results of popularity contests.
Dillon tried to call out; “Gen............,“ as his chained collar choked and pulled him back down the stairs which led to the boat’s hull. She moved toward him and was immediately back laying down in her wicker bed. Genevieve would rather have been back in her dream. The only light was that of the half-moon in her window. The only sound was that of the late autumnal silence. It was the time of year when most of the insects and small animals had wisely gone into hibernation.
Genevieve pulled the covers over her head and tried to go back to sleep and get back to her dream. She was certain that if she could get close to him, that she could break Dillon’s one remaining held chain. She had been so tired; both mentally and physically; from all her recent activities, she did quickly go back to sleep; but not to the same dream she had hoped for.
This time she saw a hound she didn’t know, but looked just the slightest bit like Clement. He was walking alone in a big city; maybe Rapidtown. This time Genevieve wasn’t there. For this dream, it was as if she was watching the scene from a perch
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above. She had to have been flying or at least hovering, like Mary Poppins, though without the aid of a magical umbrella. She was not in any of the skyscrapers of many stories which lined the concrete street. Jackhammers blared from somewhere unseen, apparently to repair the broken squares of concrete sidewalk; though it seemed incredulous as to how their breaking up of the pavement had anything to do with its repair. Their discordant persistence drowned out any sound which may have been generated by the bumper to bumper autos on the five lane, one way, blacktopped street. Understandably, the blast of the jackhammers got her attention initially. But, after no more than a minute, their “blast” was reduced to a commonplace dullness which resulted in an eerie silence of sorts. They became inconsequential in their thunderous, excessively vulgar, loud repetition; and may as well have been replaced by a web-generated, ambient, lack-of-sound.
There was a commotion on the street, just a bit ahead of the hound. He, as well as Genevieve, could hear and see that six uniformed dogs were snarling. Their khaki shoulder epaulets were unbuttoned, and stood up at an odd, lax, lack of angle; much like a piece of cut, soft pine wood, warped by years of being exposed to the rains and drying heat. The brown shirts the epaulets were sewn into were dark; a burnt umber; virtually indistinguishable from the shade of black; called onyx.
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There was also another dog. He was not snarling and he was also the one not so garbed. He sported only a grin. He had something in his mouth; maybe a fish. Their numbers must have distracted him, and one of the six took what he had. He and the other five snarling dogs started to leave. Other uniformed dogs came. They appeared to be official. Their countenance and demeanor was upright, choosing to err on the side of “overly so,” if at all. The intermittent and fleeting, sun generated flashes of the string held tags around their necks, and the way the others stopped moving and became silent when the “officials”
barked at them, was further evidence of their officialdom.
The dog who was stolen from said; “They took my fish.”
One of the six said; “He’s crazy. This is our fish. His companions barked out agreement. Calls of “Our fish,” “Our fish,” and “Our fish,” rang out.
The “officials” shrugged and told the dog who had lost his fish; “You have no witnesses. We have the word of six dogs that this is not your fish. Can you prove that it is yours?”
The dog who was stolen from cried; “Of course not. Fish are fish. ....... But, that was my only fish! My family and I need it.”
The officials shrug became more of a shake, sufficiently violent that the epaulets on their onyx shirts jiggled a few times; enough for a noticeable, but not devastating 3.8 on the
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Richter. They looked away. They then waved their paws, indicating to the other six that it was okay to leave.
The dog who had his fish stolen sighed heavily. Then he saw the dog who looked something like Clement (TDWLSLC) coming. He said; “Wait, maybe he saw it!”
The “officials” asked TDWLSLC if he had seen anything.
TDWLSLC quickly sized up the situation. He saw two uniformed officials, six somewhat similarly uniformed thieves showing their teeth, and one sad and solitary dog who had his fish taken from him. TDWLSLC decided that it was best to say; “I didn’t see anything,” and tried to make no eye contact with the one who had his fish stolen. He immediately felt horrible, cowardly, and also a practical survivor.
Genevieve roused again, and exclaimed; “Why doesn’t someone ask me? I saw the whole thing.” She saw that she was not flying or hovering over a big city. She was in her wicker bed in her home in Poochville. The sun was not yet visible to her; but she saw the new day’s beginning of light creeping over the Denial Mountains. The things in her bedroom were again lightly visible; and with each passing second they became more so. Genevieve was relieved of her dilemma. She knew exactly what to do about Clement and the five kittens; ......... also one cat.
Genevieve knew that Clement would be anxiously waiting to hear her decision. She wanted not to keep him waiting. Genevieve
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regarded that as cruel and unusual, very unproductive punishment. She got out of bed and started the coffee machine.
Rather than risking a net based distraction she left her computer off. Instead, she looked out all of her windows to see if there were any lost pineapples around. Seeing none, she filled her cup and carried it to Clement’s house, drinking and spilling on the way.
She knocked on his door, and heard the same scuffling and doors closing that she heard the last time. Genevieve called out; “It’s okay, Clement. It’s only me.”
It was still a few more grunts, rattles, and door slams before Clement opened the door a crack. “Hi, Genevieve,” he said; “You’re early.”
“I didn’t want to keep you on pins and needles. Things got very clear when I slept.”
Clement peeped his head out the door and revolved it around. He said; “Are you alone?”
