

Genevieve and Her First Fuss

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-

Oh, the sun was in their eyes.

And the desert that's dry.

In a country town.

Where the map was found.

Oh, the dancing and the singing.

Oh, the music when they played.

Oh, the fire that they saw there.

On the grave of no return.

Sometimes they found it.

Sometimes they kept it.

Often lost it on the way.

Pawnee shadow to possess them.

Sometimes ride inside of day.

-Mountain-

Contents

### 1- Genevieve Rises and Reads the News

Genevieve groaned just a little bit as she got her first vision of the new day thanks to the morning light streaming through her eastern window; the one without any blinds or curtains. Her Maltese' furry, white snout released a murmur so low, the sound could not have been heard by anyone, even had they been in an adjoining room. As a matter of fact, there weren't any in such a place, but even if there were .......

Those thin and wispy, cirrus, white, and lazy clouds had again congregated into their segregated Western quarantine; mixing only with the departing yellow. Having no eyes this was not seen as such by the little liquid droplets. Neither was this point of non-view mentioned by the periodically loud, and one-eyed, richer and dark, loud mouthed varieties. Nor did the details matter to Genevieve. To her it just meant another waking sunrise.

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

Such respect for downy attendance duty occurred most every daybreak. It practically had to be that way. The result was that it became a chronic custom for the ill-mannered, insistent, and marginally spontaneous sunrays to fill all of Genevieve's room. That is except for that little corner cranny where she kept the light sensitive paraphernalia which kept her computer more or less functional. It was her four thousand, one hundred and twenty third sun; but nobody was counting.

The previous night's drizzle had ended sometime while Genevieve had slept. The eastern window she had left just a bit open had allowed in the water augmented, genial scent of the sprinkled fall boundary between summer and winter. The pleasant, musky fragrance of the still un-frozen earth mixed with that of the hardiest leaves. Those which still held on to their branches, despite the freezing night winds, remained in their warm weather, lofty perches. Genevieve's bedroom was saturated by the start of another day on Pacific Lane.

Genevieve stretched out all four of her furry, white paws; even the one in the back which preferred being left alone. She groaned again; just a bit louder this time. That attention seeking paw had been making a big deal of little things ever since it twisted ever so slightly while stumbling into that hidden rabbit hole two years ago.

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

But, of more significance than the whimper caused by a cranky back paw, to Genevieve it was a new day. As she had come to expect, the light remained persistent. At 7AM it was still filtered through the remainders of the colored autumn leaves not yet taken by the seasonal wind; but from experience Genevieve knew that this was only the beginning.

And now after having been stretched a bit, even her naggy little hind leg was grudgingly ready to go. Genevieve rolled out of her wickered willow doggy bed and she said "Ouch" out loud. A partially extended, broken strand had stuck her in the belly, leaving a red mark. "One of these days I'm going to fix that," she thought. Genevieve once again forgot that thought as soon as she was firmly on her feet and the little red line once again blended and faded into relative unimportance.

Genevieve did look behind for all of one second. When she saw no trail of blood, the view of her nearby coffee machine popped into her mind. She entered the kitchen and got it started. She stared out the window while the machine's percolation resounded like the relentless beat of one of Trinidad's steel drum bands graced with a fine-tuned pitch disturbing the early morning quiet.

Showing one more flaw in her time worn vow not to do so; Genevieve was compelled to turn on her laptop. She navigated to her local news show, and was shocked to find that a crime had been committed right here in her well-loved Poochville. She again recalled that breaking her vows never led to anything good. This was no small event, as it was Genevieve's first encounter, even remote, with unpleasantness, and she was not exactly a newborn. Her initial thoughts were that it had to have been some kind of a mistake or that she had accidentally accessed one of the net's disguised fake news sites.

Genevieve had spent her entire life in this town and had never, even via the mistake of an occasional unfounded rumor, had to be subjected to any such doings in reality. Worse, when she brought the full story up on her screen, the incident was not only happening in Poochville; it was happening right where she lived on Pacific Lane. The top of the screen said; "NEWS BREAKING RIGHT NOW," which was accompanied by an archived summer green photo of Pacific Lane and a "concerned" voice over which said; "There have been reports that there has been a crime committed on Pacific Lane in Poochville. We are not yet certain of the circumstances, but will be covering the event for you as of right now." Genevieve looked out her window and saw a commotion just two doors away at the very moment. She thought that she might just "cover the event" for herself.

"Oh my; what could have happened here?" she thought as she rushed to fill her cup. Genevieve carried it as best she could in her snout. She pushed herself through the unlocked and hinged front door, and wolfed down the contents only spilling a little on the worn dirt walkway.

She got to the paved sidewalk; dropped her now empty cup and immediately saw the hubbub. Block residents whom she knew were milling about while two strangers were standing still, holding onto papers. The outsiders seemed to be in charge; as in addition to holding on to their important papers and appearing stern, they weren't dancing around at all. Genevieve would soon find that the official strangers were called Billy and Jack, though it was extremely difficult for those not familiar with badges and body language to tell the two Scottish Terriers apart.

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

They confidently stared, asked questions, and typed into their smart phones. This was serious business, indeed. But if anyone saw what their finger lacking paws were typing they would have wondered what "nedgt uiikdff hbedeg8 y0t7dhb jguty yufhb" meant; probably concluding that it was some secret code.

"So, who else might have seen anything?" barked Billy.

The street residents who were now standing still and just shuffling their many feet in the front yard were quiet. They cautiously looked around to see if anyone else was going to offer any information.

One problem they all had in coming up with something to say was that the house was a high traffic area. People from the area went there regularly to leave an offering or to take a gift. To highlight anyone doing this yesterday would likely be incriminating a neighbor for no good reason.

### 2- The Community

Genevieve walked to the homeowners who were standing away from the rest of the group. They were the ones who had called in the report and already had been questioned. Barney, Clara, and their son Gizmo all looked worried. Genevieve asked; "What on earth is going on?"

Clara, Barney, and Gizmo; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve had known the little family before they were the current little family. She was friends with Clara and Barney's parents before they were born. They were nice pooches; though Clara's father Mazda was sometimes a bit of a rapscallion. If he saw a bird on the ground he'd bark and run full tilt at it. This startled many residents as they were usually taken by surprise by his unannounced and sudden bursts. But, despite their initial, momentary jolts they came to see that Mazda never caught a bird. In fact, he never even got all that close. He probably didn't really want to as he certainly wasn't trying to sneak up on any of them. If his efforts had any effect whatsoever, it was to induce winged flight. Yet, his seemingly spontaneous strivings remained just the least bit unnerving to some. Mazda had spent a few years in the military during the "Great War." He was "in the action" overseas and everyone now knows that that sometimes being subjected to life or death conflict can have long term effects as well as its attendant acronymmed syndromes. Mazda would never specifically speak of those times. He would only say that it was done so that the kids could grow up in a peaceful world. Though never said out loud, some wondered what effect his unconventional behavior might have on his children.

Today, Clara seemed to be the most clear of the trio. Barney's darting and unfocussed eyes quietly acted as if he was a victim of shell shock and little Gizmo kept babbling things which didn't yet make any sense to Genevieve. "It's for everyone. And they took it. They just can't do that." His distressed comments showed that he too was shocked, though unlike his dad, still vocal. Clara nuzzled up to Genevieve. She stifled a tear and said; "Overnight someone took all of the food from the sheds."

"Oh, no," said Genevieve, more befuddled than she was just prior; and in fact ever had been since the time when YouTube first started to show old films of varied public aesthetic and economic reactions to the alleged "finding" and Christie auctioning of Tiny Tim's, "Ed Sullivan Show" utilized ukulele.

Tiny Tim being rudely annoyed; modified public domain.

She nuzzled against Clara and said; "I can't believe it. I have to see for myself." She walked to the backyard sheds by herself, circling around and under the overhang. To her confirming disbelief and dismay, she saw that they no longer held any of the stored vegetables and other canned goods. It had taken years of co-operative efforts to establish the community cupboard, and just one night to end it. The salt and vegetable mixes held in tightly sealed jars were all gone, though some of the empty jars and nine pineapples remained. Genevieve found that curious; and hoped it was a possible clue of some sort if she could conjure up some theory as to why the thieves did not take everything of value.

Genevieve vaguely grasped her calling. She had unknowingly been destined to be the Poochville incarnation of Agatha Christie's Miss Marple. Well, she had read or seen; most likely seen "A Pocket Full of Rye," and had made full note of the coffee cup.

Stylized possible cover of "A Pocket Full of Rye"; property of the author.

The cupboard doors were always left unlocked. When a family needed some help, they could come to Clara's sheds and take what they needed without any questions or observations. When a family was enjoying good times they would stock the sheds with their surplus. They received no notice or awards for their efforts, which made them proud to be sufficiently blessed as one of many anonymous contributors. Over the years those blessed far exceeded those in need. The cupboard had grown and grown. Until now.

Left pineapples; property of the author.

Looking at the ground, Genevieve started to walk back to Clara, Barney, and Gizmo. But she was startled by the gruff growls of Billy and Jack, who had left the front yard to again view the back.

Jack loudly barked; "You're not allowed here. This is a crime scene!"

Genevieve scooted as Jack continued to bark at her, saying; "You could have destroyed evidence."

She instinctively answered; "I was careful to stay on the path." This was a bit of an intended deflecting subterfuge, as no well-defined path was apparent.

"There might be paw prints there," said Billy; as he ignored what seemed to be the primary point of there being no path.

Genevieve replied; "They'd have been wiped away in the drizzle anyway. Did you see the other ones in the dirt?"

Billy said; "We know how to do our job ma'am. Now, if you would just please vacate the area, we have investigative work to do." They began to string the yellow tape which said; "CRIME SCENE; DO NOT ENTER."

Genevieve dawdled and looked back. Billy said; "What is your name and address?"

Genevieve said "Genevieve, and I live two doors away at 947 Pacific Lane."

"And where were you last night?"

"I was in bed sleeping."

"Can anyone vouch for that?"

"Of course not. That's a silly question."

"Live alone?"

"Yes."

"Join the others in front. We'll have more questions later."

### 3- Invasion

Now feeling like a suspect, in addition to being befuddled and upset, Genevieve blindly did as she was told. Daisy and her husband Waylon were peering around the next corner. Genevieve was again startled when she almost bumped into them.

Daisy and Waylon; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

She put her right front paw to her chest and said; "I've already had a lifetime's worth of shocks today. You shouldn't sneak up on someone like that."

Daisy said; "Sorry, Genevieve. We were just wondering what those cops are doing."

Waylon added; "Yeah. We're getting' treated like we're the criminals here."

Genevieve said; "I'm glad to hear that I'm not the only one who thinks that way. Do either of them have any ideas about what happened?"

Waylon said; "If they do they ain't tellin' us."

One has to understand that Waylon was truly very upset, though his bluster worked well to convince everyone otherwise. He knew that he would be a primary suspect; as he had a prior record of arrests and had spent some months in the pen, which the investigators had or would soon undoubtedly find out about. Excepting old Clement he was the newest adult on the block and unlike Clement or anyone else currently residing on Pacific Lane he had done time in jail for dealing in stolen goods. He said that he was set up by crooked cops as a patsy. Despite his pleas the thick steel doors echoed shut with the compelling and hollow finality of a contented lion's roar anyway. Every day he had spent there had felt like a month in the pen's dank drear, and there was no way he was going to go through that again. It was not even a valid option. He simply couldn't. Yet, he also knew that he had been behind on some of his bills, until the checks he had just brought to the Post Office today. He knew that wouldn't look good for him.

Drifting, Waylon had come to Poochville by way of Grainsilotown, Arkansas. Initially, he had a wandering spirit which was only curtailed by a few stops in Southern pokeys. He sang and danced in cheap, backwater honky-tonks. He just kept moving. That was until he got to Poochville and met Daisy. He has been settled ever since.

Daisy was born in Poochville and had lived there all her life. Her instincts were to "root in." And why not? There was no better place for a pup to call home. Internet "news" informed her of the criminal, bizarre happenings elsewhere. With all of her Dalmatian energy she often took long pleasant walks by the river. Alone, she'd "disappear" for hours, going through all the paths otherwise not taken. The natural land near the Boggy Cleave River was perfect for her. Her deceivingly thick coat could withstand the coldest of days. It also protected her skin from the briars and thorns which stopped every other Poochville resident. She went where only she could and saw things no one else would ever see or understand. For instance, the shallow water at the edge of the overflow ditch was most always warm. Even on the coldest of winter mornings, if the sun was unobstructed, it would be like a spill from a hot tub. The tiny frogs liked it the most. They were no more than a quarter of an inch in size; but sometimes there were so many of them that when she sought water Daisy would have to be careful not to step on or swallow one of the tiny beings. Apparently content to be frolicking in the warm water, the little buggers seemed to pay no attention to her whatsoever.

Daisy deep in thought; property of the author.

Regarding the terrier investigators, Daisy said; "Don't be too hard on them. Did you see any badges? Maybe they're not even from here in Poochville. Maybe they're cops from Rapidtown. ....... They must be. We don't have any cops as far as I know."

Genevieve said; "Oh. Goodness. On the news I've seen some of the goings on in Rapidtown. ......... Silly me. I should have known. Poochville has never needed a police force. ...... But, these two have some kind of badges. I've seen them around their necks. And they act so official."

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

Flashes of unpleasant images they had all seen of Rapidtown went through their minds. Their TV's and the net had been uncharacteristically consistent about Rapidtown. It was evil and dangerous.

Fierce kittens in Rapidtown; property of the author.

Daisy said; "Yes, those difficult to pass, Denial Mountains between us are a blessing."

Waylon said; "Yeah; that's all that separates us from the mess that goes on in Rapidtown."

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

Daisy added; "Some good things must happen there along with the bad. Otherwise everyone would have left. There are tons of problems. But, it's possible that ultimately it's what you make of it."

Waylon sniffed and said; "Yeah, stuff like this. There are too many vicious curs over there. And they run in packs. If you like it so much, why don't you take a trip there? I bet you've never even been."

Daisy hesitated a bit, but said; "No thanks. I don't want to leave Poochville and you."

Scared kitten in Rapidtown; property of the author.

The three walked back to the summer tended front yard; it's evenness still obvious in autumn. As they turned the final corner, Genevieve tripped a bit, and they all heard a yelp and a growl.

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

It was Willy. Appearing to be sad, the dachshund was lying flat on the ground. With their minds on other things, the three accidentally stepped all around him, a paw or two perhaps making contact with one of his long, black ears.

Willy sprang to his hands and feet. He sighed as he said; "Oh, it's you."

Genevieve said; "Well, that's a fine greeting."

Willy said; "Sorry. Things are getting strange around here. I guess I'm nervous. First someone steals the neighborhood food reserve and then someone steps all over my ears. Whew."

Daisy said; "Can you believe it? Right here in crime-free Poochville."

