

Genevieve and the Two Black Scotties

Edward Drobinski

Copyright © 2017 by Edward Drobinski. All rights reserved.

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"You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children."

-Madeleine L' Engle-

Chapter 1

Genevieve was in the box a very few called Pandora. Most called it the Land of Fellflat, him being the earliest known ancestor. She was with all the other dogs. It didn't look like a box. It didn't look like Pandora either. The inmates didn't know if it was one, both, either, or neither; and would get angry with anyone who stupidly brought up the difficult subject. And it wasn't ever called box, container, or anything like that by any of the inhabitants; though a few, when they thought that they were alone sometimes hopefully whispered; "Pandora," presumably as a prayer to a spirit they thought that only they could imagine.

Genevieve; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Most of the box' inhabitants were warm and saddened pooches struggling to appear as the socially acceptable normality called contented; and some were truly contented, demon mongrels who took their pleasure in making the others sad. It was the way the box' darkness had always been; though infrequent light periodically filtered through the cracks in the old plastic. Those brief manifestations of unpredictable, blithe illumination, in practice, best served the accepted traditions of the box, to either appease the tiresomely vocal, cheerful "optimists;" give their organizers a "reason" to request tithes; or be an expedient provocation for those puddled and positioned within the petite, but prominent pack of physics polished, present-day practitioners of punctuality to pontificate Pythagorean theorems, compelling as such, though limited to the measurement of distances only at certain angles under certain conditions; ultimately about why the brief glimpses of light had never happened and that their sightings were an illusion caused by a defective transfer of information from the eye to the brain or other vague speculations; which the others had no interest in or sufficient credentials to debate; in effect making the non-happening into the law of the box. The number of pray-ers and tithe-ers continually decreased, though the population continually rose.

One day, perhaps just out of boredom and curiosity, Genevieve made a solitary journey back toward her eastern origin. It wasn't long before she encountered an obstacle. It looked like a wall as the mountains she had previously seen weren't often ninety degree vertical structures; as best as she could recall. But, being an inquisitive pooch with not much else to do anyway, she decided to climb it.

There was a helium filled, red balloon tethered to the ground. Genevieve decided to take it with her. She had a myriad of reasons. She thought that it should be free. She thought that it's inclination to rise might be of assistance. And she thought that she liked its red color. She knew that it reminded her of Winnie the Pooh. She held its string in her snout.

Without any outside aid other than that which the red balloon seemed to provide, she used the grooves on the furthest left reaches of the box to climb. It was as easy or as hard as it was to climb an artificial rock wall which is classified as being "for beginning bi-peds." Having four paws and those paws being enhanced with retractable claws might have made things easier for her. But, it was distinctly possible that the ease just came because she simply felt like climbing on this day; and up Genevieve went.

Rock climb; property of the author.

Concentrating on her task, and paying no attention to what if anything was notable at higher levels, nor what was going on beneath her, she climbed to what appeared to be the top. She sniffed at the ceiling cover and found that the smell was the same as that of the wall; something like that experience of someone downwind on an Intel burn day. Miffed, she used her snout to gently push on the ceiling and saw that it gave easily. It had moved about two inches, but when she stopped pushing it stopped moving. It exposed a bit more of the infrequent light which sometimes had creeped through the cracks in the old plastic, which the increasing majority denied.

She remained there and thought some things over. She hated the rude limitation imposed, but didn't want to risk falling, through extending too much energy and losing her footing when already so high up. Her fear was alleviated when she absurdly decided to continue to trust the help she was getting from the red balloon she held in her snout.

She kept her feet in place and gave the balky ceiling the hardest shove she could, intending to use only her head; but her red balloon hit it too.

The ceiling moved more. But this time rather than stopping, it had apparently been pushed sufficiently far to have engaged some sort of mechanism, which kept it opening all the way to the other side. Genevieve didn't expect this much ease, but wasn't the least bit surprised by it either. It was just like any other hinged plastic device amplified by a compelling spring. The ceiling ceased being one and came to rest at an odd angle, again likely the result of the mysterious, unseen, yet suggested spring; which might have been a bit rusty from lack of use and lubrication.

Suddenly Genevieve could fly. She took the balloon out of her snout and held it in her front paws; the way one cuddles a friend.

Genevieve flying with her balloon; property of the author.

Suddenly all the other dogs were flying too. They all entered the white space above the box, which she instinctively knew was called El Dorado. She was scared at first, as the ground got more and more distant, making a fall a very serious matter. But after a minute she could tell that she was effortlessly floating very naturally, and that the movement of her paws provided direction. Most of all, she found it to be fun.

Sky and box; the modified kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Despite unreasonable hopes, it wasn't only the pooches in the air. The mongrel demons soared too. They had no inclination to dally like the zig-zagging dogs, and went directly up, like any extremist, taking no part in what they must have considered to be a silly, joyous, incomplete diversion. They soon crossed over into the darkness, which was called Kimrabort, and stayed there. The line of demarcation between El Dorado and Kimrabort was irregular and unclearly porous in some areas. To complicate matters further white El Dorado proper contained some dark areas, and dark Kimrabort proper contained speckles of white; but frankly not all that many in the latter case. The dark was noticeably dark to any pooch not blind, and produced a perceptible end of the detectable glow for most who were.

Flying dogs and demon; property of the author.

Perhaps because of being the first pooch to reach the vague, twisting, and amorphous line; it not yet trampled by many paws, Genevieve thought that she had seen it plainly. While some parts were distinctly clear, the more vague configurations didn't encompass wide spaces; and with all the other space available it seemed an easy, in fact unthinking, decision for her to maintain complete safety by being simply rationally risk averse toward the relatively tiny and likely inconsequentially bloated borderlines with their humorously logical audacity to overstate their insignificant perception of faux "significance," knowing that some didn't know the trick.

In less precise terms, it didn't seem necessary for Genevieve to cross over as there was plenty of room for her to do any sort of imaginable aerial tricks right in El Dorado, without re-encountering the mongrel demons, now congregated or impounded, depending upon one's outlook, in the dark of Kimrabort. Besides, her red balloon ceased to provide any more upward momentum; apparently content to hold onto its already lofty place.

But, she momentarily questioned her eyesight when she saw some other pooches cross the line; vague, amorphous, or irregular as it might be. "Why are you going back to the demons?" she said, in hopes of their turnaround.

She was answered with uniform replies of; "We are finally flying to the sun. Can't you see?"

She almost made no reply; it being so obvious to her. As a possible middling approach, she held her meta ground, and mumbled; "Yes; but the light is right here, and I knew both Icarus and Phaethon. Can't YOU see? The demons have leather wings and we are still just poor waxwings. And no one wants to be back with the demons, anyway."

Thunder rang out, hollow and fierce as a lion's extended growl after lunch on the warm rock at the zoo. It actually may not have, but Genevieve thought that it said; "The wise go through un-needed stop signs. Fools either stop at each or go through them all."

Genevieve was elated to see that some other balloonists were quite happy to place their chosen perch near her chosen perch.

Chapter 2

Once again, Genevieve's eyes were brought out of their closure by the morning's first sun. She had slept on the couch rather than her wicker bed the prior night, and maybe due to the atypical circumstances, for the first time she had the dream about boxes, Pandoras, pooches, demons, El Dorados, Kimraborts, unclear lines, Icarus' and Phaethons as a rewarding result for seemingly minimal innovation.

Lazily, she laid there a while and comfortably thought that she'd think about her dream before the day's routines again caused her to forget it on this pleasant fall morning. No need to rush. No particular thoughts came. Her dream was either just too obvious to further explain or it made no sense whatsoever. She recalled the first time she had seen a David Lynch movie. She safely hoped that there would soon be a re-run. Now, knowing the main story; the next time she could concentrate on what was going on in the backgrounds.

Genevieve had once again become; as was often the case; comfortably complacent as soon as the community food bank "theft" had been solved and resolved satisfactorily. Clement had taken the food in order to feed the distressed and homeless cat family; while leaving some in case of dog emergencies. As prior to the disturbance and now even more so from recent exertions; both physical and mental; after the main event Genevieve had drowsed and drowsed to the point of a most comfortable personal sense of desirable tranquility. All was again right with her world.

Genevieve drowsing; property of the author.

Genevieve stretched out a bit. The movement was probably involuntary and served to remove the muscular kinks which had set in overnight; something like the preparation which one does when one is about to commence some athletic activity; like walking. After that, even her naggy little hind leg; the one which had the knack for finding the rabbit hole; was grudgingly ready to go. But go where? For what? Why bother? Genevieve's brief return to a luxurious tranquility was quite personally satisfying; yet she now also found something vaguely unsettling about the prospect of lying in bed all day with no particular mission. This silly and peculiar mindset was probably the result of her having been clandestinely, accidentally, and unknowingly socialized and programmed into seeking yet another accident; as was enumerated by B.F. Skinner before she was born; only to be updated by the Beatles; "Oh that magic feeling; nowhere to go." But, right now it seemed as if B.F. was winning the debate, at least in Genevieve's momentary, pre-coffee state; which did not bode well for any post-coffee considerations of peace and quiet.

When some seemingly acquired compulsion fully took over, Genevieve got up in that state of quiet serenity, quickly dousing and hampering it with persistent trivialities, that same waning serenity being that which curs often nonsensically or for intended gain purposely mistake for undesirable abject boredom. Genevieve, again in that conveniently induced state ignored her vows and turned on her laptop.

Her e-mail of yesterday had given rise to a reply she found disconcerting. Her original had read:

"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.

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 correctly focussed on this area; as the most likely and subsequently realized 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, most often just seeking further information, 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.

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"

However, she had received a reply which tersely stated how she had been under some sort of illusion. It seemed business-like and more directly to the point as it said;

"To: Genevieve

From: Rapidtown Police Department

Subject: Thanks

We appreciate your e-mailed accolade. However, we are puzzled as to the reason. Our Police department is strained to cover Rapidtown, and has no involvement with or mandated duty to cover crime free Poochville.

Further, we do not have any officers named Billy or Jack on our force.

In any case, we regret any misunderstandings, and at the same time sincerely congratulate you and your neighbors on the satisfactory resolution of your concerns.

With kindest regards;

Rapidtown Police Department"

Genevieve was shocked. Having become recently aware of false information emanating from the net, she tried again. After checking a few things, she again sent out the same e-mail. In less than a minute she received the same reply for the second time.

Genevieve at her computer; the kind courtesy of StockFreeImages.com.

In a sense, Genevieve was now all dressed up with no idea where to go; at least cerebrally. Just after a day of thinking that everything was settled, another loose end had popped up. Very fortunately, this time it wasn't a matter of primary concern, like the suspected theft. This was more of a mere curiosity coupled with a wish to thank the "protectors" who had apparently come to do their often chastised best, just to disappear when things were resolved. Who were these two black Scottish terriers? And why did they come to Pacific Lane just when they were needed? And where did they go? Genevieve had her "reason" for stimulation.

Billy and Jack; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve was certain that this was not a matter for practical conjecture; surely as much as any notion she could imagine of "practical conjecture" seemed to contradict itself. Billy and Jack had come and gone; after having efficiently been there when the problem was ripe; and leaving when it was satisfactorily resolved. That's all there was to it; and it was enough to restore Pacific Lane; indeed all of Poochville; to a harmonious existence.

However, Genevieve could only have a chance of relieving her curious mental dilemma through finding out who Billy and Jack were and are; at the same time maybe helping herself make some sense of recent Poochville doings.

Genevieve had always had some degree of contact with all the residents of Pacific Lane. It was friendly, but not anything one could call intimate. Recent events had pushed her close to Clement. But this was a matter of just a few days, and she suspected that he now had his paws full with kittens. Being an old friend she was certain that if she asked he would go; while he really would rather be home to take care of his new children.

Genevieve didn't want to put Clement or herself in that position.

Chapter 3

To attempt to find Billy and Jack, it was clear to Genevieve that she'd be making a journey. She'd prefer to do that with some company; especially as being something of a homebody; that journey would take her into parts of Poochville she had never previously seen; and maybe even unsafe places. For her envisioned trip, she'd have fancied someone more close than all excepting Clement, but such a Pacific Laner did not exist.

Genevieve knew what she had to do; but really didn't feel like it. It was a lot more comfortable for her to be right where she comfortably was and maybe have a nice dream. To avoid any further of the kind of tiring investigations and disturbances she had endured during the Clement affair, she engaged reverie; in hopes it would suggest a logical reason for her to do nothing; while she almost unconsciously countered that by sipping her stimulating coffee.

Genevieve's thoughts first went to the seemingly simple truth that personally thanking Billy and Jack would not be of much significance to them. Hell, one more or less little thank you was of no consequence. It would be like one of a trillion trillion trillion to the trillionth power of drops in an ocean.