“Of course I am. It’s rather insulting that you might have considered otherwise. May I come in?”
“Yes, yes. Oh, please do. Forgive my poor manners. You might understand that I’ve been a bit nervous and disoriented lately.”
Genevieve took two steps in and said; “I really should come right to the point. It became clear to me that .......... “
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Clement interrupted, saying; “Could you hold that thought just for a minute? I don’t like to keep the little angels sequestered in the presence of friends.” He opened the bedroom door and out spilled Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, Teddy; and momma Sheba. Well, spilled may not have been exactly the right word. Sunshine, Tippy, and Puff-Puff more or less spilled, as they virtually tripped over each other in their fearless exuberance to escape their confines. But Wailer, Teddy, and Sheba were more shy creatures. They held back until they were sure that it was their friend Genevieve.
In a matter of seconds, they all had run to their new friend. They tried to jump all over Genevieve, but she was too small to accommodate six kittens at once. So, the kittens took turns. At any given point, the temporarily postponed ones had to settle for once again rubbing against tried and true Clement.
This didn’t seem to bother them much. It was just a matter of availability.
Genevieve did her best to stroke each one while purring out a gentle chorus of love. When she was sure that she had touched all, she turned her attention back to Clement. Genevieve said;
“I guess you thought this might make me change my mind.”
Clement replied; “I thought it was worth a shot. Look at them. They’re happy just as things are.”
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Genevieve hesitated prior to saying; “Yes, they are. And they also do not know what it will be like to spend the entirety of their lives in the confines of this house. It’s a vast improvement over what they’ve seen. But, they will grow. ......
And they might accidentally be seen by someone. And they are likely to outlive you. And, and, and ....... it’s just the right thing to do to inform the community as it affects the community.
Achoo. Choo. Choo. Wagging tails in the face do wonders for clearing out obstructions.”
“So, you’re going to tell everyone.”
“Yes, I think that is what I said. Choo.”
Clement sighed and said; “ ................. “
Genevieve said; “Oh, come on Clement. I’m not being a bad guy. You full well know that the dogs that live on Pacific Lane are good dogs. You know that.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s not that. It’s ........ “
Genevieve said; “It’s what? ......... Choo. Teddy, you have the longest tail.”
“That’s Sunshine.”
“Sorry, Sunshine. At my age it’s difficult to remember new names.”
Clement said in exasperation; “I’ve told you that they don’t yet speak Dog.”
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Genevieve said; “Yes, I know. But, I feel like talking to them anyway. Look, Clement. We could stand here and chat all day, and that wouldn’t change my mind. I’m leaving and I’m going to invite all of Pacific Lane to be here at noon.” She petted each of the six who were nuzzling around. She said; “I love you all too. Everything is going to be all right.”
She let herself out and thought; “I hope so. They’re so cute and happy; and they’re such cuddlebugs.”
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23-Genevieve Hits the Road
Genevieve sharply shook her head trying to make her doubting thoughts detach from their furry enclosure. The brisk shake produced a ringing sound in her head. The ring overtook her doubts, making the shake an excellent maneuver. The now detached thoughts crept away, returning to the nightmare they came from; like a razor thin earwig hiding in fear of a nearby nighthawk or owl. Earwigs can slip between the pages of a closed book. There they can remain in the darkness until an unwitting reader gets to that page. They then leap into the reader’s ear.
Why do you think they call them earwigs? From there they use their sharp pincers to burrow into the reader’s brain. And here could well be Genevieve’s very own, personalized earwig!!
Earwig; property of whoever wants it.
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“No,” she thought. “It’s okay. The horrible brain burrower was still on the page. See. The trick was to just turn the page quickly before the little monster saw my ear. Okay again.”
Genevieve was enthused and childishly confident. That was normally no easy accomplishment for a pup her age. But today, armed with enthusiasm, a back leg which quit nagging, hope for Clement and the kittens, and a lack of earwigs; she was off to do her part in making everything right on Pacific Lane once more. No, that was too modest. She was off to make everything again right in all of Poochville. ............. Well okay, sometimes little pups get a bit carried away with themselves.
Genevieve bustled down the road with a spring in her step as quick as she had the time she was startled by accidentally stepping right into the tall grass which the chubby toads had previously laid claim to.
Chubby toad; property of the author.
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She excitedly knocked on every door. She told all the residents of Pacific Lane that their presence was requested at Clement’s house in two hours; high noon. She told them that there was good news about the stolen food; who had taken it and what they had done with it. When constantly asked; “Who and what?” Genevieve merely replied; “You’ll have to come to Clement’s,” and trotted off to the next house as if her legs were floating on a wave of white clouds in the wind.
Her fast, unthinking, and exuberant manner of walking resulted in her near bowling over of Billy and Jack.
Billy and Jack; property of the author.
The two were rather grim as they were still not in possession of anything they would consider to be evidence. They didn’t even have a lead. In fact their considered most likely motive was now questionable. In their lengthy experience; they had learned that a thief normally makes inroads into the
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criminal underground in an effort to find a purchaser for their loot; preferably one with cash. But their sources were not aware of any such secret communications. So, Billy and Jack were just sluggishly pacing the neighborhood, hoping that something would come along and smack them right in the snoot.