Genevieve beat Willy to the answer as he used his back paws to check on the condition of his ears. She said; "No, I can't. The horrible news of this morning is just settling in. I hope I wake up and find that this was just a bad dream."

Willy got up on his front paws and seemed extremely alert. He was focussed on something above head level, or might have just been staring at a bird in the treetops. He didn't say.

Willy had consistently been an agreeable dog; though suspicions were that he had always been disposed to extremes of mood. Outwardly, the Poochville native appeared to be the height of civility. The views on Willy's mood changes were quite possibly incorrect as the thoughts arose from subtleties observed in his behavior. But, after one knew Willy a long time, it became apparent that sometimes he just said what was necessarily said in the situation and other times he was quite the chatterbox. Models of complete consistency are unusual. And it was of no real matter to the Poochville residents. Sometimes he felt quiet and other times he felt talkative, just like everyone; but to a greater degree. One and all had their quirks; and little Willy's periodic lack of conversation was probably nothing more than a lack of thought caused by his mind being on something else or not knowing anything about the matter at hand. When such matters were on the agenda, Willy was always proud to say that he was a regular contributor to the communal cupboard and never one who took from it. Those types of observations were not the ones the other pooches were interested in hearing. They kind of disturbed the anonymity non-rule suggestion; but maybe that was all Willy could think of at the time.

Alert Willy; property of the author.

### 4- A New Fragrance

The other front yarders were still milling about. They seemed to be in a daze; especially Clement. It can be truly alarming when something with which you have become accustomed is taken away overnight. Making matters a little worse for the Pacific Lane residents was the fact that they had been there so long without anything like this happening. They had unconsciously come to expect the continuance of perfection. This was a terrible first; and firsts are unnerving, unpredictable, scary, and occasionally exhilarating. They can climb the lofty peaks; unseen from ground level; or fall to the bottomless depths, unseen from ground level. The distinction, if any, is a subject of tedious debate, regularly proffered by those who were adequately credentialed by having "gone to LSU, went in dumb and come out dumb too." Though most often, after the tribulation induced by the coffee cup tempest, they settle into being merely another routine manifestation of a very old story. However, in the moment, virtually none could escape the perception that whatever had happened was always a matter of the utmost urgency. The non-virtuals retained their "credentialed" positions through remaining silent. On a comedic level, the most current event was always popularly seen as something "new" and compelling. Few events or contemporary exhibitions would be deemed as sufficiently significant to receive any largesse, primarily, for having had or having had not attained the "experts" designation of "adequately worthy for purchase by the publically funded museum;" the well-arranged PBS television production to "soon" follow.

One might risk an infinitesimal chance of being truly wrong, concomitant with a guaranty of being popularly seen as wrong, primarily because of simultaneously being without doubt contrary to all known forms of economically established news reporting in saying that here was just another such innocuous event. Tsk, tsk; stupid. Such observations do not fill valuable "entertainment" air time.

So, conveniently to all parties involved, this double-bound problem was treated as "new," and in some sense it was; being a first in Poochville.

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

The tranquility of the place had been broken. The quiet was still there, but it was a worrisome quiet. It seemed to bode evil for the first time anyone could remember on Pacific Lane. The tall trees which everyone loved for their beauty, summer shade, and autumn colors were now a potential hiding spot for a thief. At the very least a thief; maybe worse. Every shadow was now a potential menacing predator; their evil aims a frightening unknown; taken to the maximum depths of worried, confused and previously untouched minds.

Clement was slowly pacing around by himself with his mouth open. There wasn't anything that he particularly wanted to say. It was just the way some comfortable older creatures look most all the time; until a common fly inevitably and impolitely disturbs their slack jawed serenity. No doubt their jaw muscles aren't what they used to be; but that's not really what it's about. That's much too ephemeral an explanation to have any truth, as opposed to the fine distinction of real, validity.

Whatever the physical diagnosis assigned to his exterior, Clement's eyes told a different story. He looked as confused and distraught as he did when he first arrived on Pacific Lane years ago.

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

Despite the age shown by his whitening coat and his five years' time of habitation, Clement was actually one of Pacific Lane's newest adult residents. Waylon was the first to have seen the stranger in the neighborhood. "Just passin' through," was all of what Clement wanted to say. Waylon thought that he posed no threat and that he might have been homeless. The Pug family, Bailey and Temporala, had just vacated their house at 858 Pacific Lane. They had moved to Orlando, Florida, wanting to be near their growing pups. Waylon asked if Clement would like to stay there a while. That's all it took. That was it. And Clement was still there.

Easygoing Clement fit in with the rest of the residents well. He was always the first to offer a cheery "Good day" to anyone he met on his morning walks; but little else. He kept to himself and slept away a lot of the rest of the day. He never spoke of his past. Most pooches didn't want to press him on the matter. They were content that he was a good neighbor and suspected that there were things he didn't want to talk about, bringing up memories.

When Gizmo was a very little pup, like any curious child, he boldly asked Clement where he was from. Clement said; "All over the place. My father was in the military and we moved all the time. It's nice to have a real home."

Genevieve approached Clement. Initially, he didn't take notice of her as his mind was somewhere else, deep in thought. He actually bristled when she called his name; as if he had just accidentally touched something carrying uncontrolled static electricity; a brief hint at an uncontrollable mini lightning bolt. He then composed himself and evenly said; "Hi, Genevieve. What is this all about?"

Lightning; property of the author.

His question surprised her in a way. She thought that by now everyone present knew that there had been a cupboard theft. Genevieve, just a tad warily replied; "That's what I'm trying to find out."

Clement said; "All the cops. It brings back bad memories of Panama. I didn't know that there were any police in Poochville."

Genevieve said; "Neither did I. Up until now I also had never heard of any crime in Poochville."

"Crime?"

"Yes, of course. ........ It was a theft. Undeniably. What else?" Again Genevieve was surprised by what Clement had said as everyone considered theft to be a crime. She suspected that his strange reply reflected his age and disorientation.

Clement said; "Oh, yes, yes. Of course. I just never expected to see cops here. I guess the two go together. Silly me. Oh, look! The Pawsborne quads have found something."

Clement and Genevieve walked ten feet to the four puppies.

The Pawsborne quadruplets; property of the author.

The Pawsborne quadruplets; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette didn't even look up at Genevieve and Clement as they were entranced by something on the ground.

Genevieve purposely brushed by Ozzy, and then said; "What do you guys have there?"

Ozzy said; "I don't know. I've never smelled anything like this before. It's ...... musky."

Clement said; "I suppose my sense of smell has faded some; but I don't smell anything. ......... A raccoon maybe? Never saw one around here before though."

Genevieve put her nose to the ground and detected something with which she too was unfamiliar.

Bernadette said; "What's a rack roon?"

Clement said; "Ooooh, a raccoon. Something you never want to see. They're about ten times bigger than you and they don't play around when they rassle. They try to hurt and they're good at it."

Genevieve thought that Clement's comments were unnecessarily worrying and could give the kids nightmares. But, like the "theft," the deed was done. She saw no reason to further possible consideration of Clement's overly ominous comment and said nothing. She tenuously hoped for a cessation of the net-like supply of un-ending, redundant overstating drivel accompanied by an "exciting" flash which all too soon faded into the most banal of everyday, vulgar, Madison Avenue "enticements" to buy more "enhanced and 25% stronger" Tidy Bowl. Genevieve knew that ultimately this brief, effective process of producing catchy slogans created a bored and disinterested demand for what some occasionally call "too much information," as the watchers do their best not to regurgitate the portions of the pizza, which were their lunch an hour prior.

Elmo seemed worried and he stuttered out; "W-w-w-what do they l-l-look like?" not referencing the pizza parts, but the forgotten and possibly non-existent raccoons.

Clement patted Elmo's head and said; "Don't worry. If you don't bother them they won't bother you. They're big and fat with short, gray fur and tiny legs. They wear black masks across their eyes like the thieves they are."

Not to be left out, quiet little Sarah chimed in with; "What should we do if we see one?" Her eyes were alert.

Clement said; "Well, you shouldn't see one if you're good puppies and get back home before dark. See, they only come out at night. If you see one during the day, run home. That means that it probably has rabies."

The quads sniffing ended and they turned sideways and every which ways. Their eyes darted in every revolving direction, fully expecting a masked marauder to be coming at them from every angle.

Clement saw that and repeated; "Don't worry. They only come out at night."

Genevieve pulled him away from the four and said; "Clement, Clement! What are you trying to do? The kids have had no fears. Their lives have been ideal. And now you're compelled to tell them that there are things to be afraid of? What's wrong with you?"

Clement sighed, and eventually said; "It's not me. I didn't bring this situation to Poochville. There comes a time, and this is it, when you have to learn how to protect yourself or be killed. Under the circumstances, it's for their own good."

Genevieve said; "There is no evidence of thieving, murderous, rabid raccoons in Poochville. Only some missing food. You are over-reacting. That's understandable in the situation, but you don't have to scare the kids."

Clement hung his head as he walked away from Genevieve, and mumbled; "I said what I said."

### 5- The Mystery of the Pineapples

The Billy and Jack duo finished their yellow taping and whatever else they were doing in back. Their appearance put an official end to any ongoing discussions. They confidently strode to the center of the front yard. At the moment, they seemed larger than they did earlier that morning.

Billy and Jack; property of the author.

They took everyone's name and address. They said that no one should leave town as they may be wanted for more questioning. They also said that everyone was a suspect; confirming what some had already believed. They started to walk to neighboring houses to conduct more interrogations.

Waylon became put off by their offhand, professional attitude and bravely spoke up. He politely said; "Officers. Are you with the Rapidtown Police Force?"

Jack said; "What else?"

Waylon followed with; "Well, I'm just wondering. How did you get over the Denial Mountains so quickly? It's at least a three day trek if nuthin' goes wrong and the weather stays all right. And that's if you got big feet like me." He expected some laughter from the Pacific Lane residents which did not materialize.

Billy said; "To answer that would involve the disclosure of official police procedure and we are not at liberty to disclose that information for your own good."

Waylon said; "Hmmnnn." He simultaneously thought; "Not very cooperative," then asked; "Learn anything yet?"

Billy said; "We're asking the questions here. What's the story with the pineapples?"

Left Pineapples; property of the author.

Seeing that his questioning was getting nowhere, Waylon replied; "They're good for breathing, coughs, colds, and a whole host of other things. It's just not the best of ideas to try to swallow one in one bite."

Billy tried to resume his walk with Jack until Genevieve called out her own version of discontent, saying; "Have you analyzed the paw prints you said were at the crime scene?"

With an air of disgust Billy said; "We have the matter well in our professional hands."

Genevieve continued; "It seems to me that to be able to get that much food out of here overnight would require the work of a group."

Billy replied; "Ma'am. That's highly speculative. We have the situation well in hand. Leave it to the pros. Okay?"

As he and Jack again walked, Genevieve mumbled. Those near her heard; "I suppose that they are not in need of any possible help from those who merely live here."

Daisy giggled and said; "Why Genevieve. I do believe that for the first time you are showing a note of sarcasm."

Genevieve was uneasy that anyone had heard her off-the-cuff remarks. She was unsure of how to follow up her sincere thoughts with another which could possibly contradict her heart-felt feelings. Yet, she did not want to be seen as just another grouchy critic. She said; "Oh my. I didn't know that anyone was listening. My big mouth got ahead of my brain again. It just seems to me that some sort of sharing partnership with the residents would help solve the crime. These two are from Rapidtown; not Poochville. Things are different here; or at least they used to be."

Daisy sighed heavily and searched for an adequate response. In her momentary lapse, Waylon said; "Yeah, the authorities. The un-knowing authorities. Can't live with them and can't live without them. Before, never an issue in crime-free Poochville."

Genevieve quickly reflected on her lifelong, protected existence. She remembered her excitement the first day she was big enough to have her own bone. In the blink of a fur-challenged eye she said; "I don't see any reason why we should be barred from the investigation."

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

Willy said; "Me too. But we are. Might as well we all just go home for now."

The rest of the gathering took Willy's advice and trudged off with their tails between their legs. What else was there to say? That is all except the Pawsborne quadruplets; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette. They apparently thought that something exciting was going on. They were half right.

Whatever their thoughts on the matter; they had a good time following Billy and Jack around. The policemen weren't exactly fond of this behavior. But, they endured in their duties and tolerated the playful yipping and rassling of the tiny quads.

### 6- Going Home Slowly

Genevieve attempted to walk back to her house. She was deep in thought for all of a few seconds. But her concentration was shortly broken. Almost as soon as she had exited Barney, Clara, and Gizmo's property she ran right into Pacific Lane's slowest starters of the morning.

Tardiff and Lenta cautiously approached Genevieve and Lenta whispered; "What is going on?" She and Tardiff were a cute couple. They were full grown Shelties (Shetland Sheepdogs); who looked exactly like collies, but were about one third their size. Little Genevieve could look them right in their engaging brown eyes without looking up or down.

Tardiff and Lenta; property of the author.

The inseparable Shelty duo had apparently not been listening to the news, and was just out for their usual morning jaunt. They simultaneously said; "Good morning, Genevieve. Lovely day."

Genevieve said; "Good morning," but had her reservations about how lovely it was. She correctly suspected that Tardiff and Lenta were unaware of the food theft, and she did not want to be the one to break the bad news. Like her, the pair was not in the least bit accustomed to anything bad happening. This was generally taken for granted and unsaid; but up until now this was what was expected on Pacific Lane and in all of Poochville.

Lenta said; "Is there a party at Barney and Clara's? It's not Gizmo's birthday, I don't think."

Genevieve replied; "No, no. Not that I know of. ...... "

At the pause Tardiff interjected; "What prompted the social gathering?"

Genevieve said; "Well, I might as well just say it. You're going to find out in about two minutes anyway. All the food is gone from the community sheds. Except a couple of pineapples."

Lenta said; "No!"

Genevieve said; "Yes. I was just there."

Tardiff said; "No!"

Genevieve said; "Yes. Some of the neighbors were there with two cops."

Lenta said; "No!"

Tardiff said; "Cops! We don't even have any cops in Poochville. No crime; no cops."

Genevieve said; "Now crime; now cops. Trust me on that one. You can ask anyone there."

Tardiff said; "We're not going there. Not until all this is straightened out. We're little. Come on Lenta; we're going back home." The two turned and headed back toward their house about three times as fast as they left it.

Genevieve called out; "It's probably on the news." She heard a voice say; "I knew it. I just knew it. What exactly is probably on the news?"

It was Bella. Bella was probably the most misnamed dog in all of Poochville. It wasn't that she wasn't a pretty pooch. It was that she had always been the prophetess of gloom. She had spent her entire life in Poochville. She was a Corgi and had a long term Corgi companion named Lucky. Some dogs joked that he might have been misnamed as well. But it was only a joke because everyone knew not to make any judgements regarding other dog's relationships. But, Bella had spent a lot of time googling conspiracy theories and came to "specialize" in the one which claimed that the forty-seven year old moon landing was faked because the shape shifting alien reptiles in charge of the world wanted to impress the green people who live on Mars that Earth is no technological slouch, and that somehow all earthly dogs were harmed by this studio production.