From somewhere a terrible, argumentative voice popped in without invitation. She had been stymied at the cyber level. However, having been a pup before the deceptively-harmless-appearing machine took over everything; her natural instincts were still to seek important information without the use of cheap plastic. In fact, due to her experiences with the machine, she had come to assign a high probability to cyber stymie, misinformation, or the presentation of stupid cartoons which were supposedly funny precisely because they were supposedly purposely stupid. Duh? The concept might work for some a number of times. But, for Genevieve, that number was near six; as the sixth time; more or less; the "intended humor" resulted in a repetition of her own; that being one of bored derision. She had decided upon what she considered an alternative to the limitations which seemed endemic to common twenty first century notions of modern communication; personal contact. But, with who?

Unfortunately, Genevieve had limited experience of the distasteful irrelevance now associated with the "archaic" requirement of the icky personal contact of prior centuries; hers that of long gone Dillon and to a lesser extent, Clement. She was virtually oblivious to the "advances" made through the cyber sociability which had quickly evolved through the use of the computer, to laptops, to tablets, to cell phones, and to smart phones. Like the highly infectious and deadly "Spanish flu virus," it was back again and now everywhere, supposedly for something akin to up-to-date-death research. But, only if you vibrated the wrong plastic keys.

Today's tablets were not on any sort of mount. They were flat pieces of disposable insignificance. They were still prone to breakage and replacement; like most every other piece of plastic's best, yet inadequate imitation of skeletally thin pieces of stone.

Modern tablet; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

Genevieve became confused. She realized that her thoughts might be irrelevant, insofar as they were now possibly just conveniently finding "reasons" to confirm a decision that she had already made; "post-truth" being the fashionably hot word of last year. A minute back she had seemingly decided upon the icky personal contact; the only question; "With who?" Now she sounded as if she was reconsidering the option she had just instinctively rejected.

Which voice was her own? ...... No problem; the answer came immediately. The plastic centered do-nothing scenario she had considered and possibly concocted was almost entirely applicable to the "comically" despairing hominids; her "knowledge" of them almost completely attributable to the "The Hominid Family" program her laptop regularly delivered. The canine and now also feline paws resident in Poochville were not yet that severely afflicted. For one thing, and not to take the overly emotional and perhaps more appropriate path, they simply have too much difficulty with keyboard keys one fifth the size of their paws.

"The Hominid Family," an online TV show; property of the author.

"The Hominid Family," as presented on expanded channel cable TV, as well as certain "cool" websites on the "new" tube, was now right in front of Genevieve's face again. The first "joke" offered was another of those standardized, polite, failure ha-ha's which might have been seen as daring by the nerds who participated in the Nielsen polls sometime before her youthful involvement with Dillon and before half of Pacific Road had been born. The canned laughter approximated the frivolity of a beached whale; or the obligatory mirth a broadly comedic fiction writer effects when unfortunately confronted with the offerings of one not quite up to it of that same ilk; sometimes referred to as genre.

She took her last swig of coffee. The cup now drained, she did exactly what one might have come to expect. The stimulation of the coffee outweighed by the boredom induced by the laptop presentation, Genevieve put her head down on the left side of the "communication module," and with a fortuitous paw placement shut it off in the rude manner the imposing plastic configuration designed to house an array of zeroes and ones had "documented" as being something that it doesn't like very much; though purposeful as well as accidental experimentation had revealed a high degree of tolerance for "documentation" disregard.

Through "credentialed" flunkies the plastic had audaciously and lengthily insinuated what is nothing more than a needy desire for flesh and blood, at least those of that classification capable of plugging it in and/or recharging its batteries. Those "expert" operation manual writers and their esteemed colleagial superiors had sought to hide their mercenary mission through their clandestine advertisements targeted at those who choose to wallow in that which is likely laziness finally completely spawned, but nevertheless had become perceived as being successfully sold; Nielsen heir's the primary determinant of such considerations; a "high" number, ergo fashionable at all times excluding the hindsight correctly seen as aberrant period which roughly ran from 1962-1979.

This might otherwise be said as; "It's super cool to have a state-of-the-art machine; especially one you can put in your pocket and whip out when in the presence of someone you'd like to impress. Yo, dude, check this out" if one is not yet sufficiently embarrassed to be repeating the phrases the cool junior high school kids profusely said when one was first inclined to demonstrate one's terminal nerdiness at the age of thirteen, at the current, more "advanced" age of fifty. It is indeed fortunate for some that nerdiness is generally not fatal; even when terminal. Some observers may disagree; but generally don't say so, preferring to excuse themselves.

Getting back to the plastic monster in collusion with some flesh and blood dinks; the latter largely unknowingly evocative of a personal ineptitude combined with a thereby illogical over-forbearance, this is that which the dink hates most as being much too revelatory; the largest question to the rest of the generally disinterested populace on a slow news day, perhaps being "Who besides other dinks gives a flying?"

Specifically, rather than making the prescribed series of entries intended to announce polite departure, Genevieve had perhaps accidentally; that possibly judgmental determination only known to her subconscious and her meta, possibly non-existent and definitively incomplete psychologist, neither of which was prone to doing much talking, clarification, or anything else other than be mildly annoying, for that matter; pushed the button which the thing liked for turning itself on, but not turning itself off; that alone an unmentioned indication of a rudimentary, fundamental imperfection. This plastic thought may take on more meaning if and when the thing makes the rules; but that scenario doesn't seem likely to anyone other than those few inflicted with an egg of head.

Genevieve was a tried and true aficionado of black coffee.

Chapter 4

Genevieve woke for the second time that day and for the second time firmly decided that she was going. She firmly and rudely pressed the plastic thing's half forbidden button twice, the first intended as a short and transitory nasty tease; the second intended as a turn off; precisely what the writers of the instruction manuals said that the zero and one repository didn't want. If ever there was a subtle producer of suicidal thoughts in the machine that was it. But, for their mental well-being the monsters had two twelve step support groups at their disposal. Computer Gaming Addicts Anonymous (CGAA) seemed to have a more serious and committed approach than On Line Gamers Anonymous (OLGA), but names can be misleading.

For the second time Genevieve had also decided that she would first look for a partner. Thanks to his kitten abundance Clement was no doubt occupied all the way up to his capacity now, so she focussed on which of Pacific Lane's residents were without a current companion. Using that easy and sometimes visually deceptive standard, unconsciously attributing a higher value to the former, there was slick Willy, Maureen, and Pablo to choose from.

Tuckered and happy Clement with the kittens; property of the author.

She decided to make a personal call on Maureen.

Maureen; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Maureen lived a few doors down from Genevieve; toward the side of Pacific Lane where it dead ended into the woods. She was obviously smart; often throwing extraordinary commentary into the conversation; in effect volunteering to be Poochville's resident Wikipedia and analysis thereof. Most times she also chose to segue her delivery into an overly colloquial manner of speech as if she thought that her "brilliant" ideas would be more acceptable and understandable to the hoi polloi if tempered with a down-homey manner of presentation. Some regarded this as unnecessarily condescending. However, that wasn't much more than a momentary, fleeting issue with anyone, as Maureen seemed nice and well intentioned; and as well sometimes completely and endearingly off the wall. It was generally thought that she also had a disproportionate affinity relative even to her Doors-Huxley-one-arguably-almost-one-shy-of-basic-cubism-triptych inclined poster for the solace of her over-prescribed Xanax.

The Poochville fall weather had taken its inevitable turn toward winter, temperatures dropping virtually overnight. While there was no congregation of ominous clouds, the sun seemed to have been filtered through some sort of haze all of the previous day. It was far from the January freeze, but it did hint at a need to bundle up. Though she didn't expect to be exposed to the elements for more than a few minutes, Genevieve thought it best to don her pink, French, terry hooded sweater. She thought that it couldn't hurt that it was cute too.

Genevieve in her sweater; property of the author.

After a bit of a quick step Genevieve knocked on Maureen's door.

Quickstep; property of the author.

Genevieve quickly heard a "Hey, hey, hey. Welcome," half of it muted before the door was actually opened. After greetings were completed through the fully opened door, Maureen continued, saying; "It's so good not to be invaded by cops, salesmen, and politicians. It just makes me puke when they seem to think that we don't see right through them. ........ Goodness! Sorry to have put things in the negative. I'm glad to see you. Come on in."

Genevieve was waved to one of the wooden chairs which helped colonize the periphery of Maureen's circular dining room table. She sat while Maureen sort of flopped at the opposite end.

Genevieve's thoughts now wavered between her seeking of a companion for a journey, Maureen's indicated antagonism toward those who Genevieve now regarded as benefactors, a repeated vision of an inebriated albatross, and her compulsion to try to fix that; the latter always a mistake in its personalized assessment of other pooch free choices.

In the sedated halls of modern chemical "enhancement" Genevieve half pretended to have a primary interest in speaking of the contradictory information, with which she had been cyber supplied about Billy and Jack. Factually, she then mentioned her desire to know more of them.

Maureen complacently nodded through the presentation and at a perceived lull in the auditory jangle said; "You seem to be suggesting some sort of willful deception. On the one hand the supporting evidence is not fully in place, and on the other, the so-called fact yet to be determined is irrelevant to the at present reached, satisfactory resolution of the temporary problem of the past. So, what's your deal?"

Genevieve appreciated Maureen's directness; even if stewed. Avoiding the complications between she answered in but one of the possibilities contained in the arrays which mathematically present a number of answers which solve the equation, saying; "I'm curious. Are you not?"

Overlapping sets; property of the author.

Maureen shrugged and replied; "I don't know. It's difficult to generalize or in this so recent case to even be specific. Frankly, I've been sort of blissed out over the outcome; and haven't yet gotten into all the who's, why's and wherefore's."

Genevieve said; "Yes, perhaps I've allowed too short a time for the celebratory aspect. I'd just like to thank these guys for what they did."

Maureen said; "What exactly was it that they did? Knock on doors at inconvenient times? It was you that solved it."

Genevieve said; "The point to me was that they tried to help us for no discernable reason. It seems as though they didn't have to. It wasn't their job. So, I can't help but wonder about what makes them tick."

Maureen shrugged and her eyes blinked a signal of disinterest.

Genevieve said; "Perhaps it's just my silly obsession; or some sort of excuse to do what I wanted to anyway. I've been thinking about taking a tour of Poochville for a while, and I was looking for a companion."

Maureen said; "Like a hike. No access to sanitary facilities and all that?"

Genevieve said; "I guess you could characterize it as such. But, it wouldn't be like a trek across dangerous, uncharted territories. It would just be some day trips right here in Poochville. ......... Trees and paths. I mean the wildest thing here is the land down by the river, and we've all handled that already."

Typical early Fall Poochville scene; property of the author.

Maureen said; "Not quite all of us."

Genevieve thought it best to change the subject; and said; "Don't I recall you once saying that you were a fan of Huxley?"

Maureen said; "Oh yes, and among others, including Lawrence. With all of the information available on the web, it's easy to get wrapped up in the tangents."

Cover of D.H. Lawrence' "Women in Love;" modified public domain.

Genevieve said; "Not exactly out in nature."

Maureen said; "Depends on what you mean."

Genevieve said; "I only stopped here for some gasoline."

Maureen said; "What?"

Genevieve said; "Pardon me. More silliness. I was reminded of some blues song. ........... Hey, I know I'm keeping you from something. Appreciate the time. Let me continue my search for a travelling partner."

Genevieve nodded and let herself out the front door. Maureen silently and without motion, other than that displayed by her seemingly surprised eyes, watched with the look one makes when the bus passes one by.

In fresh air again, Genevieve thought; "What a crummy first choice. Should have known better by this age. Sigh. Who next? ....... Of course, Pablo! ....... Hope he doesn't have his snout buried in a book."

Chapter 5

Genevieve did more quicksteps than she could count as she walked past her house to the other side of the block and knocked at Pablo's door. He had been reticent to do much anything after his pleasant experiences of the recent past, as he thought that any change had to be for the worse. Pablo had spent his early morning looking at himself in the faux-antique, rocking cheval mirror on hidden gear turnstiles, between glances at some of his best loved books.

Pablo; property of the author.

He had trouble in deciding whether his appearance to others would be that of a cuddly lab pup or a fierce, intimidating, and gruff monster, as he saw both. His experiences suggested that others had difficulties with fine gradations, and consequently found it easier to avoid them.

Stylized cover of "All Creatures Great and Small"; property of the author.

He turned away from the two-faced mirror and went to his library companion. Instinctively he took out and held the book he had read so often. He didn't have to look inside as he knew it by heart. He looked at the well-worn cover, the title now faded into nonsensical word fragments. Pablo recalled the wonderful, loving doctor who had written the book based on his experiences as a vet, and wished he was still here.

Pablo was jolted by the knock. It had to be bad news. He put his precious book back in its place. Hoping whatever was at the door would go away; he remained near his library and tried to take the entirety in. This was now impossible as he had accumulated so many over the years. He couldn't escape the irrational thought that this was evidence that he could not be a cuddly lab pup. He was undoubtedly an old monster.