They kind of got their wish. Kind of and not exactly. The old clichéd phrase everyone claims to know while at the same time acting as if they didn’t; “Beware what you want. You might get it,” took a hand. Just as they emerged from behind a thickly trunked oak, Genevieve, being blinded to them being there by the fat tree, had but a fraction of a second to stop her lively swift way of walking; and couldn’t. She ran right into Billy and careened off him right into Jack. For a second she wondered if she might be a replay of the magic bullet the Warren Commission theorized, but never saw. The thought quickly passed as she watched Billy and Jack rub their noses.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as she exhaled noisily and anxiously; “It was entirely my fault.”
Jack said; “It’s lucky for you that we don’t have our speeding citation book with us.” He then proceeded to sneeze out something primarily green which took residence at the top of a thicket of tan, out-of-season grass tips. “That was supposed to be a joke. .......... The speeding citation part, that is. Jeez,
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would you look at that. ....... Genevieve! What has gotten you all revved up this morning?”
Still somewhat breathless, Genevieve blurted; “Glad I ran into you two. I have news about the food theft. Or rather, I should say that Clement has news about it. And everyone is invited to his house at noon to hear it.”
Billy said; “Tell us now.”
Genevieve curtly replied; “No, I will not. It’s 11:30
already. Just wait a half hour and be at Clement’s. It’s his news; not mine. I’m just a messenger. ...... Now, if you will excuse me, I have other places to deliver my message. ......
Yuck; be careful where you walk. You don’t want any of that on your paws. Gross.” She hurried off as Billy and Jack watched her.
Billy said to Jack; “Some piece of work; that one.”
Jack replied; “Yeah; but maybe she’s got something. Half an hour. ...... Hey, watch your feet. Those boogers are hard to get off the fur.”
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24-Neighborhood Meeting Plus
Everyone on Pacific Lane had been invited and at noon everyone came to Clement’s house. Even some not from Pacific Lane; such as Billy and Jack, were there. The adults solemnly sat on the living room floor. All seemed to sense that something important was about to take place. That is, all but the playful Pawsborne quadruplets; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette. They romped a bit and were not successful in engaging the equally young, but much more serious, Gizmo in their activities.
The quads sniffed at something on the ground; a rather rude thing to do when visiting someone else’s home. Sarah said; “I’ve smelled this before. But I can’t remember where or when.”
Elmo replied; “Me too. It’s so musky.”
The sniffing Pawsborne quads property of the author.
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Serious Gizmo; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
The quad’s weary parents; Carlo and Lizzy sighed and Lizzy called out; “You four. Get over here right now and behave. Carlo used his left front paw to point at the floor near him and said no words.
Sarah said; “The smell is all over here!”
Carlo said; “Get over here right now!”
Carlo and Lizzy; property of the author.
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The quads trudged over and nicely stood. For about a second that is. As soon as Carlo and Lizzy turned their heads away Sarah put her nose on the ground and said; “It’s here too.”
Lizzy agitatedly said; “Just stop it right now. Or it’s no stuffed rolls for all of you for a week.”
Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette sat on their haunches near their parents. Sarah said; “But ....... “ She stopped speaking when Elmo and Ozzy gave her vigorous nudges from two directions.
Private conversations were muted and brief.
Barney said to Clara; “We’re lucky with Gizmo,” and she nodded.
Maureen slowly slurred her words when she almost inaudibly whispered to Pablo; “Havven seen ya much lately. Been doin’
somethin’ happy?”
Pablo thought she had said something about “heaven” and
“happy,” getting it half right in the overall meaning. He replied; “Sure. What else? Are you now religious?”
Maureen didn’t understand Pablo’s response and got disinterested in the conversation saying; “More or less. Mostly spaced. See them kids,” incorrectly thinking that she was being particularly obtuse and distracting.
Daisy told Waylon that she suspected the whole thing had to do with migrating turtles hiding on an island. Waylon said;
“You’ll be all right, babe. Soon as you get back to the shallow
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water.” She liked his ability to reassure her the most about him.
Willy mumbled to no one in particular; “Hope there are some distracting bushtits in here.”
Bella heard Willy and said; “Not a chance. They have conspired to migrate away from here.”
Lucky said; “Conspired with who? It takes two.”
Bella said; “That is yet to be determined.”
Willy said; “I just saw a bunch of them yesterday. I don’t understand.”
Maureen said; “Don’t even try. It’s absolutely futile.”
Maggie said; “Tell me about it. I just hope those perpetrating pesticide pineapples preclude posthumous part playing.”
Tanner said; “I like the pineapples’ plentitudinal proclivity.”
Billy said to Jack; “I wish they’d get the show on the road already. I presently possess a plethora of ponder.”
Jack said to Billy; “Productions powerless to pass planned preparatory points puerilely presume prudent pardon.”
Tardiff said; “I just remembered why one of my favorite sayings is that it is the second mouse that gets the cheese.”
Lenta said; “That’s so optimistic darling. It assumes that the trap works right in the first place.”
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Uninterested in and not hearing the wocky being jabbered in the living room, Genevieve stood in the adjoining hallway. She was by the closed bedroom door and could hear Clement’s voice.
He had stopped the free for all romping he and the kittens-cat had been engaged in since she had left earlier that morning. He was saying a tentative good bye.