Lucky and Bella; property of the author.

Genevieve said; "Hi Bella. Hi Lucky. Looks like somebody has stolen all the food from the community pantry."

Bella turned toward Lucky and said; "See. I told you that something bad was going to happen."

Lucky looked at Genevieve and said; "All of it?"

Genevieve said; "Yes, except a few pineapples."

Bella said; "Pineapples. Aha! That's one of the foods that the shape shifting alien reptiles can't digest. I told you something bad was going to happen. And I was right."

Lucky said; "You've been saying it for ten years."

Bella said; "I'm ahead of my time."

Lucky laughed and again looked at Genevieve, saying; "This girl says she's a Corgi. But, I bet there's a lot of Basset Hound in her."

Bella said; "One hundred percent Corgi."

Lucky said; "I've never seen any papers."

Bella gave him a little whack with her paw. Lucky again looked at Genevieve and said; "We know those jokes about her name. They're actually wrong. Her name is Bella, but it is spelled with one "L," as in Bela Lugosi." He made as if he was using his cape to shield him from the light.

Lucky ran toward Barney and Clara's with Bella playfully chasing him.

Genevieve watched them a second, smiled and again looked forward. She saw Maureen.

Maureen was a solitary Beagle mix. She always politely smiled and acted cordially. But, Genevieve always suspected that she just didn't feel fully at ease around other dogs. Not that Maureen ever avoided them; but it was as if she often said precisely what was expected to be said and kept the conversation brief. At times she had a faraway look in her eyes as if she was dreaming of somewhere else. She never said anything about that, perhaps because it might not have been appreciated in perfect Poochville. Most importantly everyone liked her, wished they felt closer, but respected Maureen's seemingly distant wishes.

When Maureen neared, she stopped and in her customary slow and calm cadence said; "Those two playin' again?"

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

With her very first sentence Maureen reminded Genevieve of something else that was unusual about her. Over the years Maureen had demonstrated an ability to understand difficult subjects, like calculus and computer operations. But, she spoke very colloquially. Maureen dropped her "G's" like Bob Dylan and said a lot of "Yeahs." Nobody had any particular problem with that. It just seemed odd.

Genevieve said; "Sure are. Bella was finally vindicated."

Maureen said; "What happened?"

Genevieve said; "Somebody took all the food out of the community sheds last night. They just left the pineapples."

Maureen unhurriedly said; "Three quarters of pineapples are grown in Costa Rica, where they make heavy use of pesticides; which is associated with cancer and birth defects."

Genevieve was puzzled by Maureen's response and said a tentative; "Oh, I didn't know that."

In her typical dawdling tempo Maureen said; "Just tryin' to figure why they left the pineapples. Guess I'll go there and see what's what." She shrugged and walked away.

Curious about Maureen's seemingly detached attitude, Genevieve said; "You're not upset?"

Maureen said; "Sure I am," and kept walking slowly. After a few more steps she stopped and turned back toward Genevieve. In a suddenly agitated and elevated voice, she said; "Exactly what did you mean by that? Did you fully expect me to convince you of my proper level of distress with a tearful demonstration over the whole affair?"

Genevieve said; "No. No. Not at all. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just surprised how well you handled the upsetting news. It was a bit of a complement in a way as everyone else, including me, freaked out."

Maureen snorted a half smile. She returned to her relaxed talking rhythm and slurred; "Oh, okay. You're fine. Me bad. You know, I know this cool psychologist in town. Give ya some pills that'll cure all your ills. Know what I mean. Ciao, Gen." Maureen commenced her gradual walk toward Barney and Clara's.

Genevieve was not quite through being the neighborhood source of news. No sooner than she turned away from Maureen, and back toward her house she saw Maggie and Tanner. For the entire time she had known them, they always seemed to be in good spirits. Genevieve strongly suspected that they would have some difficulties with handling this.

Maggie and Tanner; property of the author.

Maggie and Tanner were a mixed age couple. Maggie had a few years on Tanner, and apparently this occasionally came into play in their planned activities. Neither could be considered "young," and maybe this united them in a way others couldn't fully comprehend. They wanted their remaining years to be a constant source of life affirming happiness. They could joke about it too. One time while talking with Genevieve down by the river, Genevieve said something about being tired; therefore having to head back home. Tanner replied; "That's what happens all the time with Maggie. Whenever we get something good going, she needs a nap." For that he got a bit of a playful nudge which didn't exactly bowl him over.

Morning greetings were exchanged prior to Maggie asking Genevieve about the source of the hubbub which had been just ahead of them.

Genevieve skirted the overwhelmingly likely reality and was still truthfully able to say; "That's yet to be determined. An investigation seems to be underway." She probably didn't realize that she managed to sound either like a Physics doctoral candidate or Maureen stoked with Xanax, or both at the same time.

Tanner said; "Investigation? May I ask? An investigation of what?"

Genevieve raised and contracted her front shoulders, in an attempt to convey a casual attitude, and said; "Perhaps a misunderstanding of some sort. It seems that the community cupboard has been relieved of most, but not all, of its food."

Maggie looked worried and said; "How much?"

Genevieve felt guilty. While she was not lying, her responses to Maggie and Tanner were also not the best description she could make. However, the best descriptions she could make were also exactly what Maggie and Tanner did not want to hear. She wished she was in her house, even if she had been forced to watch "Keeping Up with the Kardashians." She sighed and said; "Most all of it. About nine pineapples are all that is left."

Maggie said; "Three quarters of pineapples are grown in Costa Rica, where they make heavy use of pesticides; associated with cancer and birth defects."

Genevieve said; "I've heard. I've heard. That might explain why they are one of the foods that the shape shifting alien reptiles can't digest."

Maggie said; "Shape shifting alien reptiles?"

"I was just speaking with Bella," and then Genevieve added; "It's a tragedy. And right here on Pacific Lane. There were some cops over at Barney and Clara's investigating. Maybe they've come up with something already."

Tanner said; "Maggie and I should go see."

Maggie said; "I think I need a nap," while grinning just a bit.

They said goodbye to Genevieve and walked toward the scene of the crime.

Genevieve said "Bye" in a hushed voice. She was amazed as she had been sure that Maggie and Tanner were going to go through all kinds of drama. She again started to walk home thinking; "Go ahead and figure."

### 7- TV Compatible Escape

Genevieve picked up her coffee cup near her curb, went down her path, and entered her home. The place which had provided her with warm shelter for so many years now seemed overly quiet.

Genevieve's house and back yard; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Her house was pleasant enough to the touch with its controlled temperature twenty degrees above what was now outside. The comforting waft of warm air had hit her face upon entry. It made her feel welcomed and once again safe from the perils of this day. Her white tail elevated and pointed toward the sky. Well, right now it wasn't exactly the sky. It was the lower ceiling. But, to Genevieve, there seemed little difference between them in principle. It was just a matter of the randomly chosen paint color, one's location, and one's abilities with obvious abstraction. ...... She had always suspected that it was best to keep her view her little secret.

"Yes," she thought; "Without any doubt, that was too simple for some and too complicated for others. But it's just right for me. A ceiling is a ceiling. That's all. The common, divisive findings supplied by prized preparatory places and their plugged-in, parasitic private project pickpockets have perpetrated their predatory presences passably and provide a platoon of piercing, worker ants to those not plugged and unwilling to properly worship. Their net results are the likes of Rapidtown. .............. Oh my goodness. Better stop. I'm sounding like them. ....... The ages, heights, colors, and textures involved do make the appearances different."

When she stopped she again noticed the encasing quiet. It rolled in from all directions like the water racing for the open drain.

Genevieve reclined on the carpeted floor. To take her mind off things she turned on her TV compatible laptop and watched her favorite absurdist comedy. It was one of those "inexpensively" produced "reality," un-reality shows wherein the characters who were just being "natural" had a funny habit of staring and squinting at the camera, perhaps trying to read their cue card. That was the most comedic part. This one was titled; "The Hominid Family."

The two-dimensional cartoonish production depicted a family of four strange looking creatures who moved about; when they did infrequently move about; on only their hind paws. Their front paws were held higher and seemed to serve the primary purpose of making some sort of an occasional gesture to an unseen someone who must have been off camera; if in existence at all.

Perhaps more significant to Genevieve was the "humorous" manner in which the characters spoke flatly; showing no emotion. No silly momentary expectations could be allowed to possibly be the source of future, long term disappointment. Broken hearts never fully mend for the timid. They're forever like that broken wooden wheel; just waiting for the first flat excuse to stop rolling.

No pooch-like happiness or pooch-like sadness was detectable. Their tails were covered with some fabric at all times. So no outward hint of inner thoughts was overtly displayed. Genevieve most often regarded them as a comical warning of sorts; examples of something she and the other residents of Poochville didn't want to be. She understood that the sense of popular humor required to be amused might be seen as something like laughing at cripples. Yet, the show had gigantic ratings which meant that either pooches liked it a whole lot or that there was nothing else anywhere near as entertaining on at the same time.

Periodically, she found that thought disturbing; but always promptly recovered in her convenient belief that these expressively dead things were only cartoonish actors provided for mass entertainment. Only cartoons. Only squigglies in some computer programmer's mind, capable of duplication with the most minor of adjusting special effects. Only the berserk imagination of some Hollywood guy trying to do something "different." ....... Yet, something had prompted that someone to be capable of thinking of these things; and since they could do that they were likely to have been ................. "Stop," she thought. She didn't want to ever bring those kinds of thoughts inside. "TV is TV; and real life is real life."

Genevieve watched the colorized screen, whose pigments she could change or eliminate with the most minor of cursor movements and mouse clicks. To avoid the possibility of time consuming, banal, techie, jargon-laden "complications" she left the screen as-is in the default position. The somewhat green appearance of the hominids was not particularly disturbing on an imprecise visual level as it continued to be consistent with their "successful," long standing financial attributes; as recorded by the heirs of Nielsen and their less revered plagiarists. For some, including Genevieve, the opening sequence of letters strongly hinted at the 1947 Camus offering, plainly titled "The Plague," "La Peste" in its native French, a not so fictitious story, though no doubt an embellished one, basically concerning the undocumented invasion of uncontrolled and infectiously diseased rats from elsewhere, which swept the French Algerian city of Oran. The seventy year old scenario may well have been an approximation of 2017 Poochville; and then again it may have been totally coincidental; and then again it may have been quite alarmist, psychotic, and Nostrdamically delusional to even consider the rational possibility of any such vague association. And then again who has the time to pay any attention to that which is considered "undefined" or theoretical? The facts are only inconveniently right in your face. Maybe Genevieve? Maybe all of Poochville?

"The Hominid Family;" property of the author.

As she needed today, the presentation was almost sufficiently silly and innocuous as to provide a break from the reality of the day's disheartening events. Reflection was provided without the "help" of a glossy, "gold embroidered garment," formerly referred to by the less "enchanting" term of "gold leafed garment," appearing much like the borders of a discarded RSVP'd invitation to somewhere the recipient had no desire to go; that, like all others, not quite a unanimous viewpoint.

Unknown "noble" attired in gold applique, ca. 1500; modified public domain.

Some remnant of something that maybe never was continually gnawed at the corners. Possibilities, in their many easily dismissible false incarnations hovered, like the stationary wing beat of the dragonfly drone, made fleetingly noticeable only through the uninspired, routine work of a harried and routinely addicted cameraman married to his financially based, union carded, security blanket.

Like everyone else, Genevieve watched as the hit show went on and on. The amusing attributes were placed somewhere between hubby's placement of his hat on the do-it-yourself, balsa wood rack near the entry door and his wife's programming which obliged her to say; "Hi, honey," and offer a perfunctory hug before departing into some other "necessity," the details of which do their best to attempt failed variation on a daily re-run basis.

The predictability on the screen made Genevieve's mind digress to some difficult to place point in her own time. The warmth provided by a generous paw or a cuddle with which some are provided with a continual comfort were not to be Genevieve's adult destiny. She could no longer recall the details of those early days or those middling days. That perception was likely her choice; rather than a quirk of her eyes or mind. The particulars were not of any conceivable further interest to anyone including her. It was just an indescribable feeling which had become a source of commercial "hilarity" in their absence, producing another regular ratings report for the droning financial calculators and secondly for the lucrative and growing market of reclusive and otherwise inexperienced TV addicts.

The two screaming little digits following the dot are increasingly contented in direct proportion to the number of screaming little digits which preceded them. At the end, the two screamers were the source of some presumptive, content based, conjectures into "social" norms after having been primarily the fodder of bankers, actuaries, rating systems, savvy investors, and other similarly "skilled" and feral predators.

Genevieve did not realize how tuckered she was from the morning's profane circumstances. Her eyes felt heavy and whenever she tired of fruitlessly attempting to resist nature they comfortably closed.

### 8- Genevieve's Little Book

Genevieve roused and cared even less about watching the current laptop display of "Good Girls Revolt" than she did during her earlier, pre-nap "Hominid" experience. It was tolerable; almost all right; but ultimately a poorly disguised petty rebellious repeat of many prior sitcoms; dating back at least as far as the inventive "Mary Tyler Moore Show." Mary's 1970-1977 show was set in a newsroom; just like "Good Girls Revolt." The latter was cancelled in 2016 after one season. Genevieve smiled as; "You're gonna make it after all" once again played in her head. She got up and went to the William and Mary chest.

William and Mary chest; modified public domain.

She remembered how to carefully maneuver the brass teardrop handles, so as not to damage the darkly stained, walnut burl veneer. She pushed aside the old, yellowing address labels from the WWF, ASPCA, and Humane Society, which cluttered the top, and Genevieve retrieved the book she hadn't seen since she was a pup. Today was the right day for it.

Two Purple Rabbits; property of the author.

There's a rabbit

in our boardroom.

Can't miss her.

So I thought.

She's eight hundred pounds,

defies the catalogue,

and always sports

a purple tinge.

Boardroom; property of the author.

When she first told me her name.

She said; "Joelle."

But I knew her alias was Trudy.

I tried to introduce her

to the uniformed suits

in our boardroom.

But they joked or ignored us.

When I attempted their game

and joked back in their vein

they got uniformly angry.

Trudy, the purple rabbit; property of the author.

So, Trudy and I left

the moneyed "well-bred"

and polite equivocations

of blind sophistry.

In search of fresh air

which was rumored to dare

blow wild

through our hair

on the other side

of the boardroom windows.

We had a backup plan

as failing that

we'd be sure to reach

a settlement for

another vocation.

Though I did not ask

Joelle shrugged her head

and told me

that she'd review my book

and put it in the great

New York Times.

I know she sometimes lied.

But, she was being sweet and kind

in telling me what she thought I wanted to hear.

So, I didn't tell her

that I didn't really care.

She, herself was super, super fine.