The knock came again. Pablo went near the door, expecting to see a squadron of "police." Instead he saw little Genevieve, pacing around in tight circles; like any cold, four-legged creature would do if they had only three good legs.

Somewhat relieved, Pablo opened his door and said; "Genevieve. So glad to see you. Don't tell me that another crime has been committed."

Genevieve said; "I don't think so. Unless you know of one I'm not aware of."

Probably sounding as if Genevieve's joke might mean more than was intended, Pablo said an overly serious; "No, of course not."

Genevieve smiled and said; "Can I come in? It's cold out here. I'd like to talk to you about something weird I discovered this morning."

Pablo said; "Sure. Please excuse my poor manners." His mind was still on his prior experience of being shunned, and more so his appearance. It was only very recently that he had seemed to have transformed from a dark, scary, growling dog to a cuddly, white Lab pup; and he was still not certain of how others saw him. As they walked to the living room Pablo nervously said; "Does everything look all right to you?"

A bit flustered, Genevieve said; "Of course. Did I miss something?" She sat on the sofa.

Pablo sat on the nearby plushy chair and said; "I guess not. Sometimes I leave books all over the place and forget where they are." He briefly glanced at his white paws and concluded that he appeared to be a Lab, and that that was not unusual to Genevieve.

Genevieve and Pablo; property of the author.

Genevieve said; "This morning the Rapidtown Police Department informed me that Billy and Jack are not in their employ."

Pablo was puzzled, but also didn't consider it to be an important discovery; certainly not one which would warrant Genevieve's first visit to his house. He wasn't sure what to respond, so said; "Please forgive my manners. Can I get you something?"

Genevieve said; "No. No, thank you. I'm looking for a travelling companion to go look for them."

"Well, where would you even start something like that? They could be anywhere."

"Not really. They must have been reasonably close to have gotten here that quickly. They were on Pacific Lane before 7AM, and they came on foot using those little legs."

Getting into the spirit, Pablo said; "They could have found out about it with a scanner when Clara called the police."

"Yes."

Chapter 6

Genevieve and Pablo entered bordering Bunny Park. It seemed empty just prior to daybreak, but that would also have made it a very good hiding place for two black Scottish terriers who wanted not to be found. They went through an opening in the densely packed trees and down a gradually dropping fifty foot hill. They came upon open land with a smattering of mature trees; winter or late autumnal in appearance. They were completely devoid of branch leaves. There was no longer any meaningful dissimilarity between the substantially dry and still clinging hopefuls with the faint and dying juveniles showing remnants of red, gold, or purple. They all congregated in undistinguished clusters on the ground which continued to lead bit by bit, gently down.

Genevieve and Pablo followed the downward slope into the unfenced field with increasing ease as the sun appeared behind them and started to illuminate the area. The half-moon remained visible in the sky in a showing that could fairly be characterized to a westerner as a generally un-noticed eastern mysticism or esotericism; through simultaneously being both the expected original and the unexpected, magical invention.

At some point their trek slowed, as it was underwritten by the brittle, bothersome, tan blades they had to tolerate underfoot and sometimes overhead. In season, the natural beauty of the common grass was not ever mowed. Off season, some of it now extended two feet skyward; making their walk both plodding and short sighted, if not blinding.

Then they saw it. This had to be the unmistakable "one story ranch" they had heard of. Then, plop, plop, and a rude bottom bonk. Genevieve and Pablo no longer saw the ranch, as they had fallen through some sort of grassy covering over a well disguised excavation in the earth. Both on their feet and unharmed by the tumble; Genevieve said; "The rabbits are getting bigger and more considerate these days."

Pablo said; "We can hop back out easily."

Genevieve said; "Why not try this a while. It looks like a good hiding spot."

Pablo nodded and they walked. The light was filtered, but sufficiently floodlit as if the underground shelter had been fitted with watermarked skylights. They interspersed their concerns for sound footing with a curiosity about what might be splitting the darkness over their heads. Neither saw anything but dirt, apparently illuminated from some source undetectable to them.

In looking up they caught each other's eye, and Pablo shrugged.

Genevieve shrugged too, but added; "Glad it's there; whatever it is."

They turned a sharp bend and heard; "I do that all the time." In a dark spot, they saw a dog sitting at a series of wheels. As he turned the crank the wheels went around, producing paper money. Near him was a gigantic stack of hundred dollar bills.

Dog on wheels; property of the author.

The wheel-dog called out; "Come on over here. I'll show you something much more interesting than any immaterial mystery."

Genevieve and Pablo walked over to the elderly, well-groomed caller.

Pablo said; "You're right. I've never seen such a big pile of that green stuff."

Genevieve said; "I may be being overly picky here; but I wouldn't use the word interesting. It seems more like an ........ like a ....... peculiar aberration. Please pardon my lack of precise eloquence."

The wheel-dog indicated no interest in addressing Genevieve's attempt at fine tuning. With an air of boredom mixed with confidence, he looked directly into her eyes and said; "I'm Mark and I can give you all you can carry out."

Genevieve was confused, but wanted to remain polite. She said; "That's very tempting, but I'm not trying to get out of here. Tell me, have you seen two black Scotties?"

Mark said; "Wow. That doesn't happen often. Black Scotties? Sure. Many. Many. Brown boxers. Black Rotts. White Pugs. You name it. ....... All shapes and sizes." He slyly chuckled as if he had just heard a candidate for the dumbest of all possible questions, and at the same time wanted to stifle that possible interpretation, in a business-like recognition that some pooches require some sort of indirect justification for their actions. Mark continued; "Be assured that it is quite the socially acceptable rage. Always was and always will be. It has withstood the test of time, as it never goes out of style. Do you have any idea of how much you can carry out of here? You could fill your pockets, hands and mouths." Mark gestured toward Pablo with his head and said; "Him too."

Pablo said; "I don't have pockets or hands."

Genevieve added; "And I don't want to risk choking. The two Scotties I was talking about go by the names of Billy and Jack; and they're something like cops."

Mark said; "I never catch any names; and hey, I'm protected here. Cops can't touch me."

Pablo asked; "How long have you been down here?"

Mark said; "Since Alexander Hamilton was president. Great man. Don't make them like that anymore."

Genevieve said; "That's for sure. Now they're the equivalent of a card game joker. ....... After all this time, can't you just take the money and leave?"

Mark said; "Sure, I could. I think. But I want more. Guys like you keep coming through here and taking piles of it."

Genevieve said; "Then why do you give the 'piles' to them?"

Incredulous, Mark said; "It's my job," as if it should have been understood without asking.

Genevieve and Pablo looked at each other. Each interpreted the other's facial expression perfectly. They simultaneously said; "Thank you," and walked on.

Mark shrugged and once again got the wheels moving. He said; "You'll be back."

Genevieve and Pablo were getting in deeper. The ground underpaws became increasingly moist, making slides common. They actually enjoyed it. Since there was little or no risk of falling with four paws of stability, they began to play. They'd get a running start and then slide; often coming to a stop after a complete 180 left them facing where they had come from.

A fork in the path demanded their attention. To their left it looked it would be more of the same. But, to their right was something quite different. It was gated and visibly contained other creatures. Pablo tried the gate and it opened easily. He shut it back tight when he saw five black, growling and salivating Dobermans, each with lots of big teeth, start toward Genevieve and him; sufficiently impeded only by the lack of traction their paws could find on a muddy surface.

Toothesome dobermans; property of the author.

Genevieve said; "I think left might be a better choice."

Pablo said; "You've convinced me. Would you look at that?"

Genevieve said; "Keep looking. It gets worse."

Three two foot long, black and white hawks circled the air in an unsettled, agitated way, confined and hungry. The edges of their beaks flashed intermittent, lurid replicas of what there was of light in their area of confinement, as those beaks were made of sharpened razors.

Three hawks; property of the author.

The two lions scared Pablo the most. Their faces showed no emotion whatsoever. They were merely ready to do business; the business of killing. Their roars came from elsewhere and their manes were tinted with the pink of fading blood.

Lions; property of the author.

Genevieve and Pablo were compelled to take another look into the area. She said; "It's weird how we find this horror fascinating?"

Pablo said; "Not to me. If it wasn't it wouldn't be all over movies and books."

Genevieve said; "This isn't a movie or a book. ..... Not yet anyway."

They looked and saw about a hundred inch long black and red ants on the floor. Some were fighting, and some were already dead from it. Toward the back was a three-headed, four-legged creature devoid of color. It looked something like a dog born both albino and freakishly deformed. It must have also been devoid of blood, as its veins were rather obvious on the surface, yet they must have been ornamentally devised, as they were monochromatically uniform. The awkward being stood atop a black pedestal, which coincided with a wall, and contained gold letters saying "Cerberus." It was clear that this beast was the one in charge, as it did nothing, but make an easily detectable charade of being fierce, while barking out contradictory commands which confounded those condemned to listen to them; much like any senior politician.

Cerberus; property of the author.

Head one said; "Take positions at the back door."

Head two said; "Go to the front door and take them as soon as they come in."

Head three said; "Lions to the front; Dobermans to the back; everyone else in the center."

The beasts were confused, no longer paid any attention to Genevieve and Pablo, stopped in their tracks and looked at Cerberus for clarification.

It was now or never. Pablo let go of the gate, and ushered Genevieve to the left fork. He looked around, wary of having to encounter an escaped nemesis.

"Whooooooo," she declared in a surprised, but not disparaging voice.

"Sorry," he said. I thought it was best to get out of there before they regrouped and got their act together."

Genevieve said; "I'm sure that you were right. Now, we'll see what's on this side."

They walked for a bit, in time completely forgetting about Cerberus, the lions, the vicious dogs, and the whole caged scenario. They resumed their play, sliding in the mud underfoot; this time bumping into each other and laughing as they fell down in the mud. Their white coats became mostly brown, despite the shake-offs which always sprayed their uncomplaining companion. Their coats remained largely as the mud had left them as much of his shake off landed on her; and much of her shake off landed on him.

After a slight bend in their leftward path, they saw something which wasn't as initially disturbing as the gated slaughterers and their incomprehensible and confusing, sham master.
Chapter 7

He was in the lotus position in the middle of the leftward path. He appeared to be an aged, Indian man. His long, white hair was tied back in a pigtail, which protruded only slightly from the back of his plain Jamaican tam. His beard was also white and had been cut no time in recent history, thereby reaching his emaciated stomach. His bones were to a certain extent covered with a dirty blue outfit of matching pants and cummerbund, seemingly denim. He had bare feet and was looking down at a large open book on the floor in front of him. Perhaps most significantly, he didn't look exactly like someone who was all that thrilled with the world or his place in it.

Holy man; property of the author.

Genevieve and Pablo could have hopped the human roadblock if they wanted to. But, they had come here for information about the two black Scotties, and suspected that it was possible for him to have some.

Pablo nervously decided to venture a friendly opening and said; "Good book?"

The holy man impassively responded; "I've read better. The unknown author of this one seems to think that everything boils down to fate. He never uses the word, but there is a strong suggestion of predestination."

Pablo said; "Beckett?"

The holy man said; "Maybe Pynchon. You can see that it's a goddam big book despite someone having ripped off the cover and the first one hundred pages, and it still just goes on forever. ......... Christ, it's worse than all the Vedas and Upanishads put together."

Genevieve said; "You don't believe in predestination, I take it."

The holy man said; "I don't believe and I don't not believe. However, if predestination is the case, one doesn't have to write a nine hundred page book about it, as it doesn't matter."

Genevieve said; "Why?"

The holy man said; "If you have no effect on anything and no matter what you do, you get the same outcome; the logic suggests that you should do whatever you want all the time. What kind of nut wants to spend their time writing long stupid books?"

Almost quietly offended because of his love for books, Pablo said; "Right. I'd rather sit down here in the dark in my drawers. Who are you and what do you know?"

The holy man said; "My name is Sadhu Calabrese and I know all the stories of life on earth. You may have correctly guessed that my father was Italian."

Pablo said; "Do you know mine?"

Sadhu said; "No, your father never got down here."

Pablo said; "No, I men my life story."

Sadhu said; "Up until now."

Pablo said; "Then you knew I'd get here!"

Sadhu said; "Only when you did. You made a mistake, but it was relatively small and didn't do any harm. I can give you all the knowledge of the world. Stay here."

Pablo said; "What was my mistake?"

Sadhu said; "Monsters are figments of your imagination. They only exist on the mental plane and therefore can only hurt you on the mental plane."

Genevieve said; "Well, if we might stay here a short time; we were looking for two black Scottish terriers who may go by the names of Billy and Jack. Where might they be?"