In a breathless and somber tone, Clement said; “Okay.
That’s it. So much for now anyway. There’s something going on which you’ll never understand.”
Sheba pushed the worn, yellow tennis ball to Clement. She skirted away from him trying to get a head start on where it might go when he kicked it. When he didn’t she made a low, plaintive, echoing report which sounded something like;
“Whaaaaaaaat?” in Dog and “Whaaaaaaaaat?” in Cat.
Clement smirked in a manner not intended to convey genuine mirth. The short snort was more like a faux cheery resignation.
He said; “Yes. What? What indeed. I don’t know. I’d tell you if I did. Even though you wouldn’t understand the exact words, you’d probably understand the meaning better than me. But, I don’t know. There’s something I have to tend to right now. It’s pretty stupid that I have to. At least I think so. But, apparently I’m not in charge around here. Not even in my own house.”
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In Cat, Wailer asked momma Sheba; “Is he all right?”
Sheba answered; “I don’t think so. But I’m wrong half the time.”
Clement continued, having made a good guess; “No, I’m not all right. For some reason, I think you know that right now.
Hehe. And yet, in a way, I’m more all right than I’ve ever been thanks to all of you.”
Momma and the kittens might have suspected that the ball game was over. Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, Teddy; and momma Sheba ambled over and cuddled next to Clement. On the other hand they may have simply done that which comes naturally.
Clement said; “You have to make this especially hard. Don’t you? Guess that in your place I would too.” His eyes moistened as he petted and kissed each. He said; “Thanks to all of you.
This has been the best part of my life. And I’ll believe that it has meant something to you too. ........... I better go before I do something stupid. It’ll be all right; I know it.”
Clement got up, slowly extracting himself from the many furry paws which gently weighed all over his body. He took one more look at the wide eyed and curious kittens and saw their unspoken hopes and curiosities. He looked at Sheba and saw her struggling worry. He hoped he hadn’t been unintentionally lying to them about things being all right, as he opened the door to the hallway. He took another look at those who depended on him.
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Most were stretching out their paws in that unintentional, falsely jittery, contented and exhausted shake little animals often do just before they go to sleep. Clement stepped out and shut the door as quietly as he could. The tiny click was no noisier than the blue “on” button at the top left of his recently neglected computer.
Genevieve said; “Everyone is here. Ready?”
Clement said; “As I’ll ever be.”
Genevieve entered the living room and cleared her throat.
She said; “Thank you all for coming on such short notice.
Clement has something to tell you all. We just ask that you listen to what he has to say in its entirety and not make any rash judgements based on buzz words. This looks as if it’s just a little neighborhood issue; but for all we know might have a broader significance. ...... Clement.”
Clement stepped into his living room. He nodded to the crowd and sat on his haunches. He said; “Hi everyone. It’s good to see you all well. Too often the necessities imposed by our days make it difficult for us to all get together like this.
I don’t have anything prepared, so please bear with me a bit. .......... I don’t think that any of you have ever been here before. If you have been I don’t remember it. My sincere apologies to you if my memory has failed.
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It’s a big living room, isn’t it? Fits you all comfortably I guess. Certainly has the room to do that anyway. You might be able to appreciate that this is only one of the seven rooms I was given. Just me. And all this space.
Clement’s house; property of the author.
Sure, over the years, I’ve filled in the space with objects. Pretty objects. Chests, mirrors, sofas, chairs. All of them discarded things from prior times. I fixed them up and refinished them. It kept me busy for a while. A hobby of sorts.
But, then when all the space was filled and I got idle, I noticed that they creaked at me. At the oddest times. In the still of the night. I’d be half asleep and then I’d hear a groaning type of sound which was no doubt amplified in the dark stillness.
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After the first few nervous investigations, I came to know that there were no burglars in my house. It was just that the furniture chose that time to make themselves heard. Why? I don’t know. One might as well ask them. Anyway, for me it meant that I wasn’t in any danger, but would be unable to sleep until the sunrise made it time to get up.”
Ozzy yelled out; “That happens to me all the time.”
Carlo said; “Hush. We’ll get you a night light. Okay. And if you get very scared you can come in and sleep with mommy and daddy. .......... Sorry, Clement. Kids, you know.”
Clement said; “Unfortunately I don’t. Well anyway, I’m alone in this big creaky house and I had a dream about Linda. We went to high school together and I hadn’t thought of her in years. We were perfect for each other. At least I thought so, but I kept putting things off. There were so many more tomorrows when things would be just right for me to approach her. Then the tomorrows unexpectedly and abruptly ended. Her family moved away.
So, I was morosely grousing around over morning coffee. I was thinking about Linda, this big creaking house, and how it would be nice to have some company, when I heard a tap, tap, tapping by the front door.
Sarah blurted out; “I need a night light too.”
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Lizzy whispered; “You’ll have a night light too. Now shoosh.”
Clement chuckled and continued; “I could use a night light too, Lizzy. Please put me on your list. ..... So, I had heard this tapping sound near my front door. Through the window I saw five tiny kittens with a bedraggled mother. ‘Cats!’ I thought.