But, to me

the book was just one of many.

An avalanche of

more were certainly coming.

Fools ask why we left

the high and proper place of largesse.

But, the answer seems too simple to say.

More fascinating were Trudy's bold lies

than those told by the stagnating suits

sitting uniform in need of bespectacled eyes.

So compelling were her lies,

that to return her favor

I figured that I'd tell some myself.

Our attempted escape

was exposed to the drone

of the voice activated elevator.

Surviving that dull hum down,

we surged through the revolving door,

one compartment for our trip

and we had escaped.

To both our dismays

Trudy and I soon found

it was raining outside.

Me and Trudy in the rain; property of the author.

And my umbrella could not cover us two.

So I gave it to her.

I was pleased but not surprised

when she tore it and threw

the pieces at the public loo.

We were soon saturated.

And neither of us cared;

in fact we couldn't help but

nastily laugh

when the dry passers-by

pointed their crooked fingers and

said that we were not

nice rabbits.

Push enter after

the word

of your choice.

You then

have the option

of saying

that you read poetry.

A boardroom neighbor might

feign being awestruck

or similarly unimpressed.

Genevieve's day went on like that. Her old book was not only her old book. It was a source which sparked many divergent thoughts; some of now, some of the past, and some of no particular place or time. Heavy eyes and a few hours of insistent nightfall eventually provided their own reasons for her to snooze. She used her laptop for what it was best for; an ignored nightlight and a small drone at the left of her bed. Modern technology had provided something very conducive to abandoning all forms of thought and going to sleep. It was as good as the nocturnal, camouflage adept, chirping crickets; with a slightly negative effect on the electric bill.

Cricket; property of the author.

### 9- Uninformed and Uniformed Protection Providers

At dawn, and very inconveniently before coffee, Genevieve experienced another rude insistence. It was a "knock, knock, knock," and an all-too-quick follow-up of another "knock, knock, knock, knock, knock" with a more demanding gusto on the last two knocks drummed very un-musically on her front door.

The long gone "Hominid Family" program she was now not watching on the convenience of her TV compatible laptop had been taken over by a blank screen. Genevieve had again failed to comply with the most rudimentary commandment of Internet Technology. Because she had hit no key for over five minutes, the thing had gone blue; no tribute to Picasso. This default IT operation was said to be one which "saved" one's screen from something not yet witnessed. The alleged and generally accepted "burn-in" produced by a static screen seemed to have no relevance during the "moving" depictions of "The Hominid Family." But, here was again clear evidence of the pre-emptory "protection" perpetrated through the precision of the powers that be; perhaps another outgrowth of DuPont's old "Better things for better living through chemistry" commercial; the joking aspect forgotten in burglarized 2017 Poochville.

Genevieve, now reluctantly roused from her pleasant slumber thanks to the rude sounds of someone who had found their un-announced and un-invited way to Genevieve's front door, rolled out of bed and shuffled across the room. She looked through her window and saw that it was Billy and Jack. She briefly considered not answering, but decided that would only prolong her ordeal. "Best to get this over with, fully awake or not," she thought. She opened the door and said a gracious; "Good morning. May I help you?"

Genevieve heard two obligatory and brief "Good morning" responses, or something akin to that by way of "Mrng."

Jack followed with; "Sorry to trouble you so early. But we have just a few questions."

Genevieve said; "Oh, I had hoped this was a social call."

Undeterred and uninterested, Jack said; "We understand that you have lived your entire life on Pacific Lane."

Genevieve said; "Yes."

Jack said; "You must have become aware of certain patterns which tend to repeat here. Have you noticed anything the least bit unusual over the last few days? Odd delivery men? Strangers?"

Genevieve said; "Now that you mention it, I recalled that I saw something strange and odd just yesterday."

Jack said; "Yes?"

Genevieve said; "Strange new people in the neighborhood."

Jack said; "Please go on."

Genevieve said; "You two. We've never had any Scottish Terriers here before, never mind black ones." She alone found that amusing.

Billy said; "Ma'am, we're engaged in serious business here; and we're just doing our jobs."

Genevieve said; "I'm sorry. It's a bit early in the morning," and then she had to stifle an obvious chuckle. "For me. No, the strangest thing I've seen was yesterday's news report. ...... You guys aren't much bigger than me, and you look so serious all the time." She again chuckled.

Billy brushed his paw against the tag which hung from his collar. He said; "These badges give us all the size and authority we need."

Under the circumstances Genevieve didn't want to say that to her the badges looked more like silver Milk-Bone treats shining in the morning light.

Genevieve volunteered; "It would be strange if anyone noticed any goings on at the sheds. We all tried not to stare at anyone there. We didn't want to possibly inhibit someone who might be in need. Nor, did we want to convey undue reverence to those who happened to be running a surplus."

Jack said; "How long has this been going on?"

Genevieve said; "Gosh. Most all my life. Clara's parents; Mazda and Sassafras started it before Clara was born."

Jack said; "And everyone on Pacific Lane participated?"

Genevieve said; "Yes."

Jack said; "Any other participants?"

Genevieve said; "Not that I know of."

Billy said: "I suppose there were dogs who moved away from Pacific Lane over all that time."

Genevieve said; "Yes, but not very many. Bailey and Temporala followed their pups to Florida. Patrice and Molly's family also moved away when I was still a puppy. But, outside of those two families I can't remember any."

Billy said; "Did any others, not from Pacific Lane, know about this?"

Genevieve said; "Sure. Probably plenty. We never tried to keep it a secret."

Billy faced Jack and rolled his eyes, receiving a "Law and Order" type shrug in return.

Genevieve said; "I guess you think the whole thing was silly."

Jack winced a bit when he said; "It's best when some type of rules and control are put in place. But, listen. We're not here to evaluate or give advice concerning operating procedures. We're just collecting information in order to find the perpetrators. Sure wish there was more to go on. Is there anything you can think of which might point us in some direction?"

Genevieve said; "I wish I could. This is all so new to me. I've never had to think about such outrages before."

Jack said; "Well, thank you for your time. If you do think of anything, please let us know."

Genevieve said; "Where may I reach you?" in expectation of a business card with a phone number or e-mail address.

Jack said; "You can find us right here on Pacific Lane until this is solved. Good day."

Genevieve said; "Good day," and shut her door. She looked out her window and watched as Billy and Jack glumly trudged down her path, on their way to the next one. Now, she thought them merely strange rather than pushy outsiders. "This can't be any fun for them; yet they plod on." She also suspected that her "ideally" protected existence on Pacific Lane was what made her unable to understand that.

Further irrelevant thoughts took a backseat to Genevieve's practical starting of her coffee machine. The grounds put into it the past evening just needed the switch switched and the water poured in the receptacle. She bravely avoided the addictive laptop diversion while the coffee made incessant and totally repetitious bloop-bloop-blooping sounds as the machine percolated the tap water.

Thinking she was probably now relieved of the possibility of unwanted intrusion, Genevieve aimlessly stared at nothing in particular. It was relaxing, off point, and completely a luxury. Her living room still contained the same items of mahogany, pre-1830 American furniture reproductions and hung pictures of long gone people playing musical instruments which were there for at least a decade prior. But they took on a different tone in the moment. They were neither important nor unimportant. They were just there; and that seemed right and was quite fine with Genevieve. She was spaced somewhere between a recollection of the past and a vague mystery of a present, which had temporarily departed on good terms, virtually duplicated through the reproductions of the past.

The high pitched blast of the coffee machine whistle brought her all the way back to the intrusive present. Genevieve was unduly scared for a second; then calmly walked to the signaling machine. She poured herself a cup and stared out the kitchen window.

She knew that some of the half defoliated trees were larger than they once were and that some were now gone. But, the changes had been so gradual over the years that her eyes had followed suit by gradually adjusting to them. So, while things had changed when her memory intervened, in a sense the view was the same one she had been accustomed to seeing in autumn all her life. Genevieve considered this to be inconsequential reverie and the deceptively stationary, natural view was more soothing than any of the garish displays of importance on the web.

After obtaining a caffeine boost she decided that she would spend at least part of the lazy day touring the old neighborhood. The unobstructed sun had been warming things up to a seasonally inviting morning after having cleared the jagged peaks of the lofty Denials. The absence of any wind made bundling up totally unnecessary; so Genevieve could move as well as her grouchy back paw would allow.

She exited her front door and turned right at the end of her personal path. Genevieve was moving toward the scene of the crime. Her mind now fixed on what is now most relevant to all of Pacific Lane, she forgot that her naggy, little, back paw hurt.

She saw that the Pawsborne puppies; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette were walking strangely and in unison. If Genevieve didn't know better, she might have thought that they had found one of her wine bottles. They were taking very tiny steps and bumping into each other, laughing.

She then saw the real source of their merriment. Billy and Jack exited Willy's house taking those quick, tiny steps that terriers do. When the quadruplets saw them, they returned to the normal gait that their younger, but longer legs allowed. Led by Bernadette, they all found that funny. Billy and Jack went out of their way not to notice. Their mutually exchanged side glances accompanied by a fraction of a second of a sarcastic smile, was the evidence. They diligently trod toward Clara's house, the scene of the crime; Billy saying; "Kids." The kids followed, fifty feet behind.

There were no signs of activity at Clara's. The little family was sequestered in their dwelling. Genevieve's guess was that she, Barney, and Gizmo had had their fill of thieves, investigators, chatties, and the generally curious. They had no answers for any of them and were probably already tired of having received so much unwanted attention. But here Billy and Jack were coming to make a request them again. The first wearying infraction and stupid imposition is never the last.

When Billy and Jack entered Clara's house Genevieve went over to the Pawsborne quads. They were doing their quick, tiny step terrier imitation, laughing and bumping each other. Genevieve said; "Hey, that's not nice. They were born with short legs, and it's not right to be making fun of them for it. They might be sensitive about it."

Elmo said; "They shouldn't be. We were just playing."

Genevieve answered; "Well, how would you like it if someone made fun of your little ears?"

Sarah said; "My ears aren't little. ........ Are they?"

Genevieve said; "See what I mean. No, they are not little. They are the perfect size for Sarah."

Genevieve smiled and continued walking. After a few seconds of appearing to be undergoing perplexed extro and introspection, the Pawsborne quads were off running in the other direction, merrily in pursuit of a zigzagging red leaf; a changed coat for a survivor of last summer.

Genevieve was near exuberant when she saw Tardiff and Lenta emerge from behind a tree. The shelties were out walking again, after only a day of choosing to be house bound. The miniature collies, for all intents and purposes, were valiantly striding down the road that just yesterday had them seeking the shelter of their indoors sanctuary.

Tardiff and Lenta; property of the author.

"Hi!" Genevieve called out.

Tardiff and Lenta both smiled sheepishly and returned the "Hi." Lenta added; "We got brave. This is our home."

Tardiff looked over his shoulder and joked; "You didn't see any creeps, did you?"

Genevieve joked back; "Only the usual ones. But, hey, it's great to see you guys."

Lenta said; "My pleasure. ....... Er, our pleasure. We're taking back our neighborhood! The few thieves who snuck in here under the cover of darkness will not make us abandon our territory."

Genevieve said; "My compliments. Tell me. Did you see anything the least bit unusual today?"

Tardiff said; "Only those Scottish terriers. They said they were the cops investigating the case."

Genevieve said; "Yes, they woke me this morning. I was a bit rude under the circumstances. But, they seem okay. They can sound gruff sometimes; but they do have a difficult job to do."

Lenta said; "Did you see the babies mimicking them?"

Genevieve said; "Yes. They're such playful little scamps."

Lenta said; "Well, we better be getting home. We've been out some time and are getting a bit tired."

Tardiff said; "Speak for yourself."

Easy-going, pleasant smiles were exchanged and everyone was back on their way.

Genevieve slowly walked the length of Pacific Lane. She enjoyed the warmth and hoped that she'd meet more pooches to share the nice day with. Being a block containing only ten houses, five on each side, it wasn't hard for her to walk up and down it a number of times, despite her periodically troublesome back leg.

She saw no one other than the Pawsborne kids and an occasional glimpse of Billy and Jack, as they dutifully made their rounds. Genevieve was disappointed. However, she was not deterred. She decided that if Pacific Lane's pooches were not coming to her, she would go to them. Being "of the community" she decided that she had more right to be intrusive than Billy and Jack.

Over the course of the afternoon and early evening, Genevieve stopped at every house in which the occupants answered the door. That was all but Pablo and Clement. Each of her visits was remarkably similar. The pooches were cordial, yet distracted. They didn't want to speak of the depressing and unfortunate event offensively imposed on them in the current time. But, since this was what was prominently on their minds, their conversations were limited to the expected, distracted pleasantries.

Genevieve drank a lot of tea and ate as many crumpets as her little belly could hold. About thirty thousand times, or what seemed like it to her, Genevieve complemented the extraordinarily good nature of the tea, while declining a refill. About thirty thousand times, or what seemed like it to her, Genevieve complemented the crumpet, while declining another.

Genevieve attempted diversions; mentioning and inquiring about Barney, Clara, and Gizmo's oil painting of a nineteenth century, female Beagle playing a lyre; Daisy and Waylon's "wild western" canteen with sunburned, tan fringe; Willy's Oriental, gray-blue, lacquered, bone inlaid, teak, ground level, circular dining room table;

Willy's table; property of the author.

Carlo and Lizzy's unkemptness, courtesy of four rambunctious and great kids, which was not of Genevieve's interest or concern, however she made reference to the Jackson Pollock "Blue Poles," or as the artist first named it "Number Eleven" print, which was at a seemingly appropriate off-center angle, to the left of the dining room window, perhaps reflecting the public's unsuccessful search for the poles, which usually results in an overlooking of the deep blue lines;

Pollock's 1952 Blue Poles print; public domain.

Lucky and Bella's latest David Icke book, "The Perception Deception; or It's All Bollocks; Yes, All of It," prominently displayed in hardcover in Bella's lap; Maureen's triptych poster of the top half of Jim Morrison in the porously bordered center, and the entirety of Aldous Huxley's "Doors of Perception" original 1954 cover sitting to his left, and to his right the seemingly same theoretical concept, but with the cover changed from the first, which contained the discordant ripping red lightning bolt, a reference to cubism, and probably a multiverse, to the psychedelic era's op art concentric circles in washed out yellows and pale greens, with the overlapping oo's in the approximate middle of the word "Doors;"

Huxley's original 1954 cover of "The Doors of Perception"; public domain.

and Maggie and Tanner's sideboard (buffet) sitting, abstract painting, which was entirely the same shade of golden-brown, excepting the periodically broken, thin, straight rosy line about a third down from the top, assuming the painting wasn't hung upside down or sideways, in this setting conveying a similar appearance to the dotted and perforated line where one separates their electric bill from the plethora of useless information above or below; all this to no obvious avail.