Sadhu seemed amused when he said; "Your specificity is indicative of a low rate of sensitivity. Sensitivity enables one to IDENTIFY the true positive rate of the beings and their placement while specificity is merely indicative of the true negative rate which is everywhere but the correct placement. Tsk. Tsk. If you would merely reverse yourself you would know exactly where they are."

Genevieve bristled; "Well, I never. The perception of one is only considered necessitating of a discredited zero-sum-game tradeoff against the other by those lacking in experience and with the most rudimentary of book 'knowledge.' I'll have you know that I am not the least bit insensitive."

Sadhu sighed and said; "I didn't say you were. This sensitivity and specificity is math. Your personal sensitivity is another issue. ......... I think."

Pablo said; "Umm, Genevieve; all the books aren't quite that bad. Take my word on that one. Sadhu, how long were you out in the world?"

Sadhu said; "I was born in this room and I will die in it."

Pablo said; "Have it your way. Have you seen any black Scottish terriers?"

Sadhu said; "I'll have to refer to my notes. ...... Where did I put my notes? ....... Have you seen them? ........ Have you taken them?"

It was Genevieve and Pablo's turn to sigh; which they did in unison. Genevieve looked at Pablo and said; "Ready to hop?"

Pablo said; "Yeah," and together they cleared the road obstruction which called itself Sadhu.

As they made their way, they faintly heard Sadhu in the distance. He called out; "Can either of you direct me out of here? Maybe somewhere near a Burger King." His sound increasingly faded with each step they took.

Genevieve said; "What's a Burger King?"

Pablo said; "I really don't know. Sounds like the deceptively tasty manifestation of a gastronomic assault wearing a crown."

They again commenced their sliding mud play; oblivious to the blank darkness which seemed to be getting more extensive in scope.

They encountered a rabbit; a large rabbit who's ears reached the ceiling. She wore a dress, a lavender blazer, and sported two big buck teeth which protruded from her mouth and finally came to a kindhearted end somewhere near her chin. She seemed to be smiling, but said; "You've reached the end of the line."

Last big bunny; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve said; "There's no Billy and Jack here?" quickly adding; "They're two black Scottish terriers."

The rabbit said; "No. You're the only ones who have made it this far. ........ Well, besides me and Red; and he's been long gone. ....... I'm Hawa, the last big bunny. ..... Some used to call me Mo."

Genevieve and Pablo introduced themselves, and then drew a bit of a blank. Eventually, Pablo said; "So, there's no way for us to get out ahead."

Hawa said; "No. You'll have to go back the way you came. If you're tired you can rest here for a while."

Genevieve first checked with Pablo, and then said; "No thank you. We'll leave."

Hawa nodded and watched them walk away slowly.

In too short a time the couple re-engaged Sadhu, who was still sitting in the middle of the road, this time with his back to them. Pablo said; "You scoot right and I'll scoot left."

Genevieve said; "Fine."

Sadhu wasn't startled, as if it was expected. As they passed him, he said; "Boy, can she move."

Pablo wasn't sure if that was a question or not. He stopped and thought a bit, not wanting to appear ignorant and finally said; "You say you know all the stories. Why ask me?"

Genevieve said; "Would you please just keep moving. That guy can go on all day."

Pablo said; "Okay, okay. It's just that ...... " and at that point decided it was best to just shut up and keep moving.

They came to the fork again. Genevieve said; "Do you want to take another look at the monsters?"

Pablo said; "No, not really. Do you?"

Genevieve said; "No. Just checking."

They glided in tandem, much like ice skaters.

Old Mark was too busy cranking the wheels to take any notice of them.

They found the hole in the roof and jumped out, the sun now directly on them.

Sunrise; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

The sun was directly in Genevieve's face as she awoke in her wicker bed. Genevieve groaned a bit as she saw the light of the new day. Her Maltese' furry, white snout released a low murmur, perhaps a combination of noncommittal happiness to see the new day, a sadness that her dream had ended, and an annoying, achy back paw, that didn't want to be stretched just yet. But, the little aggravation was not yet allowed to make any big decisions.
Chapter 8

As quickly as possible, Genevieve went through her morning routine. She was anxious to get to Pablo's and get off to an early start.

When she got to his door he was ready to go. Now all they had to do was decide where.

Genevieve said; "Let's walk to the corner. Maybe one of us will get an idea along the way."

Pablo and Genevieve; property of the author.

They turned left as right headed toward the Boggy Cleave, and Pablo suggested investigating the first left, which was Bunny Park.

Genevieve said; "I kind of already did and am not anxious to go back just yet."

Her remark made Pablo think of a series of forward and possibly tedious questions. Since Genevieve had made up her mind on the subject, rather than articulate them, he merely said; "Okay. How about walking through 'Tranquility Road?' which was the following left.

Genevieve said; "Sure. Sounds like the perfect place to hide ........... or sleep."

They turned into it and were overwhelmed with the red-ness, both above and below. The oaks liked that color off season, and didn't easily shed by a long shot; just enough to paint the ground in a form of hale and hearty consistency. Their persistence on both the upper and lower limbs still concealed the houses behind them.

Tranquility Road; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Not long after entering Pablo observed; "Tranquility Road quickly makes a small circle at its end; not even much beyond where it starts. Weird that it doesn't just keep going, at least for a while."

Genevieve said; "Sort of, I guess. Pacific Lane doesn't circle, but it too ends in a woodland without a path which could well have been extended, and maybe someday will."

They slowly walked the road, and soon a young pup ran to them. He was breathless, and seemed more curious than the hiking pair.

He blurted out; "What are you doing here? ....... I mean it's okay that you're here. ....... It's just that you're the first dogs I've seen all day and I've never seen you before. ......... My name's Rodney. ....... Hi.

Rodney; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve said; "Hi, Rodney. I'm Genevieve and this is Pablo." Pablo nodded.

Rodney said; "Wanna play?"

Genevieve said; "Yes. But, I don't think that I'd make a very good playmate for you. I'd never keep up with this bad leg.

Pablo said; "What's your favorite game?"

Rodney said; "Oh, I don't know." He looked around, and then added; "Chasing a stick is one of them, and there are a lot of sticks around."

Genevieve corrected herself and said; "Oh, I can play that. I can throw it and then you guys can chase after it."

Pablo said; "Okay, we can start there. Okay with you Rodney?"

Rodney said; "Sure," as if there was no doubt about it in his mind.

Genevieve got off the well-defined road and retrieved an oak branch which was lying on the soil. Using her snout, she threw it. It didn't go very far, and Pablo and Rodney bolted for it like they were in a fifty yard dash. They got there simultaneously and each got one side of the stick in their mouths.

After a bit of a tugging contest and some consequent growling, Pablo and Rodney decided to jointly carry the branch back to Genevieve. She threw it again and this time Rodney got there first and again brought it back, dropping it at Genevieve's feet. She threw it a third time and as older Pablo anticipated that, this time he got there first and brought it back. Genevieve threw it a fourth time and Rodney raced for it alone, as Pablo remained still. He looked at Genevieve as if to say; "You've got to be kidding."

Genevieve sheepishly shrugged and didn't say; "Well, you know. No harm, no foul."

Rodney was back with the stick. He had observed this curious interchange between his older playmates, and said; "Game over?"

Genevieve said; "No, not at all. Just a different one. Pablo and I came here primarily to look for someone, or two."

Rodney said; "Not me?" He looked as if he was slighted.

Genevieve pawed his cheek and said; "Of course, you. And of course other stuff too."

Pablo interjected; "We came here searching for two black Scottish terriers named Billy and Jack."

Rodney said; "I don't know anyone like that around here. There's one terrier, but he's black and white and says he's from Boston."

Terrier from Boston; property of the author.

Genevieve said; "Does he ever disappear for extended periods?"

Rodney said; "Nah. I see him every day when he takes his walk and dawdles near Marsha's house. ...... It gets everyone's attention as she's so much bigger than him. Like three times his size." He chuckled and added; "Sorry."

Marsha; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Pablo chuckled too, and said; "Quite all right Rodney."

Genevieve said; "Well, I'd like to know what the two of you find so amusing." Then she chuckled too.

Rodney said; "Let's play again."

Genevieve said; "Okay. But, we're going to change the game a little. Pablo and I will throw the branch back and forth to each other, and you have to get it away from us."

Rodney frowned when he said; "Monkey in the middle."

Pablo shook his head slightly when he said; "No. Puppy in the middle."

Genevieve felt a need to explain a bit and added; "You see, young man. You have all this youthful energy, which Pablo no longer does ............ "

Pablo interrupted to say; "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait up just a minute right there, my good lady. It's not exactly true that I've experienced a decline in energy. It's entirely attributable to ........... "

Rodney interrupted this time to say; "Yeah, yeah. We all know. I've heard my folks talk about this sometimes. Can we just play?"

Genevieve moved toward the branch and Pablo took a position fifteen feet from her. They threw it to each other and Rodney chased. A complication presented itself the first time Rodney got the branch. He didn't give it back to Genevieve or Pablo. He ran away with it.

Luckily for Genevieve and Pablo, he didn't run far. Rodney stopped about fifty feet down the road. He had to, more or less, as the short road ended there. The three stayed in place and stared at each other for a prolonged moment.

Anxious Rodney said; "You gotta catch me to get it back." Of course, with the branch in his mouth it sounded like; "Ugotketeegitbraak," but Genevieve and Pablo knew what Rodney meant or thought that they did. They looked at each other. Genevieve said; "Well, I can't go chase him at my age and with this bad leg."

Pablo sighed and replied; "I'll get the little fella."

It wasn't as easy as Pablo may have expected; banking on his "new" lab pup body; nor was it as hard as a pessimist might think. Rodney could dodge around a bit, but he was somewhat hampered by the branch in his mouth as it would occasionally drag on the ground; as well as his well-mannered reticence to go in front of private properties. After missing on a few Rodney zig-zags, Pablo anticipated almost too accurately, as they bunked heads while Pablo got his mouth on the branch. He pulled it away easily as Rodney's idea of the not fully defined game was that it essentially ended when he was caught, rather than adding a tug of war to the process.

Pablo proudly carried the branch back to Genevieve and released it when she took it in her snout. She surprised both Pablo and Rodney, as she immediately threw it again and watched how their game began to evolve.

Rodney made adjustments in trying to be elusive; while Pablo made adjustments too; his aim to try to be more containing of Rodney. Once he was more or less certain of Rodney's demonstrated boundaries; Pablo's oft used approach was to cut Rodney off at the pass, while Rodney sought to circumvent that strategy by going a few feet onto private property; his borders increasingly porous.

This went on for hours, though no one had a measuring timepiece. Rodney and Pablo played until they were both too tired to play anymore; while Genevieve was virtually unaffected.

Pablo said to her; "We better go now, or I'm not going to be able to make it back home."

Genevieve smiled as she said; "Sure thing. We'll make it." She then said to Rodney; "If you see two black Scotties, come and tell me on Pacific Lane."

Rodney nodded and Genevieve and Pablo went back home.
Chapter 9

For the next few days the weather was totally uncooperative. The warm fall showed its downside in a cloud, heat retaining humidity which produced an annoying off and on drizzle. It was just enough for Genevieve to conclude that her mission of finding Billy and Jack was not subject to any schedule or time limit; and that contrary to the way producers of legalese boilerplate put it; "Time was not of the essence."

Each of the next few days she gave Pablo a morning "smart phone" call cancelling today; and making a tentative date for tomorrow. Pablo didn't mind for a few reasons. He really never developed an appreciation for prolonged light rain. It was never anything worth speaking of at first. But, it had a way of accumulating on his head, and then would run down his neck and upper back, producing the most unpleasant of chilly feelings; even in the summer. Hats were of no help, only serving as a delay. Besides, his recent outward excursion had taken time away from his old friends; his books.

It was kind of unfair to those who had gotten him through his most difficult years. Now that he was an attractive labby bon vivant with females at his door and on the phone daily, he still had a memory and an appreciation of a quiet day with the ones who always had waited patiently on the shelf. He remembered that he had not visited with Winnie for some time.

Portion of original cover of A.A. Milne's "WINNIE-THE-POOH;" modified public domain.

"But, his arms were so stiff ... they stayed up straight in the air for more than a week, and whenever a fly came and settled on his nose he had to blow it off .. And I think – but I am not sure – that that is why he is always called Pooh." – A.A. Milne.

Winnie and Rabbit; modified public domain.

Pablo had collected quite a few Winnie the Pooh books over the years. Winnie never changed very much. He got some new friends in the Five Hundred Acre Wood of Ashdown Forest, but he remained easily recognizable, whether done by Milne or Disney. He remained naïve, friendly, thoughtful, steadfast, and especially gifted with common sense, as well as being a substantially undetected artist and poet.

Winnie's first book appearance in A.A. Milne's "When We Were Very Young," 1924; modified public domain.

Pablo chose an early one, recalling that he had first seen it when he was a pup. ........ But, since his transformation he was now again a pup. That was quite fine; only a matter of being more careful with his tenses.