‘What’s going on in Poochville?’ I wondered why they had stopped here at my house. Why me? There are tons of other houses. I didn’t ask for this. Then I thought that they had likely been turned away elsewhere. They looked so desperate somebody just had to do something. Then I thought about how one dog cannot handle everyone’s problems without getting major problems himself. ...... “
Ozzy let out a plaintive call, saying; “If everyone else is going to get a night light; why can’t I get one too?”
Before tired Carlo and Lizzy could speak, Clement took the liberty of answering for them. “I’ll get you the damn night light myself. Okay? Now will you please pipe down and allow me to finish?”
Ozzy mumbled something no one else could make out and cuddled next to his mother Lizzy. He was not quite sure whether he was satisfied or in need of protection.
Clement sighed and continued; “I loudly barked right next to the closed door. I guess their level of desperation exceeded
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their level of fear. ....... Either that or my old bark no longer had the resonance of a lion. A few of the kittens kind of respectfully made one step back, but remained.
You’ve been so polite Bernadette; that I’d like to assure you that you too will have a night light. Absolute promise.
......... You too Gizmo. Absolute promise.”
As Bernadette smiled, Gizmo said; “I don’t want a night light. But, if you can get me a ‘Resident Evil 7: Biohazard’
cartridge that would be super cool, dude.”
Clement said; “I assume that you already possess a 1024
bit, 4096KB Nintendo 4DS, for a maximum, four screen visual experience.”
Gizmo said; “No, not really. What I have is a ....... “
Clement said; “Shut up, kid. Until you can comprehend when a comment is sarcastic; you’d be better off settling for the simplicity of the night light. You’re getting me so off track here.”
Gizmo turned to his parents, Clara and Barney. He said; “I didn’t do anything wrong. What is he talking about?”
Clara said; “It’s all right baby. He’s just being a perplexed old man. Don’t worry. Christmas is coming, and we’ll be getting you that ‘Resident Evil 7: Biohazard’ cartridge, along with the 1024 bit, 2048KB Nintendo 3DS.”
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Gizmo said; “No. That’s 4096KB Nintendo 4DS, for a maximum, four screen visual experience. My friends at school all ...... ”
Simultaneously Barney and Clara said; “Whatever. Shut up Gizmo, and let the man speak.”
Gizmo said; “I’m telling my school psychologist all about this.”
Barney and Clara laughed.
Clement continued; “Thank you. I stared at the cats through a peek hole I made in the curtain I had just drawn. I remembered my dream of Linda and how my delay resulted in complete sadness and lonely failure. I couldn’t let that happen again. So despite my misgivings I opened the door and let them in. For the first time I got an up close look at the kittens who I very quickly came to know as Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, and Teddy; and momma Sheba.
In a last moment of doubt I said; ‘Shoo.’ They mildly bristled, but did not run away. I again said; ‘Shoo,’ a bit louder the second time. It had to have been seen as a half-hearted attempt as I had already been unable to deter them with a bark. I shut the door and joined them. Puff-Puff nuzzled against me. They kept looking at me, letting out little aarrooows and aarroos. They were so hungry. Again I thought of Linda and this empty house. They started chewing on the rug, the plushy parts of the chairs and even the balsa wood Toucan
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sculpture. I gave them all the food I had and they were still hungry. I decided that after dark I’d get more from the community cupboard. In the meantime I was just hoping that there would be a house left by the time I did. ...... I guess that’s it.”
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25-Serious Reactions from the Jabberwockers Maggie said; “So it was you who removed the food and the cats are still here?”
Clement said; “Yes.”
Waylon asked; “Why did you take all this time to tell us?”
Clement said; “I had no plans to ever tell you. Genevieve did some excellent detective work and found out that it was I who emptied the cupboard. She insisted that I confess to all of you. You know we don’t have any cats here in Poochville, and I was afraid; still am; that you’d object.”
Billy gruffly said; “What about the pineapples? Why did you leave them?”
Clement grinned and said; “That’s the easy part. Not counting my own there are nine houses on Pacific Lane. There were nine pineapples. I figured that a pineapple was big enough to feed a family for a week, so I left one for each for any possible emergencies. Besides they’re too heavy to carry and I would have had to have pushed them off the table into my cart and I didn’t want to make any noise, and get caught. ...... Is there anything else anyone is curious about?”
Murmuring went on.
Clement said; “So, is this all right with everyone?”
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Louder murmuring accompanied by paw shuffling upped the tempo.
Clement said; “You have to meet them. They’re so cute and friendly. I’ll bring them out. Now, understand that they’re going to be scared in a room full of dogs. So, don’t start barking or jumping around.”
Clement opened his bedroom door and saw no cats. Not even a kitten. He looked to the window and saw that it was still closed. So, he knew they hadn’t gotten out. They had to be hiding. He used his nose to push away the bed ruffles, and there they all were. Under the bed. They were huddled together and their fixed, bulging eyes seemed to display a terror which the maestro, Stephen King had not yet put into words.
Highly stylized cover of Stephen King’s “The Shining”; property of the author.
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Clement put his belly to the floor and implored; “They’re just dogs like me. Yes, there are a lot of them; but when unafraid, they are peaceful creatures, just like me. True, they don’t know any cats. And further true; it would have been perfectly all right with them if they never met any. ...........