Completely exhausted from "the dog day" of having had to endure the tiresome by continually being obliged to "go on neutral" as dictated by fruitless social constraints, Genevieve made her way home at the first sign of sunset, and for a few moments flopped right on the rug upon entrance. After some recuperation, which allowed her to make her way to her proper bed in the next room, she fell right asleep for the second time.

### 10-Protection Mercenaries

Genevieve's following day more or less "started" with the identical "Knock, knock" pattern of the previous. She had been already awake for some time, and was just enjoying the warmth of her double blankets, as the slightly open window allowed in the fresh coolness of the autumn air. In the not too distant past, she had used this time of the morning to entertain light daydreams, which she seemed to have some ability to influence, but not entirely control. It was sort of a "free" entry into the movie she knew she would like, but didn't know all the particulars, especially the ending.

Genevieve in her bed; property of the author.

As the curtain prematurely dropped, Genevieve sighed and slowly elevated from her wicker bed. It seemed best to try to accommodate the interlopers as quickly as possible, as bad news is prone to keep coming back; making the disturbance an extended affair. She walked to her window and saw that there were two dogs there. They appeared to be reasonably normal. So, she opened the door.

This day the eager knockers were smiley and playful. That was not their names, though their real names were not yet known to Genevieve. While they were waiting, one had hopped onto her birdbath, took a drink, and was balancing himself on top of it. That initially struck Genevieve as being rather bad-mannered, but in a moment she saw that it was also playful and harmless; a curious combination which caused her to smile, while simultaneously wanting not to.

Buddy and Guy; property of the author.

The one who would soon be known as Buddy said; "Good morning, Miss ....... Ms. Genevieve. How are you this treacherous day?"

Genevieve said; "Feeling descended upon. And you?"

The soon-to-be Buddy one said; "Just wonderful madam. I'm Buddy and this is my partner Guy. We're here to help you out and there is nothing that could make us happier."

Genevieve said; " ........... "

Not the least bit deterred, Guy said; "We represent "Homeland Isolated Private Security Systems" and we noticed that your house is unprotected. In this time of increased crime, this is just inexcusable. Tsk, tsk." Buddy emphasized his worry with a knuckles-in-the-mouth display of poochy concern mixed with a note of something akin to the threat of a current building code violation. "We want your home to be safe. Don't you?"

Genevieve said; "Of course; and it is."

Buddy said; "Unfortunately, not any more, my dear lady. You are aware of the events of that sad evening. Are you not?"

Genevieve said; "I think so. But, I was unaware of anyone breaking into my house. Wait here. I haven't yet checked my closets for vampires today."

Guy said; "No, no. That won't be necessary. And we want to keep it that way. We at HIP care and we provide our friends with affordable systems. We ensure that your home is protected from burglary, flooding, fire and smoke, carbon monoxide, temperature, and medical alerts."

Genevieve said; "I think that I'd like to continue to have some degree of temperature and access to medical alerts."

Buddy said; "What do you mean by that?"

Genevieve said; "I think that I'd like to continue to have some degree of temperature and access to medical alerts."

Buddy said; "Uhh. Yeah. I understand. I guess we can leave those parts out and save you money at the same time. Anywhere you go in the world, from the comfort of your smartphone you can easily manage your HIP security system with the ability to arm and disarm the system, receive security alerts, adjust your thermostat, control lighting and appliances, lock and unlock doors ......... "

Genevieve said; "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry to interrupt there, chief ............. er, Buddy. But, I don't want it and have other things to do. Besides, since everyone knows about HIP I know it will cost a few grand to install and a couple of hundred per month afterward under a long term contract."

Guy said; "We offer different plans to suit your needs; like the Affordable ......... "

Genevieve said; "Whoa, whoa, again. I don't have any money and live day to day from Social Security. Comprende?"

Guy said; "Yes, yes indeed, ma'am. We're sorry to have taken your time and hope you have a wonderful day."

Genevieve closed the door and thought; "Why didn't I say that to begin with. Works every time." She turned on her laptop and to that extent engaged her Hominids. She made coffee and poured herself a cup. Genevieve tried to relax.

### 11-Repeat Shows

Genevieve may have dozed right on her Hominid show until there was another "knock knock" intrusion.

The dog who would eventually identify himself as Werner said an oddly cheery; "Good morning Ms. Genevieve. I suppose I shouldn't ask how you are on this difficult day."

Genevieve said; "Perhaps you already got some ideas by peeping through my window."

Werner continued his mirthful approach when he said; "Ha ha. That's the point. If you had one of our "Solely Safe Security Systems" Osama and I would be talking to the police right now rather than you."

Genevieve said; "We have no police in Poochville. Guess you're not from around here, ....... ."

Werner said; "Werner. No, my partner Osama and I travel quite a bit helping people out. Our founder Anton discovered a serious problem in the home security business. The companies charge huge fees and lock you into long term contracts."

Genevieve said; "Tell me about it."

Werner said; "Well, Anton designed something new; 'Solely Safe,' SS for short. Now, it's the fastest growing company in the US. And 'Why?' you ask. Because it's only $29.99 per month."

Werner and Osama in the window; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve said; " ......... "

Werner said; "Most alarm systems are much too expensive, and here's why. Unlike SS they use manufacturers, distributors, dealers, and salesmen. All of those people extract a profit; right out of your pocket. We here at SS ............ "

Genevieve said; "Well, aren't you two salesmen?"

Werner said; "No; we're agents and ......... "

Genevieve said; "Doesn't someone have to manufacture it?"

Werner said; "No. It is formed naturally in the earth with the proper ingredients. All it takes to get it is a little inexpensive digging. The other companies fool you with a $99 offer, and you soon find out that the fine print says another seven to eight thousand dollars is due for the installation alone. And their systems use the tired old wired technology. SS is only $299 at current exchange rates. SS does everything their systems do plus gives you a lightning fast cellular connection, on-the-go mobile control, smash proof protection, monitoring of your gun safes, chemical cabinets, ........"

Osama interjected; "protected explosive shelters and more."

Genevieve said; "No, I don't think so. I don't have any money, explosive shelters, or anything like that."

Werner said; "No problem. We can get you credit."

Genevieve said; "No."

Werner said; "Listen to this testimonial. 'We installed our system within two months and sure enough ............. "

Genevieve said; "We installed? I'm not installing anything myself. Please leave."

Werner said; "We can install it for you at a slightly higher cost."

Genevieve said; "Will you please go? I'll call the police."

Werner said; "There are none in Poochville."

Billy and Jack; property of the author.

In the commotion no one had noticed that Billy and Jack, the two cops, were watching the activity. They were sitting calmly on Genevieve's front lawn. It must have seemed to be the right moment to intervene. They rose and Jack used one paw to flash some silver metal he had on the chain around his neck and said; "Is there some sort of problem here?"

Werner said; "No problem officer. We were just leaving."

Billy asked; "What are you boys doing around here anyway?"

Werner said; "Nothing. Nothing. Just talking to the nice lady."

Genevieve profusely thanked Billy and Jack. Billy shrugged it off with; "Just doing our job, ma'am." They left.

Once again, Genevieve tried to sleep, this time in her back yard away from the front door. But she had difficulty. There's only so much activity one can handle at her age. She turned off her "Hominid" show, thinking that might be the culprit. But, it wasn't. She may have eventually dozed a few minutes as the afternoon autumn sun brought the temperature to fifty-five degrees. With her long, furry coat, this was quite comfortable. Then she heard another "Knock, knock, knock," and felt much less comfortable, thinking that Werner and Osama might have come back. She stretched out and made a sound something like; "Uurrrmmmmnnaahht." She went inside and to her window and there saw a very silly looking pup at her front door. His long hair was disheveled and appeared as if he had some particular dislike of professional hairstylists. She was not sure if what seemed to be a peace sign where one would expect an ear was a matter of accident. He had a small pouch attached to his fur. Genevieve's instincts were amused, curious, and positive. She opened her door and took the initiative. She was a bit cavalier, though it was intended to be taken with humor. She broadly smiled as she said; "So what do you want to sell me today? The line forms at your left."

The pup on the other end seemed to be initially taken aback by Genevieve's playful opening line. After a brief pause, he shyly and perhaps with some semblance of introspective humor said; "Something which prevents home invasions and doesn't cost much anything? I don't see the line?" His questioning way of saying it was found to be "cute" by one of Genevieve's age.

She thought it would be amusing to tease him, and said; "I just heard that one an hour ago."

" ........... I don't know. I guess I should go. Sorry to waste your time." He turned as if ready to depart.

Genevieve said; "No, no, young man. What is your name and what have you got?"

He said; "My name is Mackie. ........ Well, that's what they called me in Rapidtown anyway." His voice started to trail off when he added; "I can't remember my real name. It's been so often changed since I was a pup. I've been travelling. It was a long time ago when ......... "

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

Mackie's voice became firmer and he continued; "I have these decals which prevent break-ins. I make them myself and I've been selling them to the poor dogs in Rapidtown. They work pretty well. Here, have a look yourself." He reached into his pouch, retrieved one and handed it to Genevieve.

Decal; property of the author.

Genevieve smiled when she said; "Well, I've heard of the Hell's Angels and they certainly do sound like they're not someone to cross. However, will they protect me just because I've purchased this decal?"

Mackie said; "No. They won't even know that you've purchased it. ..... If you do. You see, it's a bluff; and an affordable one. They're a dollar twenty five each. If you stick four of them to four of your windows, the bad guys will go elsewhere. For only five dollars you will have purchased home security."

Genevieve said; "They're kind of ugly. ..... Of course, I don't mean your artwork. That's quite good. But, the subject matter is gruesome."

Mackie said; "That's the point. It's the death's head insignia. The bad guys wouldn't be intimidated by an image of kittens and flowers."

Kitten with a rose; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve said; "No. I don't suppose so."

Mackie said; "The use of these death's head symbols goes way back before the Hell's Angels. Frequent military use was started by Frederick the Great of Prussia around 1740. Prussia was the predecessor to the German Reich, and included what is now seven countries; one of them Germany. I like learning about stuff like that; but I think something really bad is coming down this time."

Mackie looked so sad when he said that, Genevieve was compelled to say; "Ah, every generation says that. They've been predicting doom since a minute after creation and we're still here." That seemed rather optimistic compared to her most recent thoughts, but she considered it appropriate under the immediate circumstances. "But, you've convinced me. I'll give you six dollars for four of those protection insignias if you'll install them for me."

Mackie was elated. Genevieve showed him in and gave him the six dollars. He put it in his pouch and quickly attached the insignias to four of her windows. All he had to do was peel off the back and stick the surface on. When finished he said; "You're set now ma'am. No one is going to break in here now. Thank you."

Genevieve led him to the front door. They exchanged goodbyes and thank you's. Mackie headed for the next house with a confident step and one last lively wave.

Genevieve returned it. But when she closed the door she didn't feel all that set.

### 12-Politician Brand Security

The following morning Genevieve heard another knock, knock, knock on her front door. This was becoming a worse habit than her laptop addiction. To a certain extent she had time to finish her coffee and grooming. So, she merely sighed and looked out her window to see who it might be. It was a smart looking black dog she had never seen before. His long hair seemed to be going every which way. He was harnessed to a cart bigger than himself and he appeared to be smiling, though he also seemed to be having some difficulty in pulling his cart. His long, hang-out of a silly-looking tongue was usually a sign of good cheer or tiredness; maybe both. As he anxiously moved around waiting for an answer, Genevieve noticed that whenever he came to a full halt the difficult-to-manage cart kept rolling until it bumped him in a very rude spot. Each time he'd look back as if he was both surprised and annoyed. She found that funny, opened the door and said; "May I help you?"

He said; "Good afternoon. Ummn, good morning. Apologies, I think. I seem to be losing track of the basics." He briefly chuckled before adding; "I'm Victor Override and I'm here to help you."

Victor Override; property of the author.

In that moment Genevieve felt almost as silly as this burdened man looked. She said; "It's becoming somewhat commonplace, but I still really appreciate that." She gestured toward Victor's cart and added; "Did you bring me some presents?"

Victor said; "Right you are, ma'am. I'm running for Mayor of our fine town of Poochville; and I'm going to put a stop to the nonsense. Why, right here on Pacific Lane we had a theft recently. ........... It wasn't like that in the old days." Victor jostled his feet and was rewarded with another plunk in his rear end. Trying not to show any concern with his toted baggage, betrayed by his momentarily darting eyes, he continued; "As I was saying, Poochville is dear to us; and if elected Mayor I will make sure that it is returned to the great place it rightfully and always has been."

Genevieve sensed a pause and saw a bit of a foot shuffle which resulted in another Victor heinie maneuver, a look back, and a slight hop. She asked; "What are you proposing be done?"

Victor replied; "I'm glad you asked that question. The crime is not generated by the good people of Poochville. No, no, no. No, my dear madam. The crime is coming from those barbarians in Rapidtown. They walk right across the Boggy Cleave River to bring their criminal, immoral wickedness. Give me the power and I will build a wall which prevents that. In addition I will immediately institute a Poochville travel ban on all Rapidtown animals."

Suddenly, her lack of sufficient rest the previous night came over her. Genevieve noticed a dull, but constant pain right over her eyes. To pay further attention to Victor seemed the polite thing to do, but she had lost the ability to comfortably concentrate. She wished that she was back asleep and pictured when her feet could carry her no more and for a while she had had flopped right on the rug before making it into her bed last night. These constant interlopers were certainly exhausting.

Sleeping Genevieve; property of the author.

She said; "You must be familiar with Lewis Carroll."

Victor turned and fumbled through the papers in his cart, taking a series of shots on his hip. When he again faced Genevieve, he replied; "No. Haven't yet had the pleasure. I think that he lives a few blocks from here, and I haven't gotten there yet."

1898 cover of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll; modified public domain.

Genevieve said; "Travel ban? Who will administer such a thing? Won't it be costly and time consuming?

Victor said; "No. Not at all. Everyone will freely chip in to identify strange animals in Poochville. Upon spotting one, our citizens will then call our central number and the undesirables will be removed quickly."

Genevieve said; "Oh, I see. Just like we do with dumped debris. But, tell me; wouldn't that wall be expensive to build?"

Victor said; "Not for Poochville. Rapidtown is paying for it."

Genevieve said; "Won't it block Poochvillers from getting to the river?"

Victor confidently replied; "No, not at all. The boundary line is in the middle of the Boggy Cleave. So we'll have access to our half in safety."

Genevieve said; "Oh, now I see. You're going to build it in the middle of the river."

Victor acted as if he had not heard Genevieve's comment. Once again he turned to his cart. He retrieved a piece of paper at the price of a few more heinie bumps. He handed it to Genevieve and said; "It's explained in here. Thank you for your time. Vote Override and make Poochville safe again." He struggled to turn the cart around. But after a few potshots in the you-know-what he was again on the road pulling it.