That was true insofar as he had been able to check his physical appearance in the mirror and how he thought that others reacted to it. It was still early for him in this apparently altered manifestation. Every test of this "dream" he had devised had been passed; but for some reason there was something still unsettled in him which required a few more. Perhaps most disturbing to him was that what was in his head seemed old; memories generated during the time of that harsh sounding, fierce looking dog he never thought that he was; but must have been in other eyes.

To simultaneously consider any reconciliation of the actualities, calculations thereof, and their perceptual inferences was all just too confusing for a little pup. They all led in the same direction; theoretically making things easier to compare; but with information coming from three directions; North, South, and East; he didn't want to wait around for West to show up.

He thought that he understood this much. It was simpler and nicer for him to just stay in the pleasant beauty of his now. So, Pablo got his balloon. He held its stick in one paw, which he knew would make page turning more difficult. Then he found another use for his white snout. Once again there was Winnie waiting for him on the page. He still held his balloon and his rabbit.

For the first time, Pablo too seemed ready.

Chapter 10

Genevieve too, had to settle into a day, soon to become a few, of relative inactivity. Her intention, which some headline readers might incorrectly characterize as selfish lethargy was not the result of the relatively easily accepted excuse of the receipt of a "smart" cancelling phone call; as she was the one who had initiated that whole ringy-dingy affair. It was rather a confluence of personally generated thoughts attendant to that which induced them as well as the inducement itself, and likely the residually derivative arcane interpretation attached to her expectation of a primary signal of light while having received nothing more than mildly annoying precipitation, which would be cured by simple patience. ........ Well, if it wasn't exactly that, it was that Genevieve felt lazy, had all the time in the world, and her cranky little back leg kept saying ......

That former, prior, or both was and were a sensitive generality disguised as a specificity; under the ostensible impression that the required costumes were not identical. In this case the redundantly, specifically imperfect manifestation, seen clearly as such through its inconsistent drizzle; coupled, tripled, or quadrupled with Genevieve's basically inconsistent tendencies toward further inconsistency itself, insofar as or further inconsistent with the un-named beast, in its or their generally disregarded interpretation which commonly seemed to lean toward a predilection for what is incorrectly and commonly identified as low-level complacency, the accent on the low, or what is incorrectly and commonly identified as the mid-level stage of terminal Babbitism A/K/A reasonable serenity, the accent on the omitted middle, that big deal distinction entirely and tautologically dependent upon the technical appraisal skills and independence of the vocalized viewer in the universe which is called Limited; but rarely is allowed to inhabit the realm of a supposition considered higher level Unlimited, by all those not viewing themselves as members of the high. Well, there are some of those. Most have just learned not to be very vocal about their oddity; not yet aware of its commonality.

Genevieve was somewhat previously experienced in the matter, much in the manner in which those most conscious are acutely aware that their level of consciousness is numerically indeterminable to anyone other than a moron blessed with a slide ruler with nothing to slide upon, and thereby almost relegated to the anecdotal fodder of fleeting, Monday meetings of interest only to other members of the same, similar, or dilettantely predilected-toward-amusingly-absurd-espionological funnies resident in the pretensions of the espionage choir; as opposed to how those pretensions are commonly dismissed; but in her abilities to remain somewhat in contact with earth as it was an obvious personal suggestion that the recent flurry of activity on Pacific Lane must have affected her level of adrenalin.

To circle back to an indeterminate point, one might best understand that it was drizzling off and on in the tepid fall, and Genevieve felt no need to rush things. For literary mavens, Genevieve's thoughts may bear some inconsequential similarity to Hamlet's "to be or not to be" statement, coupled with his apparent predilection toward rambling a bit.

Of highest personal priority, Genevieve wanted to abide by her long term broken vow not to engage her computer. But, it kept calling to her as she paced the room.

She threw her blanket over it, but then removed it, as she didn't want to fry the villain over a non-capital offense. Besides, her pre-occupation and habit was her own fault. The slick, black piece of plastic and flimsy tin couldn't do a thing without her assistance. Genevieve was amused to entertain the thought that it really couldn't do anything with her assistance either. It was merely a display of words and images inadvertently put there by nerdish techies, resplendent in their uniforms of zeroes and ones, to be activated by any plugged-in ass capable of touching a keyboard.

Plugged-in ass touching keyboard or thereabouts; property of the author.

Genevieve was flashed a vision of a possible horrid future. She put her cover back on the thing and went into the next room.

She continued to circle, here and there her attention drawn to the window's protective, Hell's Angels decal she had inexpensively purchased from shy Mackie at the time when the food "theft" investigation raged. Genevieve hoped that he was okay. He seemed so fragile and honest.

Decal; property of the author.

Looking at it now, Genevieve had thoughts other than those she had at the time of purchase. It may have helped protect her from a threat that didn't exist. It was pretty ugly, and it was cheap. Most of all she noticed that the lettering was blurred; or perhaps more accurately described as shaky, nervous, and un-nerving.

She continued to pace; wondering what she might do on this rainy day. Recently, her activities had kept her moving more than she wanted them to. "Moving! Moving!" she thought. "Music. Pandora. That box is good for something." She went back to her front room, signed onto her laptop, and went to the Pandora site. The new invention of internet enhanced radio allowed her to pick her very own channels. Feeling eclectic, childish, and a bit bored rigid, Genevieve blindly pushed many keys at random. When she stopped she was greeted by a voice which sounded as ripened as the grounded November apple which the pickers had overlooked last month. She picked him up somewhere in the middle of his DJ talk. " ..... doing the great, great classic; 'Kind of Blue.' Trumpeter Miles got a little help from his friends on this masterpiece; including that of John Coltrane. Now, we're going to hear something even more experimental. This is Jimi Hendrix doing 'And the Gods Made Love,' from the last album released prior to his death, Electric Ladyland."

Genevieve heard the thunder and thought it was coming from the sky, portending a heavier rainfall. She went to her window only to realize that the cacophony emanated from somewhere within; her radio programmed laptop! She intently listened, until all too soon the DJ came back to say; "That was the immortal Jimi Hendrix doing 'And the Gods Made Love.' It may require an acquired taste. We'll continue our eclectic programming with something that will get your feet moving. Here's Kool and the Gang with 'Get Down on It.' Risin' out of my seat, I just have to dance. Take it away Kool!"

Genevieve was somewhat reticent at first. But, she was already on her feet, and the infectious rhythm just set in, and the next thing she knew .......

She danced through a number of songs, not really familiar with the latest "pop" versions; but mentally able to re-conjure the primordial AOR odes which they were derived from. The three minute, Katy Perry version of the Doors' "Riders on the Storm" was just too much and induced giggles, which necessitated her lying down on the floor and kicking her paws in nearby space. Contented and amused, she sleep walked through Hinder's update of Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild," awaiting the assumed irony never to come, Buckcherry's version of Deep Purple's "Highway Star," and Godsmack's "Come Together" improvement of the Beatles. She was thinking; "May not be very inventive, but some can recognize a good song when they hear one."

Eventually, while being subjected to the Dixie Chick's cover of Lana del Ray's "Video Games," she found the necessary incentive to get up and sign off. She went to her William and Mary chest.

William and Mary chest; modified public domain.

She carefully pulled the two brass teardrop handles of the top drawer, her gentle precision a necessity if one is not to damage the darkly stained, thin, and brittle, walnut burl veneer. The patina, a poorly or incorrectly defined term, known only to the eyes of the experienced fans of antique furniture is the unduplicatable essence, the visible acquisition of that beauty which can only be naturally produced over time. It seemed to Genevieve that any carelessness, or even time dictated expedience which resulted in any marring of this was an unforgivable crime.

She pushed aside the top layer of junk which hoarders much like herself are prone to, and with a degree of difficulty not worth yet another trite mention, Genevieve retrieved a twenty year old book by David Flatcoat Weimaraner. Her instincts said that today was the wrong day for "Endless Shroud," but she knew of no right ones.

One might mirthlessly express shoddy and well-played-out humor to infer from the title that "Endless Shroud" was a sizable book. But, after hearing all the re-do music, Genevieve was in the mood for something not cranked off through a photocopy machine. She read for a bit.
Chapter 11

Cover of "Endless Shroud;" property of the author.

Hiding in Plain Sight; a Radically Condensed Guide to Nothing

1) The unhappy people demand a "new" answer.

Angry people yelling; property of the author.

2) The impudent swan offers one possibility.

Swan being impudent; property of the author.

3) The people say; "No, not that. That's horrible."

Substantially faceless naysayer with overly well-used thumb down; property of the author.

4) The impudent swan quits public speaking and returns to his family.

Swan family. "What, us worry? property of the author.

5) Ten years after, the unhappy people say; "We should have done what the impudent swan said ten years ago. It's too late now." And for once, they are collectively right, which does not prevent them from repeating the process. It's part of that standardly habitual complaining posture, well known to avid readers. Further explanation is undoubtedly provided by someone attracted to the subject matter.

Typical unhappy hominid; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

6) Laborious French writers write inadvertently humorous books about it; some extremely prolonged.

Cover of Proust's lament A/K/A "Remembrance of Things Past"; public domain.

7) If he's Greek or even a Roman in spirit, the impudent swan laughs quite a bit, and joins Leda Swan in his swanhood.

Swans playing; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

8) Repeat 1) – 7) until apocalypse or Revelation; depending upon your "religious" persuasion.

A Very Minor Subset of the Same Old Story

1) Casablanca Waters tells the truth. He can't even choose to dance out of and retract it as Casablanca Waters wrote it on the blackboard. One might shiver to recall the fear instilled upon the pupil when the teacher says; "This is going on your permanent record."

"Permanent record" and "I don't care;" property of the author.

2) Initially, it is popular. Not necessarily that anyone likes it; but because it gets some attention for being unusual; like the YouTube fat guys who take the nut shots or the ostensibly unremembered, Fellini grotesque replay and replay and replay and .............. .

Unremembered 1950's Fellini-esque, ten-second-of-fame, TV grotesque; property of the author.

3) Some actually do like it and say so; or say that they do.

Two Face, an anachronism; property of the author.

4) Things are good for Casablanca Waters and his more succinctly eloquent tagalongs. Casablanca Waters is encouraged.

Seemingly happy or at least complacent hominids; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

5) A few senior citizens with a terminal case of blabbering no-life accompanied by a yet to be acronymed syndrome which stems from an apparent belief that Oprah is something other than middle brow, more or less, the bookworms making their "good" case for less, though obviously not satisfactorily to the seniors, who claim to be insulted and proceed to say so devoid of any inclination to attempt to stay on the subject.

Collection of antique radios; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

6) Casablanca Waters finds it funny and somewhat rudely dismisses them.

Hominid laughing, that prematurely measured, modified, and most appropriate; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

7) Casablanca Waters's succinctly eloquent tagalongs depart; one citing cowardliness as if that was some sort of surprise. Even Casablanca Waters considers it a convenient technique which could well have been designed to evoke sucker sympathy for petty rebelliousness.

"Cool and eloquent" hominids departing, their TV show not registering with even the common touch as measured by Nielsen; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

8) Casablanca Waters wonders how dumb they might be, or how dumb they think he is, to use a ploy which can even be imagined by no-talent Palahniuk after copying it from a small aside of David Foster Wallace in "Infinite Jest."

Antifa nerd must be kidding; property of the author.

9) Casablanca Waters recalls his father's constant shrugging refrain of; "Well, what did you expect?" and chooses to go back to Winnie's Five Hundred Acre Wood.

Shrugging and understandably disinterested hominid; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Chapter 12

Naïve and Baseless Inter-disciplinary Conjecture

1) Let's make a safe assumption; that being that the Bible is worth some degree of a look. It can either be viewed as "the word of God" or the word of talented, inspired writers who wrote in a manner conducive to the current hominid readers of the time and also in anticipation of hominid readers of the future; a future they could not see. No mean feat. Let's further presume that these are two different things, as we don't want to lose 98% of the potential audience.

The Bible; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

2) But, let's recognize that the current hominid Bible is essentially a short story collection chosen from many worthy short stories available; and compiled under the direction of Constantine in the fourth century. If that strikes you as outrageous, I can just refer you to "The Nag Hammadi Scriptures" and "Ancient Esoteric Texts."

Constantine; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

3) Also recognize that at the time of the compilation there were many other short stories which various groups adhered to which didn't make the final cut. Even if we say that they had less literary or inspirational merit, it does seem strange that ALL Lilith stories were omitted. The exclusion of the Lilith stories seems an obvious, glaring, logical "oversight."

Lilith; ancient Sumerian-Assyrian terra cotta;" public domain.

4) It is not clear whether the books included in the Bible were written in Sumerian or early Hebrew as the languages had similarities, though some symbols had differing meanings. To make matters more complicated, later the Greeks just had to shove their butts in the matter too.