I was just like them; ...... until you all came to my door. As soon as I saw you something happened in my heart. Something nice. A shining we’d all like to exude forever. Something we seem to be afraid of knowing and feeling most of the time. That doesn’t make any sense. Does it? It’s like a computer program.
My brain kicked in on default mode and made an attempt to confuse that glow with the dullness of a half-charged battery.
Our brains have such an overused advantage. But the truth is they intimidate everything else, merely because they deceivingly look so big when there is only about 10% of their size that is of any known use. And then they sit there near the top of the mountain as if there were something preferred about being the little one near the peak, rather than the bigger one just a few steps back. ......... Oh, dammit. You don’t know a word I’m trying to say; never mind what I’m foolishly attempting to convey.”
The kittens and cat were puzzled as they looked to each other in hope of getting some idea of what was going on. In the
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language of Cat, which was not yet known to Clement, Momma Sheba said; “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about. But, maybe I have a little idea; as I’ve begun to see that some Dog and Cat words are similar. We’re not afraid or hiding from anything.
We’re all under here just because some moron was yelling near the door and being behind the ruffled bed skirt provided more tranquility than anyplace else in this little room.”
Clement heard; “Meow. Meow! Mmmmmm. Wrrroow! Ummmeow.”
Sensing something short of a feline disaster, his reaction tending more toward him cautiously thinking that the kittens and one cat were registering nothing more than some sort of petty distaste for unspecified current events, Clement half lightheartedly responded with; “That’s a likely story. Come with me. It’s time to meet the neighbors.” His head movement and steps toward the opened door prompted Momma and the kittens to follow him.
The cat family huddled together at the perimeter of the living room. Clement was just a step ahead and served as a temporary and much too undersized buffer zone of sorts. Both sides were hushed. The dogs had been prepared to see cats, but actually seeing them was another matter. The cats were uncomfortable because of the hush.
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Clement attempted to break the impasse, saying; “My dog friends, meet your new neighbors. My cat friends, meet your new neighbors.”
Gizmo made the first move. He wasn’t in the best of spirits after having received that rude public upbraiding about the Nintendo 4DS thing. When he got three feet from the kittens he held his ground and emitted a low growl.
Genevieve quickly stepped to him and said; “Behave yourself young man. Nobody wants to hurt you.”
Behave yourself, young man; property of the author.
Gizmo immediately quieted down. He figured that this was just not going to be one of his charmed days. He sheepishly
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apologized to Genevieve and Clement. More importantly he apologized to the cats, saying; “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just a little upset over my folks not understanding that when playing a ‘Resident Evil 7- Biohazard’
cartridge, a 1024 bit, 4096KB Nintendo 4DS, for a maximum, four screen visual experience massively blows away a 1024 bit, 2048KB
Nintendo 3DS. So uncool.”
The cats didn’t exactly understand the fine distinction that Gizmo was making. But they were quite happy with his pleasant tone. Not one told him to shut up.
Mama Sheba answered; “Roo, roo, roo, rooooo.” The kittens laughed and everybody seemed okay with the situation. Actually Mama Sheba was aware that Dogs don’t speak Cat very well, and took advantage of that; as what she really said was; “This one’s a lovable, super nerd dork.”
His tough morning suddenly took its toll on Gizmo. He flopped on the rug and closed his eyes in an exhaustion mental, physical, both, or general principles. Sunshine thought that something was wrong; so he went to Gizmo and rubbed his magical head against that of the fallen puppy’s.
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Sunshine and Gizmo rubbing heads; property of the author.
It worked! Gizmo’s eyes immediately opened; he giggled, and got back on his paws. More than that, Sunshine’s magic must have filled Clement’s entire living room. All the dogs smiled and slowly walked to the kittens. Suddenly cautious, Sunshine and Wailer made their ways to an empty floor-mopping bucket and hopped in for “protection.” Pablo stood next to them, offering his thoughtfully innocent form of protection. In those moments, he appeared to be a young white lab; outdoors in spring; with his rubber ducky and two wide-eyed kitten companions. His dream come true startled everyone, including himself.
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Sunshine, Wailer, and Pablo; property of the author.
Infectiousness set in, without any of its usual yucky attendant drawbacks of oozing pus, viruses or parasites. Lacking that, one would have to say that the permeating feeling positively defied simple definition in that it was obviously transmissible and very, very contagious. Voluptuous and disease, separate or joined, were one or two words which were as close as the unnecessary word description permitted and needed at that time.
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Yucko type infection not present; property of the author.
The dogs and the cats started dancing together. They must have heard a song no one else could have; perhaps a collective memory, perhaps a delusion, perhaps the song consisted of notes which exist only in theory for hominids, perhaps it was Pandora, perhaps ....... Whatever. It just had to have been one which only they could hear right at that particular time. In only one dog or cat this is often considered a disorder called a paracusia, or auditory hallucination. However, it was very strange that two dozen dogs and a half dozen cats got the same disorder at precisely the same time. The odds against that happening had to have been even greater than the odds against Donald Trump becoming President of the United States, ........
until it happened. The music most likely came through the dogs’
and cats’ finely-tuned and very special ears. Some were small
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and upturned and some were big and floppy. But each was special, nonetheless.
Mythological Pandora; modified public domain.
Screen of Pandora Radio;a personalized internet radio service; modified public domain.