Genevieve mumbled; "Bye" and thought that since he didn't wince, he must have acquired a numb backside. She went back in and read Override's paper. In bold and crooked letters it said;

"My fellow residents of Poochville;

Thank you for the attention. Thank you very much. Thank you, Poochville. I am so glad to be here. This place has a very special place in my heart. I've been blessed to have lived all my life in this beautiful and safe community. I love the people of Poochville and together we are going to make it Poochville again.

You may not know that I am a candidate for Poochville mayor. You probably don't as they like it that way. I've just returned from a meeting with the Mayor of Rapidtown. We agree on the importance of ending the harmful flow of people across our border. It's not good for either of us. The recent unfortunate event on Pacific Lane brings that feeling home.

It's our right, as a sovereign village to choose immigrants that we think are the likeliest to thrive and flourish here, remain crime free, and love us.

To all the vested interests, politicians, donors, and special interests, hear these words from me. There is only one core issue in this border travesty; and that issue is the well-being of the Poochville residents. I've always said; "Beware the Trojan Horse." Watch what's going to happen, folks. It's not going to be pretty.

Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you really ready? We will build a great wall along the border. And Rapidtown will pay for the wall. One hundred percent. They don't know it yet, but they're going to pay for it. We will use the best technology; above and below ground sensors; towers, aerial surveillance and poochpower to supplement the wall. And if that is not enough there will be enough juice in it to fry King Kong.

In addition I will immediately establish a cost free program to keep Rapidtowners out of Poochville. Yes, that's right. This is our town, not theirs. Good citizens, just like you, will do their duty. It doesn't take much. Just a phone call to Central, whenever you see one of the slithering, hooded creeps from Rapidtown. We'll take it from there.

So, vote for me, my neighbors in Poochville. Together, we will never, never allow the tragedy of Pacific Lane to ever happen again.

Sincerely;

Victor Override

Your Next Mayor"

Genevieve fell something short of being impressed. She may have been too tired to appreciate the possibly missed fine points. But, in simplicity, Victor's paper didn't answer her most specific of questions. A wall built in a river that someone else was going to pay for? It would seem that if people from Rapidtown could make it all the way through the Denial Mountains that a wall in the middle of the Boggy Cleave River wasn't going to stop them. Besides, she knew of no other Rapidtowners in Poochville other than the possibilities of Mackie, two of the other salesmen and the helpful cops; Billy and Jack.

She did the best thing she could think of doing. She used the paper to wrap a fish she had in the refrigerator and dozed through the day. Genevieve was aided by the lack of a knocking at her door and the continual drone of web television.

### 13-Homeland Security Report

Genevieve again had difficulty sleeping that night. It came in fits, the lengths of which could only be measured by the position of the moon. There was something bothering her which kept her awake. To complicate matters, she didn't know what that something was. Sure, she was concerned over the matter of the theft and its aftermath. But, that wasn't exactly it. If it was something she had remembered she could easily have chosen to forget it. No, it was something she didn't remember and therefore couldn't choose to forget. It was as if she had unknowingly seen something significant, and had no way of remembering or forgetting what it was.

Billy and Jack were at Genevieve's door bright and early in the morning. If not for that she might have dozed through the day out of sheer exhaustion. Their persistent knock-knocks obliged her to get out of bed before she wanted to. Her creaky back leg made her all the more in a grouchy mood. She was greeted with two "Good morning."'s, "How are you today?"'s coming from the mouths attached to two blank faces and four blank eyes. She regarded it as no discourtesy; just a display of police routine.

Genevieve was reminded of her greeter supplied well wishes during her last trip to Hound-mart, but decided to keep that to herself. Instead, she followed suit, and said; "Good morning. How are you today?" making no particular effort to conceal her tiredness.

Billy said; "May we come in?"

Genevieve answered; "Sure." When Billy and Jack were into their first steps, she added; "If you have a warrant."

They stopped short. Jack said; "This is getting to be a plague."

Genevieve was puzzled by the comment. She had intended her comment to be a half joke. She wanted to be co-operative, but she also wanted to make a hint at some sort of line in the sand. Since she had not officially been accused of anything criminal, Genevieve felt as if her right to privacy needed protection. But, she recalled their help with Werner and Osama and saw the forlorn looks on their faces. Genevieve made an inviting gesture with her right paw, stepped aside and said; "Of course you can come in. Just don't search through my drawers. A lady has some unmentionable things she would rather keep to herself."

Billy and Jack stepped inside. Genevieve led them to the dining room and they all sat at the clear stained, oak, round table.

Billy sighed and said; "We apologize for being such a nuisance. But, frankly we're at a loss. We're hoping that some information we are not yet aware of will lead us somewhere."

Jack added; "We've made no progress."

Genevieve said; "I'd like to be of help. I'm very concerned that some dogs might need the cupboard, and will not have access."

Jack said; "That cupboard. Anyone can come and go? No one watches or keeps any records?

Genevieve said; "No. That might sound very naïve; and maybe it is. But, that was the whole idea. It was so naïve that it was perfect. And it was working up until now."

Billy said; "I don't follow."

Genevieve answered; "Well, we were afraid that if there was any sort of monitoring, that those in need might be too shy or embarrassed to take the food when they required it. ....... On a less important note, we also didn't want the donors to have some sort of 'bragging' rights."

Jack said; "As I understand it, the food was jarred, excepting the pineapples. So, it would be obvious if anyone was carrying a jar in or a jar out. No?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you? But no. We all refrained from watching. And if we happened to see anything, we kept it under our hats."

Jack said; "So you would occasionally 'see something'?"

Genevieve said; "Oh no; not the way you're thinking. It was just that once in a while someone who was making a deposit would criss-cross with someone making a withdrawal. That's all."

Billy said; "So, there was always a lot of coming and going."

Genevieve said; "I suppose. ....... I mean, I would go there to make deposits about three times a week. And when I was bored with watching "The Hominid Family" I'd go there to tidy up; put things in neat stacks; you know. And I'm sure everyone else did too. ......... We were proud of the place. Often residents brought their visitors to see it."

Billy said; "That's one of our biggest problems. There are tracks all over the place. Everybody from Pacific Lane as well as some we can't identify. ...... But tell me. There were people from elsewhere who were aware of its existence?"

Genevieve said; "Yes, many. I guess that sounds stupid. ...... I don't know. I guess it would have been wiser to keep it to ourselves. But, we were so proud ...... " Her voice trailed off a bit.

Jack bought her some time to recover by momentarily turning to Billy and showing him something on his smart phone. He then said; "So this has been going on for some time?"

Genevieve said; "Oh, I don't know exactly when it started. It's been here since I was a little girl; as long as I can remember."

Billy said; "Barney, Clara, and Gizmo. It is on their property. How can I say this politely? They don't seem old enough to have been around when you were a little girl."

Genevieve laughed; "I'm reminded of my age every time I move. You haven't made it any worse. Clara's folks, Mazda and Sassafras, got the idea for the whole thing. One year they were working very hard, got lucky, were young and in excellent health, and accumulated much more food than they could possibly eat. So this. Barney and Clara kept it up after they were gone. ........ You're making me remember old times. Clara's folks were a bit .......... eccentric.

Mazda was always chasing after birds who flew away. Never caught one. Eventually he got Sassafras doing the same thing. They used to scare the heck out of the neighborhood when they bolted. Maybe they thought it was keeping pooches away from their pantry, because at some point they moved their operations to the unpopulated land next to the Boggy Cleave River. I had one of those early self-developing, swinger cameras and I used to take it on excursions down there. I got a picture of them at dusk. Let me show you." For some reason, she thought that she remembered that long gone day as if it was just yesterday.

Mazda and Sassafras at dusk; property of the author.

### 14-Genevieve's Old Photo Album

Genevieve went to her darkly stained, William and Mary, reproduction buffet. She used two of the brass, teardrop handles to gently open one burled drawer, careful not to disturb the decorative china sitting on precarious edge at the top. She brought her photo album to the table. She flipped through the age stiffened pages, careful not to break off the yellowed, brittle pieces at the edges, until she got to the right one. She said; "Here officers. I won't bother you with the rest of my pictures. But, here's the only known one of Mazda and Sassafras. It was taken at dusk and is kind of special to me. See; the birds are well away over the water and Mazda and Sassafras are still looking at them. .......... When I talked to them, they were always telling me about some television show that I never had watched. It was Zorro this, Zorro that, and Zorro the other thing. Oh my, my memory was a bit off. When the Boggy Cleave was bigger than it is today often flood plain pools formed when it went out. You'd have to go through some water before you could get to the edge. And you wouldn't see that brown strip of land today. Everything changes I guess." She simultaneously sighed and smirked.

Mazda and Sassafras at dusk; property of the author.

Jack said; "That's a very nice picture," while Billy bobbed his head appreciatively. "Is there anything else you could tell us?"

Genevieve said; "No, not really. There's a voice telling me that I've seen something of significance, but I don't know what it might be."

Billy and Jack got up and mosied over to the front door. Billy said; "Thanks for your time. If you do think of anything else please let us know."

Jack nodded and Genevieve said; "Bye." Her photo album distracted her from the weighty concerns of the day. She slowly leafed through her book. Genevieve was first entranced by a photo taken of her when she was a puppy. She looked bewildered at the time. But, she then realized that the passage of time had not changed that aspect of her life very much. And her furry coat was so snow white; that its natural, minimal graying was so gradual it seemed noticeable only when viewing things from points of view decades apart.

Little Genevieve in her big yard; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

She then focussed on an old black and white of Madeline. Madeline was a strong girl. No matter the weather, she took great pleasure in giving her continually growing number of puppies a ride. Madeline was so proud of them that she continued to do that even after her "babies" could get around well enough on their own. The babies seemed content and happy to humor her wishes, and certainly didn't raise any objections to being given another free ride.

Maddie pulling her pups; property of the author.

Rex always had his tongue out. When he gave you a big kiss, you got slobbered all over. He seemed to like everyone, and despite that, he never ran out of slobber.

Rex; the kind courtesy of StockSnap.io under their CC0 license.

T-Bone must have come to Poochville from a tough place. He had loads of muscles and always had his eye out for troublemakers. Though he never found any here in Poochville, the rest of us thought we understood his demeanor from early TV crime shows, and appreciated his good heart and his desire to protect the rest of us.

T-Bone; the kind courtesy of Pixabay.com under their CCD license.

"Oh, good Lord," Genevieve exclaimed out loud. She saw that it was Old Bruno trudging through the oncoming snow. She hadn't thought of him in years. When such things still existed, not yet out-convenienced by the conflicting absurdities on the web, Bruno made sure that everyone got their newspaper every day. "That dog never got sick and then the newspapers all went on-line." Here he was at the end of his route on Pacific Lane. His cart must have been quite heavy for him when he started out. But, it's almost empty now. "I wonder whatever happened to him after everything got digitized. Old dog friends should remain in touch."

Old Bruno delivering the newspapers; property of the author.

Genevieve laughed out loud. It was little Baxter. He had the whole neighborhood in a panic that one day. No one could find him for hours. Then he popped up out of a polka dotted, empty urn which had been left at the corner of Rex' back yard that spring day. He was so excited with the return of the seasonal warmth, that he overused his little puppy legs and expended all his energy exploring the neighborhood. Then he needed a nap; and for some reason, perhaps not wanting to go home yet, hopped into the polka dotted urn. It might have been that it was well heated in the sun. When he woke, he looked out at everyone and wondered why they were all there. He said; "Whassup?" and everyone laughed in relief. He got more cuddles than any other dog ever did before or after. Baxter didn't know what he had done, but if he ever could have figured that out, he'd no doubt have done it again.

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

"Uh oh;" Genevieve whispered out loud. Thereafter her uneasy silence presided over the area. She saw the drawings a youthful Genevieve had made of some boys she had fancied long ago. For a moment she struggled to recall their names. But, with the beginnings of wetness at the corners of her eyes she quickly decided that it didn't matter anymore. For a few moments Genevieve remembered her old fascination, their flirtatious essence and her feeling. Then she practically viewed her old drawings the way one might view an old time, sepia tinted, amusing photograph of those old time, travelling fairs put on postcards.

Drawing of boy; property of the author.

Drawing of boy; property of the author.

She viewed the spot she had purposely made blank. The drawing which once was in that place was one she no longer wanted to be reminded about; though the blank spot served to remind her just as well as the now hidden drawing did. There was no escape other than turning the page.

Black blank space; property of the author.

It was "Eager Charlie!" He always was able to take everyone out of their gloom. His eyes always seemed to be crossed. But, no one ever mentioned it, and it didn't seem to impair his vision. He had this thing for Rosalita. He and she wanted it to be a secret. They probably thought it was; but everyone knew. It was really kind of adorable and cute.

Cross-Eyed Charlie; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

"Snowy! I don't have many memories of him, excepting that he was always serious. At first it put some of us off. But, we came to realize that he had bravely taken on the responsibility of watching out for the rest of us."

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

"Oh, my idealized drawing of the land near the river, looking over at Rapidtown. At one time, I thought that the area was just so wild, that it needed some pruning and redesigning. So, I did it in watercolors. I was so little then."

Dog at river; property of the author.

Genevieve thought; "There was this place where I used to meet my special one, Dillon. The woods had a path; a clearing; only he and I seemed to be aware of. The only way to it was blocked at five points by a series of fallen cottonwood branches. If you were patient, careful, and a little bit athletic, you could navigate them. But, I guess most turned back. This has to be autumn. Like today, the colors have changed and the leaves which aren't yet on the ground barely cling to the trees. Did I draw it? Or is this a picture? I can't remember or tell. ......... I've dreamt of this spot in nights which have been bad and good. ......... Best move on. ....... Of course. Is there another option? Let me think of something else."

Meeting place in the back country; property of the author.

I'm sure this one is a photo. It's the calm Boggy Cleave River. It could be a hot summer afternoon. Or it could be a half hour after sunrise anytime between the start of spring and the northern winds coming to announce autumn.

Boggy Cleave River in summer; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Patrice and Molly! They were always together. Sometimes they'd say the same thing at the same time; and then start apologizing to each other for it. "You go first." "No, you." They were so sweet. We all missed them greatly when their family moved away.

Patrice and Molly; the kind courtesy of StockSnap.io under their CC0 license.

My last drawing. The rainbow. And a hint of all the animals waiting there for me before beginning their trek to the other side. I saw it in what might have been a dream. That's what some others say; but I know it is real. I saw it the time I let my mind wander down by the river where I used to meet Dillon. I have to focus on something else right now.

Rainbow; property of the author.

Genevieve thought she'd rest her head for just a second right on the page. Instead, she dozed off while dreaming of pleasant times and the pooches long gone. She had her eyes closed and lips turned up at the corners throughout the day. At sunset her eyes opened.

"Oh, dear," she thought. "I'm completely out of sync. It's time to sleep and I'm wide awake. Maybe I can get some help from the net." Genevieve switched on her laptop and searched unstructured news. Nothing caught her interest. She closed her eyes and circled the cursor around the screen six times; then clicked. What came up was in Swedish, but there was a nice button which offered to translate. She pushed it and her screen showed what follows.