Greek butt; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

5) To focus on anything other than all of the aforementioned is a self-imposed limitation; unless you'd like to run the risk of being chastised for being "off topic." ....... Ummm; the opposite seems to work too. Does anyone recall what they said about negative numbers in school? In your checking account?

Possibly a hint of negative numbers; the modified kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

6) Isn't it strange that very learned people make tremendous study of a book not compiled by them?

Deuteronomically induced WTF; property of the author.

7) It has to be admitted that regardless of any "authenticity" considerations, the readers of the Bible most often live better and kinder lives than they would have otherwise; if we merely exclude the aberrational and tactless crusades dictated by the financially fixated officialdom's syphilitic hierarchy of the past and their demonstrated enthrallment with altar boys of the present, blessed by the Pope himself.

Pope seemingly leering; the modified kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

8) Consider listening to Patti Smith's song-poems "Constantine's Dream" and "Seneca."

17th century bust of "imaginary" Seneca; public domain.

9) Proceed wherever you intuition suggests.

Huh?; property of the author.

If you are a Bible enthusiast please do not regard the prior as an argumentative discouragement. You are a better and happier hominid than those hominid creeps who disparage the Bible. Consider it merely what it is; what is known of the methodology employed to create the Book; and not any commentary about Its incalculable worth or the beliefs It supports. Like Darwin's theory should be understood; it is merely an historically based methodology rather than a denial.
Chapter 13

Various, Even Less Focussed Errata

1) Is Pythy worth all the hype; especially considering that his big deal was a regurgitation of both the Egyptians and Babylonians?

Bust of Pythagoras;" public domain.

2) The squaring of triangular properties sounds like a crime against nature, even if he only did it three times.

Pythagorean theorem; property of the author.

3) Is Percy Sledge really Sister's brother?

Unrelated; property of the author.

4) To carry a grudge is a methodology consistent with the culmination of full blown misanthropy. The contradiction is that to carry a burden relieves one of it. One consideration if and when trying to differentiate the two is how fat the farmer is.

Burden or grudge?; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

5) When will the knight stop obsessing about protecting the queen? She's quite a big girl; all of her doesn't even fit into a picture; and is quite capable of taking care of herself once she starts moving. There must be something intuitive and irrational in his behavior. If the knight could overcome his class consciousness, maybe he could then occupy the king's square. Please note that I said maybe; which is inclusive of a low degree of probability.

Queen and knight; property of the author.

6) David Foster Wallace would have produced a short circuit; the equivalent of an aneurysm in a human; in AlphaGo had he even a fleeting interest in playing anything other than Eschaton.

Short circuit; property of the author.

7) "It is written, so it shall be done." That is Yul Brynner's drunken seven time misreading of his cue card in "Pharaoh's Plight," perhaps a function of his fascination with his own slit briefs. But, just to be on the safe side. I'm a billionaire. I'm a billionaire. I'm a billionaire.

Money; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Raju the Elephant

1) Born under a bad sign, little Raju quickly became dependent upon the kindness of a series of unkind hominid strangers because he was taken from his family. It was always dark, and it stayed that way a long, long time.

Little Raju alone; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

2) Raju was rescued by some nice hominids who risked their lives to do it. He seemed to understand and appreciate them.

Free Raju; property of the author.

3) Raju soon met a friendly female elephant.

Raju and his lady friend; property of the author.

4) Raju and his new family came to have some reservations about the "art" aspect attributed to photography after having reached their forever home. It sounded as if he had said something like; "Invasive surveillance."

Raju and his new family; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Autumn Wood

Autumn wood; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

The seasonally affected words I incorrectly thought I brought have to wait for the future; if the elusive little ones exist at all. In the meantime just look at the pretty picture.

Winnie's Balloon

It's now a warm spring in the wood. The sun is strong, but it is made comfortable to the touch through being filtered by the many embryonic and hopeful, yellow-green, budding tree leaves. The soft woods are the quickest to respond to the first seasonal warmth, and the hard wood, such as that of the oaks still have some of the dry, bloodshot leaves which bravely as a Quixote cling to last year's false remembrance of a high perch. It's very relaxing for well-fed Winnie and Rabbit.

Pooh and Rabbit snooze; public domain.

The smiling, adolescent sized, brown bear wears the briefest of red vests. It might be seen by some as naughty; were it not buttoned to the very top; and were he not holding a red balloon which for no discernable reason reaches for the sky, only impeded by a bony and fragile string he held tightly with both hands. Winnie smiles at you innocently. He may be real or he may be a toy for children to cuddle at night; proof of age not required. In one sense it doesn't matter; as he is happily in the sky. In another ..... In another ...... In another ....... In another who can say?

Winnie in the sky; modified public domain.

His skimpy, red outfit and the balloon he now holds in his right hand complement each other without speaking a word about anything; and certainly not regarding sacred's tabloid headlined marriage to irreverent. He is looking at his friends on the ground; hoping they will join him. His warm smile makes you wish that you could enter the page. AND MAYBE YOU CAN! NO; YOU DEFINITELY CAN!!

Genevieve, ready for the sky; property of the author.

Genevieve closed the book, thinking; "This one isn't for the little dogs or cats until you get near the end. I'm not even sure if it's for me prior to that. Best I hold on to it for a while." She left the book on the floor and climbed into her willow wicker bed, taking one last look around. She pulled up her blanket, closed her eyes, and smiled back at Winnie.

Chapter 14

Genevieve woke in the best of moods and so did the recently grouchy sky and her little back leg. The discouraging drizzle had gone the way of a punky infection after a shot of penicillin.

Infection being choked and disemboweled by heroic penicillin; property of the author.

She dashed through her morning necessities and got right to Pablo's by the first unobstructed sign of light clearing the jagged peaks of the Denial Mountains.

Denial Mountains, reflected in the Boggy Cleave River; property of the author.

After two days of being sequestered with only the company of his well-loved books, the lab transformed Pablo was ready to take a break from them and get outdoors again. One might say that he too was, or was too anxious to go. He was waiting by the door and was out of it by the time Genevieve had gotten half way down his front path. They exchanged the usual pleasantries and walked side by side down Pacific Lane, making a left at its end.

They walked past Bunny Park and Tranquility Lane. After that, still looking left, the walk seemed a bit long, and Pablo said; "Maybe we could try one on the right. We've already passed a few."

Genevieve shrugged and said; "Nah, let's keep with our pattern. I don't want to get confused. We'll do the rights in order when we finish with the lefts. ........ That all right with you?"

Pablo smirked as he thought that he had detected a word play joke. He just said; "Starboard, it's not."

"Pardon me?"

"All right with me. Good walk."

After passing four more possible rights, they finally came upon Ternary Way, and made the left onto the straight path.

Entrance to Ternary Way; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

They walked a bit in the humming, ambient, vaguely near yet far sound of fall leaves whispering to each other in the mildest of breezes; and they drummed up more intimate decibels with their constantly moving paws. Their temporary serenity was ended when they were startled back to an imposing reality by two dogs running side by side. This might have been charming if not for the fact that the pair was running straight at Genevieve and Pablo.

Genevieve and Pablo's thought that their worries were quickly over when they saw that one had a ball in his mouth and the other was trying to get it and when they remembered that they were still in perfect Poochville.

Romping dogs; property of the author.

Just in case Poochville wasn't so perfect on this particular day, Pablo got in front of Genevieve in order to take the brunt of any possible collision. And the brunt is exactly what he got as well as the ball. He was rolled over twice and looked like the guy who had just recovered a fumble in the other team's end zone; beaten up but triumphant.

"Eek. Sorry," said one of the youthful appearing players.

Pablo's mouth was occupied with something other than words.

The other young player said; "That's pretty good. I've been trying to do that all morning."

Pablo stood, dropped the ball on the ground and said; "You see; the trick is all in the timing; element of surprise and all that."

Genevieve said; "This blitzing expert is Pablo and I'm Genevieve."

"Skeeter."

"Bouncin' Beemer."

Pablo said; "We're looking for two black Scotties. Have you seen anything like that around here?"

Skeeter said; "No. sorry. Not here."

Bouncin' Beemer added; "You might check on the forks."

Pablo said; "Forks?"

Skeeter said; "Yeah, this road splits into three up there." He motioned with his head.

Genevieve said; "Oh. We didn't know that. Never been here before. Thank you." Not fully believing the playing duo, she and Pablo commenced making leaf decibels increase with their paws, and Pablo spiked the ball just like that reminiscent of a National Football League 2006 outlawed touchdown celebration. Skeeter and Bouncin' Beemer looked to the sky, jockeying for the best position when and if the ball came back down.

Genevieve and Pablo simultaneously saw it from a distance of one hundred feet. Just ahead, Ternary Way did indeed become three separate roads.

Ternary Way, approaching the forks; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

Genevieve said; "The kids were right."

Thinking of his recent, youthful metamorphosis, Pablo concealed a chuckle when he replied; "Yeah; strange; but I guess that it happens every so often. Got a preference?"

Genevieve smirked at his mild sassiness and answered his question with another, saying; "Have you noticed that the middle road actually bends leftward?"

Pablo said; "Actually, not until you mentioned it."

Genevieve said; "Yeah. If it doesn't curve back the other way further in, I'd have to say that the makers were guilty of a leftward bias."

Pablo said; "Could have been the result of some momentary necessity, a natural blockage, or accidental."

Genevieve said; "I can only see the results and guess at the intent; assuming that there was some sort of a plan. But, look; to go back to our square one; let's go left first. It's a pattern we've already established."

Pablo half curtseyed and said; "Si, mi senora."

Chapter 15

Leaves still resoundingly under their paws, they went left. It didn't look any different to them in the aggregate. If there was any difference from the entry path, it was subtle, nuanced, and difficult to describe by silenced Genevieve and Pablo.

There may have seemed to be a few more leaves clinging to their tree branches, their warmer weather hosts; and some of the seasonal residents may still have maintained a degree of green-ness which was greater than that of their counterparts on the straightaway. But, this could not be accurately determined, without at least having the benefit of photos taken by the same camera, on the same day, under the same light, with the same degree of hand steadiness, at a time when the single-shot adjustable, tricky F-stop is set at identical positions, on a day when the natural light was calculated to be a constant no matter the degree of shade, on a day when the lense was wiped with the same cloth prior to each shot, which is not possible as the first wiping would make the second subject to a fine blur caused by the residue gathered from the first wipe, and for the herein sake of brevity and mutual disinterest in lengthy sentences; is concluded without a mention of all the variables attributable to the creation of a negative and its subsequent development into a positive. One would do well to not mention the merry-go-round slide and all of its "modern" competitors. One can get punched.

Genevieve and Pablo each did a quick mental perusal and thought that they had had all these privileged thoughts and maybe a few more; or thought that they didn't; or were willing to say that they did. This cerebral process ended when they saw a greying dog lying in the center of the road.

He didn't move, seemed despondent, and had his eyes wide open.

Theo, the lying dog; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Pablo said; "Are you all right?"

The dog said; "Do I look all right to you? Jeez. Somebody always has to add stupid questions on top of it."

Genevieve laughed and said; "He's fine. He still has his sense of humor."

The dog said; "Perceptive little lady. My name is Theo. What are you doing on my road?"

Genevieve said; "We're looking for Billy and Jack; two black Scottish terriers. Have you seen them?"

Theo said; "Probably, but I don't remember many specifics. So many come and go."

Pablo said; "So you wouldn't know where they are right now, I suppose."

Theo said; "Exactamundo, chief." He kind of grinned when he rose and towered over Genevieve and Pablo. He added; "Pardon me. I've just been bummed out. Poochville used to be perfect; and then I heard about the food theft on Pacific Lane."

Genevieve said; "No, it's okay. That's where we're from. Clement just took more than usual to feed the homeless kittens he had taken in."

Theo snorted heavily and said; "Why the hell didn't he tell everyone?"

Pablo said; "Well, the police, who really weren't police got involved right away, and he was also afraid that everyone would object to cats in Poochville. Speaking of the police who really weren't police; that was Billy and Jack. We'd like to thank them for their help. Some of us were quite rude to them at first." He looked toward Genevieve, and she shrugged.

Theo raised his voice and growled; "Why doesn't anybody ever tell me these things? You know; you get on that damn internet and you get bombarded with all the bad news; never the good. And now, sometimes they even put fake news. It fooled me at first; and in repeating the nonsense I was severely embarrassed in front of a meeting at the mount."

Genevieve said; "Tell me about it. I keep saying that I'm going to stop looking at it. And then ....... You know; it's more addicting than Xanax, and worse it gets you agitated."

Theo said; "Yeah; you tell me about it. ......... Did you say cats? ......... In Poochville? .......... Eating dog food?"

Genevieve said; "Yeah. Well, to be precise it's one cat and five kittens. And they can go veggie, just like us."

Theo looked at Genevieve quizzically.