But they had two things in common. They always were capable of hearing things hominids could not. And they were all naturally set to the Pandora which was playing somewhere in the air nearby.
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Dance started; property of the author.
They seemed silly, but didn’t care. They paid no heed as to which was which and who was who. Dogs danced near kittens and puppies danced near cats. The whole thing was kind of innocent and free. Barney was near Wailer; and Clara jokingly said;
“Watch it, buster,” while she danced near both Sunshine and Puff-Puff. Barney just cleared his unclogged throat a bit more than audibility required. When those others in proximity started laughing, so did Barney and Clara.
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Things seemed to be going as well as things can possibly go. Even weird Maureen was shakin’ it while she told Tippy and Teddy about the origins, evolution, and cultural significance of dance. Since Tippy and Teddy did not yet speak much Dog; certainly not the type spoken at universities; they were quite content to be thinking that Maureen was rapping out some kind of love song to an unusual and inventive beat. And maybe they were right about that.
Frolicking was rampant. Dogs and cat were caught up in the graceful motions of the dance. Then something exceedingly prudent which must reside in the pollution of the no longer totally feral air compelled everyone to look toward Billy and Jack. The two investigators were not dancing with or near dogs, cats, or each other. In fact, they weren’t moving at all. They stood together motionlessly; their facial expressions indicating neither approval nor disapproval.
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26-A Brief and Necessary Paws
A sudden, terrifying, and chilling sobriety reared its fretful skull. The swaying celebrants seemed to collectively realize that there was something else to be considered. Despite their demonstrated acceptance of Clement’s fitting and heart-warming explanation, they had strong suspicions that Billy and Jack would soon arrest Clement for grand theft. The dogs didn’t want to visualize the unimaginable horrors imminent for the kittens and mother cat whose cruel fate had placed them in Poochville. In an attempt to fight off that thought they kept dancing until they saw the fear in their partner’s eyes. They tried to avert eye contact which suggested something they didn’t want to see. But it was there, and they were inevitably drawn to the precise view that they didn’t want to see. It seemed unavoidable, like another Hollywood zombie or vampire movie.
The dogs, but not the four puppies, and Mama Cat, but not the five kittens had a few words they had clairvoyantly learned of the other’s language which flashed through their minds. Sad words. Sorry words. At the same time, deceptively posing as confident words. Unsure words. Words of those not learned.
Almost-able-to-ask-the-right-question words. Believing words previously dashed on more than one occasion. Confusing words.
Words that refuse to go away.
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The kittens and puppies knew few words, a serviceable minimum even in their own language; and certainly none like these difficult-to-translate monstrosities in the heads of their elders. But, all the same, they seemed to sense what was going on.
Discordant colors and forms made their ways through their tiny heads, and they knew something was very wrong. Very wrong.
Scary kind of wrong. It was nothing like when the zombies and vampires had given up hope of even dreaming that they could instill real fear; instead aiming at the safety of ham fisted hilarity, rejoicing in their besieged viewers’ obligatory plastic smiling masks.
Three of a billion “scary” zombies, eliciting smiles; property of the author.
This was much worse than any of that nonsense. This was real. In unison the dancers slowed and slowed, until they came to a halt; just like the last moans voiced by the creaking blades of a power un-supplemented, grinding windmill when subjected to a sudden stillness.
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No one wanted it that way. Yet the two Scottish Terriers who seemed to be in charge had been so quiet. The crowd looked to them with eyes that seemed pleading.
Sunshine, Wailer, and Pablo again huddled together. Rather than the wariness they fleetingly displayed through their impromptu triage prior to the dance, this time they just looked primarily sad, though through eye-averting hints also a bit disgusted.
Sushine, Wailer, and Pablo awaiting verdict; property of the author.
Knowing that this was likely the climax, Clement looked at the floor, both afraid that he would spend the rest of his life in jail and proud that he had done the right thing. To him in that moment, in which he viewed Gizmo, Sunshine, Tippy and the rest of the babies, it was clear, liberating, emboldening, and peaceful to him, that most importantly, all his long term and
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newly found friends had found him innocent, and were worried for him about the verdict of the outside authorities.
Waiting group; property of the author.
The ball obviously in their court, Billy turned to Jack. He shrugged and in a monotone he said; “The way I see it, this food was there for all the residents. There was no requirement to make any record of when food was being deposited or withdrawn.
Clement broke no rule when he took what he did. It was more than the usual, but there were no limits imposed, and he had his good reasons. It is merely an old tradition that there are no cats in Poochville. It is not a requirement. No law was broken here. Our job is done. Any disagreement?”
Jack said; “Not a one.”
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The adult crowd screamed and danced in delight, while the puppies and kittens at first looked bewildered at the almost instant turnaround celebration. But they quickly followed suit, not wanting to have missed anything; and started to jump around and yell.
Billy and Jack gave the slightest hint of a smile. It seemed dutiful, rather than impulsive. As they turned they waved gently as if this all was just in another day’s work. It was unclear whether their waving paws had shown the two fingers of the old peace sign. The gesture was so brief as they exited through the front door.
Daisy popped a CD in the player. It was an old one with a slow start; Lynnrd Skynnrd’s “Free Bird.” The opening lines had everyone just looking at each other; not knowing what to say or do. When the guitar picked up and the singer said; “fly,”
everyone started to dance once more.