Aftonbladet;"All the News the Tabloids Fear"

August 17, 2017; Rinkeby. Today police arrested Rudy Sennenhund, a Swiss Citizen, when he refused to obey a Stockholm Police Officer's request for him to leave Rinkeby "for his own good." Mr. Sennenhund, an internationally known book reviewer, author, artificial intelligence maven, chess grandmaster, and all around roustabout (none of this yet fact checked) is reported to have been "disobedient," and is now ruminating over such uncalled for insolence at an undisclosed location.

Wilma (Sonny) Arvidsson, spokesdog for the Stockholm Police told reporters; "When requested to leave, Mr. Sennenhund displayed a surly expression, growled discourteously and questioned what law he was breaking. Informed that he was in a no-go zone, and despite being explicitly told not to go, he attempted to photograph his surroundings, including the helpful officer. He eventually and defiantly squatted on the ground, not for the reason you're probably thinking, rather than comply, requiring the services of four officers to carry him away. He has been charged with unspecified crimes yet to be determined and in fairness and consideration of that is being held at an unspecified location yet to be determined. We have confiscated his smart phone, and initial reports of its contents indicate involvement with subversive elements identified on Interpol's master list. In addition authorities have noted an inordinate amount of visits to a site still under investigation known as 'Hefty Black Mamas,' the name possibly indicative of underground activities or an offshoot of the American manufacturer of garbage bags."

Conservative leader, Anders (Sonny) Akesson has stated; "We are getting a bit fed up with these foreigners coming here in total disregard for our laws and customs. You don't have to be a Swedish genius to understand that 'no-go' means 'no-go.' If you insist upon complete freedom, get yourself a time machine and go back to mid-20th century America."

Celebrity, US based, investigative reporter Geraldo Burgos-Pointer has vowed to get to the bottom of this matter as soon as his "Dancing with the Stars" commitment has expired.

Florina St. Bernard; Mr. Sennenhund's travelling companion was interviewed at her motel. She seemed strangely noncommittal in her responses which sounded as if they took on a tone of some degree of disgust. She just shook her head and said; "I've got to watch him every second. If I leave him alone the least bit, he just has this knack for getting into trouble. He won't admit it, but I think he likes it."

In breaking news, Aftonbladet invites you to check out other articles in this issue including; "Most Expensive Swedish Meatballs" and "Now Everything is Crap Again."

Uninterested in Swedish meatballs or crap, Genevieve went to her bed and pulled the covers up. But, despite the subduing nature of the "news," it did no good. She remained wide awake. She flip-flopped, in an attempt to see if there was any position she could reach which would bring on that warm feeling leading to contented slumber. Genevieve even tried pulling the blankets over her head. But, nothing worked.

She couldn't settle into the mindless requirement which sleep demanded. It wasn't that she had slept all of the day. As far as she could recall she didn't think so. There was something that was in her head. It was there even stronger than previously, but it still insisted on remaining hidden.

Genevieve attempted to wish it away. Her wishes and tosses carried her through a few hours to when her surroundings seemed pitch black; though that might have been merely caused by clouds which blocked the moon.

With that undefinable thing making sleep virtually impossible and Jack's remark about not making progress, she decided to take matters into her own hands under the cover of darkness. She got up and looked out windows on each side of her house and saw no lights. Everyone else was already tucked in and dreaming.

### 15-Investigation Taken in Own Paws

Her bodily system totally out of sync because of recent events as well as her recent irregular sleeping pattern she went out into the darkness a bit off balance. Genevieve used her little flashlight to get some visibility on the lamp free street. But, whatever clouds had been hiding the evening astronomical body must have dissipated as it greeted her from over the Denials in all its fullness, helping matters some. She wasn't overly concerned with Clement's tales of menacing raccoons, but did find some uncomforting difficulty in walking. The darkness conceals secrets. It was nothing as fantastic and other worldly as the stories in the many "horror" comics available on the net. It was just the ordinary little things, like that little, shallow pit that the Pawsborne puppies had dug while checking out that worm, or that forgotten toy left outside when the dogs scurried inside for dinner.

Cover of horror comic; public domain.

The Pawsborne indentation was no problem during the day; but at night it was an unsettling and potentially hazardous abyss. A homonymnally inclined bi-ped could easily sprain an ankle or even break a leg. But, she had somewhat of an advantage with such things. For Genevieve, with her four mostly operable paws, a trifling dig was usually nothing more than just harmless child's play. She hoped she wouldn't encounter anymore deep, deep rabbit holes, as she didn't have any desire for another grumpy paw. The worst thing that could happen if Genevieve bumped into a toy was a few annoying scratches. And the toy might just be the toy rabbit that became real in "The Velveteen Rabbit." That wouldn't be all that bad, as she could well use a pal in the dark.

Original 1922 cover of "The Velveteen Rabbit"; public domain.

But, there was no need to make a gigantic fuss of it, as she only had to travel the distance of a few hundred feet before she was at Clara, Barney, and Gizmo's house. And if for some unknown reason she came to feel threatened, she could always turn back. She was blessed with that full moon who's light was strong enough to show the patches of snow on the higher elevations of the mountain; the result of the prior infamous night's drizzle at ground level.

Full moon and Denial Mountain snow; property of the author.

There was no obvious path to the back yard. The trodden, autumn browned grass in the front showed no irregularities under Genevieve's flashlight and moon enhancement. Light to the ground, she started to see more clear evidence of tracks on the side of the house.

She expected that. After all, the whole neighborhood had been going to the public cupboard for decades. They went any which way when in the front; and then respectful of privacy, stayed a distance from the side house windows, which were unobstructed by bushes as those in front. She was looking for something unusual; without any idea of what that was. But, Genevieve figured that she'd know it when she saw it. Though the night presented minor difficulties; the quiet and absence of other pooches allowed her to focus in a way she could not when the yard was well occupied.

Suddenly, Genevieve thought that she had seen a pattern courtesy of the moon and her flashlight. There were paw prints all over the area near the community cupboard. While that was the most obvious of anyone's expectations; what may have been not so obvious was that the barrage of prints served to mask what was therefore overlooked; like "hiding in plain sight." In the moonlight she thought she saw two more or less parallel lines in the dirt. Whatever caused it, Genevieve was certain of one thing. Paw prints did not cluster in near parallel patterns to make such a regular array of marks. Certainly not that she had seen. In fact, she had found that it was rather odd when even one dog walked in a consistent manner at all, never mind fifty. They usually meandered from side to side, veering toward whatever got their attention. And with their overloaded senses of hearing and smell, everything got their attention. Outside and from a distance of one hundred feet a dog can smell what those inside are having for breakfast and hear their conversation.

Parallel lines under the moonlight; property of the author.

She remembered what she had forgotten, or thought she did. Such things can be difficult to accurately determine. If she had truly forgotten it, how is it possible for her to now remember that which was not remembered a moment prior without remembering the forgotten memory first and then using that as a comparison to that which she thought she had just realized now? She quickly decided that the whole thought was a totally useless distraction, and the best thing she could do was to try to keep her grouchy hind leg out of rabbit holes in the dark and focus on the mysterious lines. Besides, the night autumn air was a bit colder than she had expected. Hence, Genevieve had left her jacket at home, and was beginning to shiver.

These lines were not necessarily driftways, the indentations created by peak period water runoff, or heavily used paw paths. Genevieve thought; "They could have been made by cartwheels!" Victor Override, the mayoral hopeful had pulled one, and her old photo album might have surfaced Genevieve's buried memories of Maddie and Old Bruno doing the same; they now again "living" in her aged photo album thanks to her viewing.

The tracks left by carts drawn by two wheels ....... more or less came into her mind; more strongly than its measly, trifling, and wretched ambiguity warranted. But, it was nonetheless there; well supplied by her many previous experiences with pooches of the evidence seeking variety. "More or less" just won't do. She sighed when she thought; "If one is going to act as a sleuth, the need for irrefutable evidence comes with the package."

While she could substantially dismiss that sort of thought as a trap into a silly, never ending quest for what was right in front of one's face; she was not sure if the moonlight was playing tricks on her. A cart's wheels were a certain, fixed distance apart; but these "tracks" had some variability. They were wider apart at some points than they were at others. Could the wheels have been slipping that drizzly night? Or were the faint lines not really there at all?

Genevieve again sighed audibly; and then put a paw in front of her mouth as if that would prevent someone from hearing that she was near territory roped off by the police. She thought it best to leave.

She was finished for the night. Genevieve had possibly seen the elusive thing she couldn't recall. But now, it was even more confusing to her. Even if she had correctly seen the lines, she didn't know what it meant. Genevieve decided to go home and once again try to sleep. She thought; "This isn't my job. ........ But, nobody else seems capable of doing it."

As Genevieve slept under her covers, the next morning other stunned and confused residents of Pacific Lane started doing similar things. They began conducting their own investigations; though they were not inclined to challenge the authority of the yellow tape left by Billy and Jack.

But, within the confines of the established boundary, the nervous dwellers of Pacific Lane were too, watching the ground, often in un-traditional, accidentally chanced pairs. The most venturesome of the lot were doing that outdoors in unprotected territory. They went to the land behind Pacific Lane; a wild area which separated the tidy yards from the land bordering the Boggy Cleave River. The land was periodically subjected to the fierce running water of a river overflowing. Not wanting to be carried away in a flash flood, no proper pooches lived there. There were occasional rumors of homeless or dangerous dogs taking up stakes on the site. But, no one had ever found the source of such rumors, nor had anyone seen anything of the sort. For most it was just kind of a place to go when one needed to feel rebellious and solitary in probable safety.

But it was also possible that the place now harbored food thieves. Each making their decision on their own, Willy and Daisy decided to "comb" the area. When rounding a blind bend created by a cluster of five foot tall Apache Plume bushes; Willy and Daisy, going in opposite directions, plowed into and scared the hell out of each other.

Upon seeing that it was Willy, Daisy put a paw to her chest, exhaled deeply, and jokingly said; "We have to stop meeting like this."

Upon seeing that it was Daisy, Willy put a paw to his chest, exhaled deeply, and said; "If only Waylon was a bit more understanding. ................ That's a battlefield joke! What are you doing here anyway?"

Daisy said; "Looking for undesirables and I may now have found one."

Willy said; "Me too. Let's stick together in case we find thieves."

Daisy said; "Okay. Going my way?"

Willy said; "Yeah," and they continued their exploration in tandem.

Willy and Daisy investigating the back country; property of the author.

The overgrown brush was well above their heads. Each step they took flattened what was right ahead of them and chanced an encounter with something unknown and potentially harmful. Though they knew of the possible dangers from the outset of their individually chosen journeys; they were now almost completely relaxed. Somebody had their back.

Their finely tuned ears essentially picked up the sound of the dry grass crunching under each footstep. Background music was provided by the whooshing rush of the river over the rocks and the occasional somber call of one of the solitary birds perched on a now barren tree top.

Daisy on patrol; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

The screeches soon became commonplace and ambient, adding lesser mid-tree points of howl to their catalogue. What can one expect from bird brains? Songs?

### 16-The Island Hideout

They had no particular plan in mind. But, Willy and Daisy's natural tendencies produced movements which gradually took them to the clearings and the hints of paths which bordered right on the river in most places. The billions of footsteps taken by the now unseen animals on their many ways to and around the Boggy Cleave had created a series of river bordering concealed paths now only suitable to the growth of the resilient and uncultivated, southwestern staple called Indian rice grass. Currently, as in the fall of every year, the Indian staple was virtually all tan, sparse, broken, and trampled upon through the complete passionate disregard of those seeking nearness to the river, coupled with the discretion which dictated not leaving the safety of the shore.

Daisy went right to the edge. The water was moving fast enough to produce white caps at every sizable, imbedded river rock; like an intermittent and consistently recurring display of grayish-white germanium shields. The surging abundance of short lived insolences was sufficient to look to Daisy like a flash near a flash next to another flash; much like the appearance of colorless lights on a Christmas tree, or the flashing bulbs on an old camera being rapidly snapped. In the modified writing of a somewhat observant poet, it was a relentlessly marauding army of insignificant armors; sword-less, yet trying to appear threatening in their pebble induced fraction of a second lifespan.

Stylized cover of James Joyce' "Ulysses"; modified public domain.

Willy said; "Wooo." It wasn't as if he was afraid of the water as one might wrongly and easily conclude. He just wisely knew his limitations. His thick body was supported by small, unwebbed feet and he had never been able to swim. Frankly, he wasn't overly fond of baths either. He said; "I know that you're going to do it. Just be careful." He watched her.

Daisy knew that the river could be surprisingly and extremely cold this time of year. In it, the slightest slip and too long a stay could result in death from hypothermia, if you didn't first drown. Yet there were unexplored islands out there. These were the little things of just a few acres created by the likes of a dead log which diverted the flow around it; and the subsequent accumulation of gritty dirt behind. Even littler things grew there; and twenty foot trees packed together on the older ones. Those with tall, wild, and mature foliage cover were potentially places where a thief might find safety. Daisy continued to stand at the edge thinking about it. Right in front of her was that one island which was host to deciduous evergreens which made it an excellent hiding spot. Her view may have helped her forget the risks of the cold current.

She stopped thinking about it and made the leap. Despite having anticipated, she was initially shocked by the coldness. But, it didn't immediately render her immobile. It was more disturbing to her that her paws didn't reach bottom. She had to swim and she had never been properly taught how to do that. Her paws were, like Willy's, not webbed, but her legs were ten times the length of his. The current pushed her away from the island where she wanted to go, and toward a wide expanse of landless sea. Daisy was more scared than she had ever been previously. She had the benefit of having had made this trip before, though it had previously always been during the warmth of the summer when the water's lower temperature was a relief rather than something ominous. She used her natural instincts, enhanced through practical experience. Much of the time Daisy kept frantically doggy paddling at an upstream angle which was intended to compensate for the current's relentless thrust toward open sea. Sometimes she just floated. The hard work paid off for her. As she finally approached the island the water became much shallower. Her paws again touched ground. It was only then that she was sure that she was okay.

Daisy exploring the islands in the river in summer; property of the author.

She used her front paws and a hind leg leap to pull herself onto the island. Willy stopped watching Daisy. She was all right and now about to be hidden by the island trees. He breathed a sigh of relief, and resumed his land based search.

In her climb up the side Daisy used her nails as claws to get traction in the mud. Upon reaching the surface she shook herself, throwing off some of the water and the majority of the island mud on her coat. She carefully stepped through the broken branches on the ground; one eye necessarily on that ground and the other elevated. Having been to this place on other occasions she knew that the other side of the island was periodically inhabited by things which did not want to be seen. They were successful in that no one had ever seen them. Daisy had only previously seen the food wrappings they left, paw prints, and the blackened tiny branches still piled up neatly, which at one time, together fueled a campfire.