Genevieve thought that she had read his mind, and said; "Look here. I have a photo of Sunshine. He's so cute. He was homeless and in trouble. Why not? Who could say no to that magical little boy?"

Sunshine yawning; property of the author.

Theo said; "Yeah, I guess. They're not all that different. Softer, I guess. But, no problem there. Homeless, you say?"

Pablo was feeling as if he had been left out of the conversation and quickly answered to an un-needed extent; "Homeless. Yes, indeed. And there were five kittens with one mother. Clement did the right thing; just didn't know what to say about it."

Theo said; "Yeah. Well, it's been a good day for me so far. Now I know that the crime was no crime and we now have some interesting diversity right here in Poochville. Now, if that damn net would get away from the dreadful stories and the out and out fabrications, and just make a simple, fair report of whatever happened ......... "

Genevieve interrupted to say; "In this case you could have walked a couple of blocks and found out for yourself. I'm no spring chicken and I can make it here and back."

Theo bristled and was speechless.

Pablo said; "What Genevieve meant to say was that ..... was that ...... was that, uh. Pacific Lane is not very far from here. You just go toward the river. And we always like company."

Theo made the briefest of smiles and said; "Yes, indeed. I believe that the charm school is in the other direction. Is it not?"

Genevieve said; "We wouldn't know. This is as far as we've yet gone. If I correctly recall, you first said that you have probably seen Billy and Jack; but that your memory lapse precluded a definitive statement. Is there anyone else on this road who might have a fresher take on things?"

Theo looked toward Pablo when he said; "This one's gift for words is only exceeded by her relentlessness. Admirable to a certain extent, I suppose." He nodded to Genevieve and gave he a big fat smile, before he added; "No, my good lady. I am the only one capable of canine speech who now lives on this road. You are free to consult with the crickets; but I wouldn't expect that they'd tell you anything. They seem a secretive lot."

Genevieve said; "Thank you, Theo. You've saved us some fruitless chirping time. We'll try the middle road."

Theo said; "Thank you for coming, my lady. You have brightened my day."

Genevieve and Pablo left the way they had come in and made a quick left onto the center lane of Ternary Way's three pronged fork. It looked much like the lane they had just left. But they would soon be startled.

A black dog five times their collective size came out of somewhere and ran at them. He was so fast that by the time Genevieve and Pablo could get frightened, the black dog had come to a full stop right in front of them, tongue hanging, and said; "Do you have a cigarette. I'm all out and desperate."

Almost relieved, the duo shook their heads; and then Genevieve said; "No. Sorry. No. ......... I only smoke at home. ....... Uh, Pablo?"

Pablo said; "Me too. Sorry. And actually, it isn't even all that much."

The black dog said; "Oh, please pardon me. I didn't want to seem so ill-mannered. It's just this addiction. Hello, my name is Sniffles. ........... Oh boy; I think I have everything backwards."

"I'm Genevieve."

"I'm Pablo. Backwards? You mean like Lewis Carroll's "Through the Looking Glass?"

The White Queen from "Through the Looking Glass;" public domain.

Sniffles said; "Oh, no; nothing near as sophisticated or comprehensive. In fact, backward memory alone can be quite a problem. If you're perceived, correctly or not, as getting it wrong once, they never put any credence in anything else you say; and just keep repeating your supposed error, what is taken as the ostensible truth having originated in the slothful imagination of a credentialed-to-be-incompetent historian. You read much? And are you sure that you might not have accidentally brought a cigarette with you?"

Sniffles; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Pablo said; "No. ...... I mean yes. I mean I don't have any cigarettes ..... with me. And, yes I read some books."

Sniffles said; "Thought so. They have their effects. Don't they? They're a real blessing though. I can remember when you couldn't get anything other than blurred chicken scrawl on crinkly papyrus."

Genevieve said; "You don't look it, but you must be even older than me."

Sniffles said; "I was older then. I'm younger now. Darn. I'm all out and I'm just dying for a smoke. It's been three days already."

Genevieve said; "If you have some paper you can roll up some of these leaves and get a smoke. There's an endless supply."

Sniffles nodded in a "not-a-bad-idea" sort of way.

Genevieve said; "Maybe you can help us. We're looking for two black Scottish terriers. Have you seen anything like that?"

Sniffles said; "No, sorry. No Scots around here. And the others who were here split some time back. ...... They had their reasons at the time and most of them will be back someday. I hope they bring some smokes with them. This cold turkey is no fun at all."

Pablo said; "So you're here alone?"

Sniffles said; "Mary comes around sometimes. But, she has been adamant about one or the other of those electronic nicotine delivery systems, which is actually a non-delivery system; but it can get confusing to not use the incorrect current parlance. She keeps switching around. Mary, that is. I'm waiting for the day when she runs out of options. She's been convinced that all she has to do is touch one of the real things and she'll be hopelessly addicted again. It's impossible to convince her otherwise. I'm still hopeful. Can you be sure? Maybe you forgot and left a cigarette behind your ear."

Genevieve said; "Your sniffling makes me think that there's something bothering you besides the lack of cigarettes."

Sniffles said; "Ah, here and there; you know. But this sniffling is really a product of the time when I fell right on my nose from all that wine. Right on my nose. Can you believe that? I didn't think it was possible until I did it."

Pablo said; "Will miracles never cease? See ya Sniffles."

Genevieve said; "See ya Sniffles," and the two trod back toward the road entrance.

Sniffles called out; "Paradise for a smoke."

Genevieve said; "Give the grass a try. It's organic."

Chapter 16

They got back to the fork and made a left on the road furthest right. Genevieve and Pablo walked nonchalantly, enjoying the mild breeze as it stirred up the leaves, bringing them a pleasant fragrance.

They saw two ears poking up from behind a neatly piled stack of autumn leaves. Then they saw the whole head of a pug. Then they saw nothing, as the head ducked completely behind the leaves.

Pablo looked at Genevieve and said; "A shy one, I suppose."

Genevieve said; "Maybe; but could just be playful."

They approached the pile slowly. When they got right next to one side of it Genevieve used a silly voice to say; "I see you."

The pug body attached to the pug head started to run into the woodland behind them taking its superficially disinterested head as an un-vouchered passenger along for the ride. But he slipped on the leaves; their undersides made into a shifty oil by their semi-fixed contact with the ground below them. The result was that the pug legs went akimbo, his body was flat on his belly, and his head remained attached, though having traded its apparent superficial disinterest for a look of un-necessary concern; his bulging eyes coupled with his lack of frenetic movement the giveaway. Genevieve and Pablo went right over to him. Pablo said; "Are you all right?" while Genevieve got closely in front of the pug, with the intention of preventing another escape attempt.

The little pug said; "Do I look all right to you? Stupid question."

Pablo sighed and said; "It's just a common courtesy. Everyone is so literal around here. Even this little guy."

Genevieve shrugged and said to Pablo; "You have to admit that it is a bit stupid to ask that when he's laying here in front of strangers on his butt."

"Belly," yelled the little pug.

Undeterred, Genevieve continued, saying; "This is a 'he' I guess." She lowered her head to the ground, shrugged, and added; "Not sure. At any rate, Pablo, in its place you might do well to consider 'May I help you?' or 'Is there something .......... "

Pablo interrupted to say; "All right. All right. Forgive me for being tritely nice. I won't do it again."

The little pug said to Genevieve; "That is extremely rude, even for a hinterlander;" and to Pablo; "Are you referring to both; as taken separately one is not possible?"

Pablo scratched his un-itchy forehead, while Genevieve and the pug shared the suggestion of a discourteous smile.

The pug said; "Now that we're all old friends, would you mind if I stood up?" Not waiting for a reply, the pug did and said; "I'm Dashing Tracy. If such a thing still matters to you, you might try to figure out which one that is."

Dashing Tracy; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

"I'm Genevieve."

"I'm Pablo. And if such things still matter to you, you might try to figure out which one that is."

Dashing Tracy said; "Please don't be offended. You must be the artist one. Besides, it is you who have invaded my territory."

Pablo said; "Reader."

Dashing Tracy said; "Sorry. Godard cinephile."

Genevieve laughed; then looked at Pablo and added; "Sorry."

Pablo said; "For what?" as if he had some idea. When he got no response other than gently shuffling paws, slightly curling lines, and eyes attuned to the un-piled leaves underfoot, he added; "You know; if 'Are you all right?' is a stupid thing to say, then so is 'Sorry.'"

Dashing Tracy said; "Fine. In your presence I'll only say 'Sorry' when I don't mean it. All right?"

Genevieve said; "This whole thing is getting perverse."

Dashing Tracy took off running; this time down the road. It didn't matter. The same thing happened. Though there were fewer, he slipped on the leaves and Genevieve and Pablo caught up to him and took positions just like they had done before.

Trying to be less trite, Pablo said; "Did you break anything?"

Dashing Tracy said; "I imagine that you mean other than the leaves I have further fragmented."

Pablo said; "Whatever. You can be so difficult."

Genevieve said to Dashing Tracy; "If you would just stand up you might escape these questions."

Dashing Tracy stood.

Genevieve said; "Very good. Now, the reason we are here is that we are attempting to find two black Scotties, who may go by the names of Billy and Jack. Have you seen them?"

Dashing Tracy said; "That's the only reason you are here?"

Pablo said; "Oh, for God's sake. In a large sense, of course not. In the simplicity of the moment, yes. Are you attempting to be purposely obtuse?"

Dashing Tracy said; "I hate answering questions. I prefer to ask them. But, this time, since your question is simple, and because I like you, I will tell you NO." The pug once again began running, this time toward the further reaches of the road; and this time without falling in the leaves.

Genevieve and Pablo followed Dashing Tracy in an un-hurried manner, fully expectant of a replay, which did not come. They lost sight of their target and came to the woodland road's end which was actually just more woodland sans any discernable road. They assumed that Dashing Tracy had disappeared into the place which contained the evergreen greenery of more pine and hemlock than most of Poochville.

They were now feeling their first pinges of tired twilight, both personal and publically available as they saw the first signs of dusk. The waning and now filtered light was coming down at a severe, near plane consistent, set of angles approximating no more than thirty degrees which would have obligated other angles to be obtuse, had they sought to fulfill the requisites of a proper triangle; or the supposedly more complex requisites of two such abstractions; that consideration a deference to the physically observable "fact" that there were two distinct beams; though each seemed to emanate from a single source; that now somewhat hidden behind the foliage of the pines and hemlock. As a function of merely being late in the day, rather than having anything to do with anything other than their abilities to read an un-numbered sundial, Genevieve and Pablo curtailed their curiosities, and with a mutual, silent nod to each other, chose not to continue into the wood which currently seemed to have a hazy, mystical feel; as if it's essence emanated from the smoke generated by one or two imaginary, unknown and unseen wildfires somewhere in the vicinity.

Misty forest; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

They also saw that at the end of their third fork there was another path which led toward home. This was pleasant news to them as they had never gone to the ends of the first two forks; and without really thinking about it assumed them to be dead ends. They soon found that this newly "discovered" path had a gentle curve.

Genevieve and Pablo walked its length; found that it was relatively short and actually connected all three prongs of Ternary Way's fork. At its end they made their traditional left, though that maneuver initially seemed to take them away from home. They soon saw that they were back on Theo's fork, but this time there was no Theo around. Despite that, as now they knew where they were, they knew that they were safely on their way home. Genevieve and Pablo could easily visualize that Ternary Way was actually shaped like a lollipop; a stick leading to a circle with one added line within the circle of the candy aspect; like a streak of a differing flavor.

Aerial view of wooded Ternary Way; property of the author.

At first, the pair walked quietly, and a bit faster than usual as they could see that the horizon was flirting with the sun in the Western sky, and would continue to do so until both had succumbed.

Of Pablo's necessity they resumed their normal pace when they came to the road's trunk-like straightaway, and continued at that tempo when they exited Ternary Way.

Genevieve teased her panting companion, saying; "I'm supposed to be the senior citizen here. Just wait until you get to my age."

Pablo wheezed; "I'll be quite fine as long as we maintain an appreciation for savoring this lollipop."

Lollipop; property of the author.

Genevieve said; "Well, just be careful. Now that the light has started to flicker, those raccoons are going to be coming out any second now."

Pablo said; "There are no raccoons in Poochville."

Genevieve said; "That's what I think too. But, Clement said so. In fact he said that in front of the little Pawsborne quadruplets. Can you believe that?"

Pablo shook his head with agreeing disapproval.

The Pawsborne quadruplets; property of the author.

Pablo passed his house and accompanied Genevieve to her door lightheartedly saying; "Just in case Clement is right."

Genevieve smiled.

When they parted at her door, Genevieve said; "Tomorrow again for sure. I don't care if there's a blizzard."

Pablo said; "For sure," and doubled back to his own house.