Dance resumed; property of the author.
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Suspicions were that everything was and would continue to be quite fine; just like prior to the bad news. And for once, suspicions were correct. Later, propelled by the Stones, the music and dance continued. Barney was dancing with Sheba. Clara squiggled her way on over and again jokingly said to her spouse;
“Watch it Buster.” The music was still playing when some of the tuckered older folk had to sit.
Breath short Pablo had his chin on the edge of the rug. He said to breath short Clement, who was similarly situated, but on the thinly planked, wooden floor; “If it’s a bit much for you all under one roof, I could make room for a kitten or two. I could teach them to read and I have a lot of books.”
Tuckered Pablo property of the author.
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Tuckered Clement; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Clement kind of nodded a “Yes,” as much as one could tell from a tired, grunting dog whose head was now only capable of moving from side to side.
Pablo was happy. He looked forward to kitten companionship.
His tired and closing eyes looked at his paws. They were still white! And Clement had recognized this same lab puppy to be Pablo. “It must be true. It’s no illusion. They see it! They see it! That horrible old perception of Pablo was the illusion,” he thought. For a second he felt a sadness for all the lonely, wasted time. But, he quickly snapped out of it when he realized that he was young again, nice-looking; and had all the time in the world to do it over and get things right; like the rest of Poochville. His heavy eyes became irresistible, and he was carried off to the sweetest of dreams.
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27-The Love Letter
The following morning Genevieve creaked out of bed. Her cranky back leg was a bit more obstinate than usual, because of all her dancing the previous day. She had dreamed of other dreams and times when a loving hand rubbed her belly. She’d squiggle all around hoping it would never end. She came to know that the hand took some breaks, but always came back.
So, Genevieve’s nirvana was not constant. But that was okay with her. She realized that for her to be able to fully appreciate nirvana, it was necessary for her to have something else lesser to compare it with. If the color gold was everything it wouldn’t be gold; it would merely be everything. In the past, she instinctively thought it wise to keep this kind of thought to herself. Now, she had no need to say it as everyone would surely see that their brief time in a flawed Poochville, made it all the more precious to return to the perfect Poochville.
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Genevieve and Hand; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.
Just like every morning; but no longer just like every morning Genevieve hobbled on her bad leg to the kitchen counter and started her coffee machine. As it percolated she was compelled to turn on her computer and send an e-mail to the Rapidtown Police Department. She wrote;
“To: The Rapidtown Police Department
From: Genevieve
Subject: Thanks
“Thank you so much. My name is Genevieve; and I have lived here in Poochville for all of my tranquil years. Recently, we had an incident of missing food on my block, Pacific Lane. Naturally, I was shocked and bewildered by the event; as nothing of the sort had ever previously occurred in Poochville.
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A couple of great, great Officers from Rapidtown came here to investigate; Billy and Jack. In the course of their investigation, a few times they came to my residence. I have to apologize for my impolite behavior on some of those days. The best excuse I can come up with is that at the time I was totally unfamiliar with police procedure and thought that they were treating the victims as the criminals. In retrospect I now understand how they had focussed on this area; as the most likely suspicion was that this was some sort of ‘inside job,’ to use the lingo.
The Officers said that they were unable to do anything at present, but the incident was resolved for the good of everyone.
And though they took no credit, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if they had something to do with that. I’ll be forever grateful in either case.
We live in a well-armed and dangerous world where second guessed, split second decisions have to be made by our protectors. Too many of us forget that. If not for our heroes bravery we’d be quickly overtaken by thugs.
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So, the least I can do is to thank you all for enabling Poochville to continue to be the safe place that it is. And I’d especially like to thank Billy and Jack for their abilities and patience.
We don’t need any walls or travel bans here as long as we have the services of Rapidtown Officers like them.
Thanks, big guys. From now on, I’ll be rooting for the Rapidtown Raiders.
Damn. Gotta go. Who the hey is knocking on my door this time of the morning? ............ Er; I mean ‘Excuse me. I have guests.’
Ah, I’m not quite myself before coffee.”
Genevieve
Poochville morning; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CCO license.
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Once again the morning sun broke through the clouds and everything was again fine in Poochville.
Sunrise; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.
In fact, they were better than fine. Five playful kittens were rassling right by Genevieve’s front door and they were pushing the littlest pineapple.
Genevieve opened the door and chuckled when she said; “You guys are such tiny scamps.”
The kittens seemed startled and began to scoot away.
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Genevieve said; “No, no, no. Play here all you want. And thank you for the pineapple.”
As the group strutted back, the one who was Puff-Puff said;
“See; we brought you a present.”
Genevieve said; “Thank you for the pineapple. Just wait here. I have a present for you too. It’s a book.”
Genevieve got her precious childhood hardcover copy of “Two Purple Rabbits.” She handed it to Puff-Puff, who immediately dropped it through his tiny paws.
Two Purple Rabbits property of the author.
Puff-Puff said; “Thank you. But, this will be more difficult to get back home than a pineapple.”
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Everyone’s eyes glanced at the other eyes for one of those seconds which last a lifetime. For some unexplainable reason, everyone then started to laugh.
One little, well-used pineapple; the property of ALL.
The End
Page 260
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