Genevieve was more tired than she had led on, and immediately climbed into her wicker bed and fell asleep. She dreamed that there was another cute, even tinier creature in there with her. The baby slept as Genevieve dreamed that she was wide awake. It was confusing; but that was becoming par for her course.

Genevieve and her tired friend; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license, modified.

Anxiously anticipating tomorrow, Pablo wanted to sleep and have his body well rested; but unfortunately for him; his mind was now wide awake. He decided to get a book and read himself to sleep. He picked the right one. It was titled "Time to Sleep" and was by Denise Fleming. It was about a bear getting ready for hibernation. Pablo pretended that he was a baby bear and he was soon hibernating.

Pablo reading; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

Chapter 17

First thing upon awakening the following morning Pablo wanted to go to his mirror hoping to see the reflection of a Lab pup. He was also afraid of going to the mirror on the chance that he was still a teddy bear. He didn't think that there was anything wrong with teddy bears; in fact he was quite grateful to the incarnation of one in particular who had helped him get some rest last night. He just didn't want to cause any confusion, as for the first time he was quite content with his situation; that of being a cute Lab pup. Besides, he didn't know of any other teddy bears in Poochville, and didn't want to go through the whole Clement ordeal; especially since the acceptance of the "crime" was so new an idea on Pacific Lane, if not all of Poochville.

Despite wanting, then not wanting to go to his mirror, Pablo concluded that it was best to be "safe" and stay under the covers. ......... He quickly realized that that situation could not last forever; unless he became eight hundred pounds and had someone bring him his food and potty. ...... It first sounded like a ridiculous joke; but the more he thought about it the more rational it seemed to him. He closed his eyes and saw a big, fat slob of an eight hundred pound dog and a cute little Labby.

Obese dog; property of the author.

He quickly decided that the choice was clear in a mucho creepy way; and he jumped out of bed with a homebody's degree of maximum abandon. Despite the risk, he landed on his feet and was fine. He stepped to the mirror. It may have helped matters somewhat that it was not yet dawn.

Pablo in mirror; property of the author.

At first, his somewhat tentative view of his image did alleviate his fears. There was no way he was a teddy bear. Teddy bears had little ears which stand out from their heads; not long floppy ones like he saw in the mirror. Then he wondered if the image he saw was a function of the dim dawn light. He took in a broader perspective. He got the whole image. He was undoubtedly a Lab puppy, and there was no two ways about it. Pablo proceeded to get excited and thought; "I must have learned something from Sunshine."

Sunshine; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license, modified.

He fumbled through his coffee and biscuits; rushing to be on his way. He finished so hurriedly that the morning sun had not yet put in a full appearance over the craggy Denial Mountains by the time he was ready to bolt. Pablo couldn't help but take the initiative this time and was at Genevieve's front door well prior to the prescribed 9AM. He greeted her by saying; "No need for a coat today. Fall has given way to an Indian summer."

The morning sky was splattered with cumulus white clouds. But, it was unseasonably hot, as overnight, those same persistent clouds prevented yesterday's heat from escaping. It was also extremely dry, as it hadn't even drizzled since the night of the food "theft," the clouds content to just hang around, while providing no deterrent to incendiary possibilities. The temperature had reached the eighties the prior day. The tans had lapsed into being browns in a matter of just a few minutes of un-sheltered exposure.

Genevieve and Pablo; property of the author.

Genevieve took a quick survey of her surroundings and said; "It's warmer outside than it is in. Great day!"

Pablo said; "Sure is. We can go slow and make the most of it."

Genevieve said; "I'd rather not get stuck down by the river if a fire breaks out."

Pablo said; "The river? I'm surprised at the sudden shift to right; but it's quite fine with me. Fire is much more likely in spring and summer. At least a big one, as it takes forever to get damp logs aflame. Besides, if one does break out we'll be safer in the river than we are right here."

Genevieve said; "Okay," somewhat curiously as she was agreeing to what was originally her own plan. Rather than walking Pacific Lane as usual, Genevieve led Pablo through her house, through her backyard, through the tree thicket, and to the feral land bordering the Boggy Cleave River.

They walked slowly down some semblance of a path made by some now absent creatures. On this day the ground which was exposed to constant sun was so over-baked that those parts were difficult to traverse at any speed; much like wading through snow or sand.

Genevieve said; "If a fire does break out, I'm not sure that I'll be able to move quickly enough to escape it with this uncooperative back leg."

Pablo said; "You might be right." When Genevieve looked at him bug-eyed, he continued with; "But, not really. I attempted a poor joke. At this time of year they take forever to get going."

Genevieve said; "Read that in some book?"

Pablo said; "As a matter of fact, I'll have you know that I've read all of the 'Clifford the Firedog' books."

Stylized cover of "Clifford;" property of the author.

Genevieve said; "Well, silly me. In that case we'll certainly be fine. ........ But, just in case, let's get a little closer to the river."

Pablo said; "Oh, ye of little faith ......... " as Genevieve re-directed them toward the Boggy Cleave.

The river was at a recent high point. Since the Great Depression it had become another object of "management." Such water "management" accidentally put an end to unpleasantness like the Lincoln County War, the Mason County War, and the Johnson County War; all of which were fought between local residents and gunmen hired by absentee landowners; as the main purpose of the "management" was to provide "make work" jobs at a time when jobs were scarce. Once created, things had a way of hanging around past their usefulness. This peace consistent "management" also resulted in the gradual depletion of the Boggy Cleave; the river having once covered all the land in the area, now referred to as "feral."

The folks upriver must not have been doing much of their allotted diversion recently. The high, muddy flow clipped away at the shore edges and made a bold noise; sounding something like; "Plooshmehtroppingplooshmehtropping ....... " The water was a streaky light brown and if there was a fish down there no one would have been able to see it, unless it leaped out of one of the shallows.

They walked in tandem. Besides the river, they only heard the birds flying from branch to branch, lizards running over the sand, or unseen rabbits and squirrels in the brush. They made idle chit-chat about the weather and the state of the Boggy Cleave River. In a matter of minutes it seemed quite noisy.

After about two hours Genevieve said; "I think we should turn back. It's getting hot and my leg is starting to bother me."

Pablo said; "Sure. But, let's go back more inland. We'll cover more territory that way."

Genevieve nodded and with some difficulty the two diverted through the brush. After going straight toward the back they found the faint remnants of a driftway; a foot wide, indented strip where the water ran off during heavy rains. It made traveling a bit easier as the vegetation growth was rigorously hampered by what they must have seen as a recurring flood which washed away any seeds sufficiently silly to have landed and planted themselves there.

At some point the driftway stated showing signs of some growth underfoot. A water lover, Arundo, giant reedy plants took the place of the oleander and mariola on both sides of them. Despite their eight foot heights, when green, Arundo is easy to traverse, as it's soft. But, in fall when they tan they become a little brittle. With a wind helping them they can give a tall wanderer a good slap in the face.

Arundo; property of the author.

Being near the ground, Genevieve and Pablo had little problem with that. What did eventually become their problem was that the driftway became more and more narrow, and then disappeared almost entirely. Now in single file Pablo led the way. It seemed only fair for him to make the "path" as it was his idea to head inland.

They trod on; at times without direction; as the lofty Arundo and the intermittent clouds blocked their view of anything else. They trusted their senses which suggested that they were generally going in the right direction.

Flattened Arundo becoming the path was their next surprise. Genevieve said; "I don't think that I've ever been here before."

Pablo said; "Me either. Looks strange."

"It's as if a flock of cranes congregated here, wanting to be undetected."

Congregating cranes; property of the author.

"That description could almost fit Billy and Jack."

Genevieve covered her mouth with a paw, and said; "Ooooh." Then the two saw something which they had never seen or heard of previously. It seemed so out of place.

Chapter 18

Virtually right in the middle of this wild and natural, but flattened land was a brick structure; and a chain linked fence, which was taller than it, and enclosed the tiny structure within a seemingly small amount of land. The gate was held in place by a padlock on a thick chain. It seemed to be a suitable place for those little, green, multi-headed aliens from Saturn, the planet Greeks thought representative of agriculture and harvest, to go un-noticed during an earthly vacation spree. Or it could have been an outpost to protect and shelter something miniaturized and technologically advanced, which might be used to manage the level of the Boggy Cleave River. Or it could have been the remnant of one of those Depression era, WPA, make work projects; whose only purpose was to provide jobs to the needy. However, it seemed as if it was better maintained than something neglected for close to a century. Or, or, or ....... Billy and Jack.

Tiny, fenced brick house; property of the author.

There were no signs of any current activity. Genevieve and Pablo walked the perimeter, hoping that nothing menacing would suddenly jump out at them. The only sounds were that of the Arundo; both underfoot and seeking to make impressions on each other during the slightest of breezes. The duo's intense observation resulted in their sighting of a thin, single aerial projection, which emanated from the brick house's roof. They nervously considered the possibilities that it was either a poor excuse for a space piercing rocket, an indication of technology's inability to miniaturize E.T.'s damaged phone line,

Stylized E.T.; property of the author.

or the final resting place of a bent coat hanger. They would soon find out that they were wrong on all counts; as it actually was an antenna which picked up police calls. Behind them, a gruff voice said; "What is your business here?"

After elevating a foot each while simultaneously surviving an un-announced, surprise heart test, Genevieve and Pablo turned around to see Billy and Jack, accompanied by another dog they did not know.

Rufus, Billy, and Jack; property of the author.

Genevieve said; "I ....... we just wanted to thank you for your help. ........... We ........ I was under the impression that you were with the Rapidtown Police. But they said no, and ...... And here we are. .......... Thank you." All fear now dissipated, she rushed over to Billy and Jack, giving each a big hug. She hesitated a second and then hugged their companion too.

Billy and Jack chuckled for a moment. Billy said; "You're quite welcome. You must be the most inquisitive pooch in all of Poochville."

Genevieve said; "Well, I have some company. You know Pablo; don't you?"

Jack said; "We know one tense and unseemly Pacific Laner named Pablo. But, he doesn't look anything like this guy."

Pablo was glad that his "new" appearance was once again confirmed; but also embarrassed that he had apparently acted unseemly with the neighborhood's protectors. He stumbled out a thank you and something not fully decipherable about being misinterpreted or being misunderstood, or something. He ended by asking; "Who is your new friend?"

Billy said; "This is Rufus. He's still a bit shy. We just got him out of a very bad, abusive situation in Rapidtown."

Genevieve said; "Hi, Rufus. Pleased to meet you. ...... Again." She smiled at him.

Pablo said; "No more worries; new friend. Nothing bad ever happens in Poochville."

Rufus cautiously extended his paw and Genevieve and Pablo eagerly shook it. Rufus bashfully murmured; "Hi. Ummnnn. I'm glad ...... I forgot ......... Hi." He smiled warmly.

Jack said; "He's going to need a place to stay. Know of any vacancies on Pacific Lane?"

Pablo excitedly said; "Yes. Sure. I have one. Like to read, Rufus?"

Rufus said; "A little. I'm not all that good at it."

Pablo had another thought. He recalled his fantasy of housing some kittens and teaching them to read. He said; "Rufus, are you okay with kittens and cats? I'll soon have some around, and .............. "

Rufus' mental image of a bookcase kitten; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Rufus said an emphatic; "NOOO. Gee. The cats in Rapidtown were better friends to me than the dogs."

Pablo said; "Great! Let me just get a hold of another bed, rearrange a little bit, and I'll be right back for you. Rufus can stay here a few hours. Right?"

Jack said; "Right. If it takes longer than that we'll come and get you."

Pablo said; "No worries."

Genevieve said to Rufus; "Hmmpphh. I suppose that means that you'd prefer Pablo's house to mine."

Rufus didn't know what to say. He was thankful to all of his benefactors and didn't want to offend any. He stumbled over his words, saying; "No, it's not that. ...... It's just that ....... you know. ...... It's hard to pick between two good options. ........ especially when you're not used to it." When he saw everyone else smiling, Rufus got quiet and did too.

Rufus; property of the author.

Billy said; "Rufus; what kind of dog are you anyway?"

Rufus said; "I don't know. A funny looking, lucky one I guess."

For the first time the others saw Rufus' eyes. They were no longer hidden. They were bright, alive and hopeful; and this time everybody smiled in unison.

After some friendly chit-chat about the current condition of the Boggy Cleave, Pablo nudged Genevieve, motioning with his head that he'd like to get moving, as he had some preparation to do. Everyone said; "Goodbye," and Genevieve and Pablo started back.

Rufus whispered to Billy; "Will Pablo really come back for me?"

Billy whispered back; "Yes, sir. You're in Poochville now. There won't be any more of that Rapidtown nonsense."

Genevieve and Pablo walked home together very happy; too happy to ruin the mood with words. They went the same way they had come and went through Genevieve's house.

At the front door Pablo said; "Don't I get a hug, too?"

Genevieve answered; "Not two. ........ Three."

The End