Willy in the bushes; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Things can get a bit covered sometimes. Things can get a bit covered when in the woods. Things can get a bit covered when the lower growth is thick. Things can get a bit covered ....... too much of the time. Willy was seeing only that cover as he continued his land based search. It wasn't his fault for not having been blessed with x-ray vision.

His eyes saw only what shows. His ears heard the sound of his own steps and a few screeches from solitary, fleeing birds, disturbed by his surprise approach to their once secluded haven.

Willy sought the unusual; at the same time afraid to find it. His four paws moved consistently, but only with the speed of a turtle agitated by the easily detectable presence of a skunk.

"Brrr-aaack," loudly said the rotten, soft tree branch. Out on the island, Daisy was startled by the sound. She jumped to her left and luckily landed an inch short of the steep slide back down to the middle of the cold Boggy Cleave. The sound of "Blut-bam" disturbed the air once again, as she saw the rotten branch tangle with a live one for a while, before hitting the ground and taking one final bounce. She was annoyed at the momentary shock and muttered; "Darn dead thing. Had to make noise just when I wanted the quiet. Didn't you? Well, that's the last noise you'll ever make."

Daisy resumed her investigation, and made her way through the living trees. "Brop-bop," came the petty, muted insistence. It came from the direction of the unplanned tree branch cemetery, back behind Daisy at ground level. She saw a young, white rabbit with a wide streak of some other darker color mixed with island, underground mud running across its back. From Daisy's distance he seemed tiny. He was apparently disturbed from his daytime slumber by the rude sounds made by the fall of the dead branch. With speed and a healthy, youthful curiosity he had come out to investigate the entire ruckus. He went right to the dead branch and pushed the fallen and deteriorating black thing with his pink nose. He sneezed; clearing out the grime which had temporarily resided there. The rabbit's push caused the thing to flop over onto its other side. The thing's legs were now in the air, like an unmoving dead bug. The permanence could only now be altered by a miracle. "Brop-bop."

The rabbit went back in its hole and Daisy moved through the trees. She saw nothing unusual. No tracks. No low broken branches. But, from prior experience she knew that if she was going to find anything, it would be in the back of the island.

Willy struggled through the remains of last summer's overgrowth. The brown, brittle residue was dead to the point of breaking apart at the slightest touch. But, the fact that the dead congregated in clusters, made them able to trip up an explorer. All in all, it was nothing more than a minor nuisance to Willy; a possibly comedic event for watchers; and excepting the birds, there was no one around this day. The tangled clumps of residue just slowed him down a little.

That minor inconvenience might not have been any consideration at all for a long legged labbie. But Willy was a pure bred Dachshund, and had legs shorter than a Chihuahua. He was slow from the get go. So, he wasn't getting very far. But he was extremely thorough with the little land he could cover.

"Twattascreeproooovom;" rang in Willy's enormous ears and gave him a momentary start. Or maybe it was more like a momentary pause. Be that as it may, what was happening was a bushtit. The tiny, solitary, bluish-rosy bird made a tweeting fuss as it flew from the bush thicket Willy was approaching to the thicket ten feet ahead of it.

Bushtit; property of the author.

Willy exhaled strenuously; and said; "Should have went further than that. I'm going to catch up again in a second. ...... Well, in a few seconds anyway." The bushtit hung upside down from its new perch and looked at him.

Willy thought; "Is this silly bird playing with me? This isn't the time for that. I've got serious business here."

As if it had heard and understood that, the bushtit said; "Brapafondue" in one of the upper octaves; the key of G sharp with seven pitches.

Willy's big dachshund ears were well attuned to the sounds which humans can only imagine. Right now, he wasn't particularly happy about that ability, as it blurred his ability to detect the sounds of the food thief. He stuck out his tongue and went "thrrrpfft" back at the bird in B flat.

The bushtit said a short "erru" in the questioning aspect of C major, and flew away, over the bush tops, and out of Willy's range of vision.

Willy felt terribly as he thought that the bushtit might have felt insulted by his flat response. He didn't want that. He just didn't need any distractions right now; as he was on an important mission which required his full concentration.

He continued to move on the brushy path through the bushes. Bushtit calls continued to greet him every ten feet. Willy made friendly nods to them and remained silent. The bushtits remained on their perches and watched him.

After what seemed like a year of searching, Willy looked to a bushtit and asked; "Have you seen anything unusual around here lately?"

His only response was one "mmmmng." From the tone Willy suspected it was a question, but since he did not speak Bushtit he didn't know which one. And he thought that even if he could speak the language he would still have to translate the meanings of "unusual" and "lately" in a manner which bushtits might understand.

The many steps taken by his little legs were taking their toll on him. Willy felt as if he had run the Poochville Annual Marathon. He decided that it was best to turn back and return to the Boggy Cleave edge where he had last seen Daisy.

### 17-Air Raiders

Daisy made her way through the thick trees. She followed the easiest "path," that of the "drainage lines." They're the foot wide, shallow gouges in the earth caused by excess surface water runoff, some call driftways. Since nothing grew on them, they provided a place to walk with few obstacles down low.

Their twisting trail initially took her away from the river and Daisy moved inland on the island. She was blocked from outside view from any direction including the sky above. The tree and bush branches clustered five feet above her, but there were none to hinder her movement at her ground level. Daisy noticed that the sounds made by her steps had gotten louder.

Then the path turned back toward the river on the island's southern side and ended there. She walked the edge, continuing her journey toward the back, the water furiously crashing against the island a few feet below her, before diverting in both directions. As she got closer to the back, she felt a chill. It was not caused by any wind on her still soaked coat; it was more something which emanated from her mind. Daisy knew that if any of the bad guys were around this was where they would be. The back was the place she had previously seen evidence of the things which don't want to be seen. If they were there now, she was alone with them. She didn't find that a comforting thought; but, on the other hand, that was the whole reason she was here.

Daisy was encouraged as the splashes of the rushing water drowned out the thumps of her steps. She realized that she didn't have to confront them alone. She could locate them and quietly go back to Pacific Lane for help. That was no insult to Willy, as if he tried to swim the river he'd wind up submerged in its mouth.

She peered around the corner when she neared the clearing. All but her snout and eyes behind the last tree, she saw the clearing and the Denials across the river. Daisy was both relieved and disappointed. There were no thieving marauders. There weren't even any discarded Snickers wrappers.

Daisy advanced to the place where she had previously seen the remains of former camp fires. Either nobody had been here recently or the wind had blown away any signs of them. She sat. It had taken her some risk and effort to get here. So, she decided to wait a few minutes in case something popped out which was hidden upon her first arrival.

She gazed around. The "shoop, shoop" and periodic "gulp" made by the river increased in volume. Daisy relaxed and settled into the humming music of the continuous flow. Her eyes fluttered; then closed and she lay on her side. The warmth of the sun felt good on her wet coat. She may have drifted off.

Rudely breaking the river's mellow song, there was a shriek. Daisy alertly stood up. A broad winged gull was making its presence known as it swooped down to the river's surface. The gull got quiet as it returned to the sky with a fish half its size in its beak. The entire week's food shopping operation lasted about two seconds; bettering the swift conveniences offered by the highest paid consumer programming talent lured by Seattle's Amaway.

Swooping gull; property of the author.

Suddenly feeling too exposed, Daisy sought protection at the edge of the woods. Upon re-engaging the trees, she looked in all directions to see if any other loud dive bombers were anywhere near. Not seeing or hearing any, she took another step and her front leg tripped on something which protruded from the ground. It was a turtle shell she had not previously noticed.

Turtle shell; property of the author.

She jumped back when she realized that the shell might actually be housing a turtle which might be hiding from the air attack. "Some of these guys snap and can take off a paws digit or two. No fun," she thought.

Prints left by hobbled, no fun paws; property of the author.

But, she was curious. The shell had trees in front of it and driftwood behind; as if it had been seeking shelter for some time. She pushed some dirt toward it. When there was no movement she extended a paw and gave it a quick pat. Still nothing. She put her head to the ground trying to see if there was anything under the shell. She saw nothing.

She got a little braver. She gave the shell a push. Nothing. "Hmmnnn," she thought; "This shell must be exactly and only that. A shell. Poor guy must have made a wrong turn toward the woods, lost track of the water, and died here." She bit at the shell. Yes, bit at its edge! Having once before been presented with a turtle shell to chew, as an alternative to a bone; Daisy picked up the acquired taste quickly, and appreciated that the thick shell lasted much longer than any bone she had previously known.

"Aaarrrgh," came the agitated, but simultaneously matter-of-fact yelp from under the shell. Daisy jumped back and saw the angry little head emerge from somewhere down under. Her brief first glance, prior to her necessary parting reaction, was unclear as to whether it belonged to a turtle, a snake, a creepy-crawly escaped from a Cronenberg movie, or a shy and somewhat reluctant, gaseous and ringing, alien visitor from Saturn.

Seeing that her first thought was correct; that most pleasing to good old Occam's simplicity, in that the protuberance was indeed a turtle head, she breathed a huge sigh of relief; and said; "Bad turtle. You almost gave me a heart attack."

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

"Bad turtle? Bad turtle? How dare you say that madam? You have disturbed my slumber only to bite me. Your manners are that of an untrained mongrel dog."

"It wasn't a bite. It was more of a friendly little gnaw," Daisy replied indignantly.

"I never gave you permission to 'gnaw' me, as you put it. In my circles, gnawing only becomes an option after proper introductions are made and the intended gnawer and the intended gnawee spend suitable time getting to know each other."

"You're not from around here; are you?"

"No. I have allowed the current to carry me far from my starting point. I was given little choice in the matter."

"See anything strange around here?"

"Only you and the dive-bombing gulls."

"I beg your pardon."

The turtle calmed down. He said; "I apologize. My name is Haashir." He offered his right front flipper for a shake.

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

Daisy hesitated. It was understandable, as she had never previously shaken a flipper. In fact, she couldn't recall having had shaken much anything except the water off her coat. But, she surmised that Haashir was attempting to make a peaceful gesture. So she touched his flipper with her right front paw, claws retracted, and said; "I'm Daisy." Their varied limbs intended a clasp, but of physical necessity settled for a glide and a mutual giggle at the phenomenon of yet another strange extension.

"Daisy. Glad to meet you. That's such a pretty name."

"Aw, thanks. But, it's a pretty common name around here. Now, Haashir. That's a name very uncommon here."

Haashir sighed and said; "Here too? I wasn't sure. It means "the gatherer." Where I come from we have about ten thousand Abduls. Abdul this, Abdul that, and Abdul the other thing."

"We used to have a basketball player named that."

"You're really sweet, Daisy. You come from the mainland?"

"Yes, Poochville. Never been to Rapidtown. ........ Never been much anywhere, I guess. You've been all over. Right?"

"Yeah. ........... As far as the water can take me. I'm kind of slow; especially on land. These flippers are better in the water. But, mostly it's just going with the flow. ...... Tell me. Why did you come out here?"

"Searching. You see, we have had a crime committed in Poochville; a theft. Nobody has been able to find the culprits. So, Willy and I, ............ Willy's back on shore because he doesn't swim too well; are out looking for them. Most dogs never come all the way out here, but he and I have a few times. So, we met out here. .............. I mean, we're not married or anything; but we both just came here today .......... unplanned. We just happened to meet here; well not here on the island as he doesn't swim all that easily, but on the land bordering the river, and the next thing you know I was out here and he was ...... "

"Yes, yes. I understand. I was once your age in turtle years. And instead of a thief, you managed to find a tired old turtle with a funny name who was trying to hide from the gulls."

"Well, you did hide from the gulls pretty well. You just were detected by a snoopy dog."

"Who bites."

"Gnaws. Are you starting again? You want to see a real bite?"

"I was joking. We have a weird sense of humor where I come from. I'm getting sleepy in this sun."

"Okay. I really should be off. My partner's waiting for me on the mainland and I shouldn't keep him waiting. Wish I could stay longer. Nice meeting you, Haashir. Watch out for those gulls." Daisy rubbed her nose against Haashir's shell.

After a quick shiver, Haashir said; "Tease," and retreated into his shell.

Daisy made her way back the way she came. She followed the coast, then turned inland and followed the driftway. She hesitated a moment before leaping into the river. On this trip she found the waters of the Boggy Cleave to be warm as her coat was still wet with the water from the original swim, which had been cooled in the autumn air. This time her biggest concern was just to buck the pushy current most of the time; of necessity again going against it. On her first trip, she had been reminded for the first time since the end of last summer that at times she could effortlessly float; and only required a small amount of contrary adjustment to reach her precisely chosen destination.

Willy was anxiously waiting on the shoreline when Daisy arrived. She hopped up easily as the shore's bank was less steep than that of the island. When he got close to help her; belated as it was, he was perhaps fittingly greeted with her excess water shake off. Surprised by the cold spray, Willy recalled the time he accidentally stepped into a cold shower and could not easily get out with both feet slippery and two cringing paws unable to reach the shut off valve.

"Thanks a lot," he said; with one paw backhanding his eyes.

"It's good for you. Wakes you right up and cleans out the old snout. See anything?"

"Just a bunch of singing bushtits who don't understand the language. How about you?"

"A reclusive wandering turtle."

"The thief?"

"Not a chance. He's just trying to get away from the gulls."

" ........ "

"It's a long story and don't tell the others about it. They might misunderstand. Speaking of secrets, I think we should have another one. It might raise some eyebrows if we were seen walking back to Pacific Lane together. So, you hang behind me five minutes and listen to some more bushtit songs."

"Fine with me. Catchy stuff."

### 18-A Sweet Reader

Pablo was worried. He was more worried than the morning he had accidentally ventured into the hornet nest in the tall grass he was exploring alone down by the river. They jumped up and stung him many times. But, Pablo used his long, muscular legs to outrun them; and the pain they inflicted ended by late afternoon. But, this was different, milder most of the time, but much longer lasting.

He had seen the previous morning's news and knew that there had been a commotion on Pacific Lane. The follow up reports stated that it was a police matter involving theft. Much too early he had become a dog who had learned to prefer to get lost in the fantasy of his books or the fantasy of being alone in the woods to mingling with the other dogs. It wasn't as if he didn't like them. He just wished that they would have liked him better. He guessed that the whole thing was a result of his tough appearance and harsh sounding bark. After having attempted some early entrees into the social life of a friendly pooch; in time he had come to some clear conclusions. He could sense that the others were wary of him because they always leaned away in his presence; then always found a "reason" to withdraw.

This dynamic wasn't easily accepted by him. Something foolish in him wanted to believe the current versions of the "reasons" given, in hope that the next time would be different. It had taken many repetitions of the same pattern before he made his retreat. The time his former acquaintances, Jasper and Droolsbury excused themselves because Jasper said that they "need to see a dog about a horse pronto" finally did it for Pablo. Not only did they walk away snickering and nudging each other; but Pablo already knew that that there were no horses anywhere around; and even if there were, no dogs had ever owned or purchased horses; either slowly or pronto.

To this day, at the still un-accused age of ten, Pablo was aware that if he barked the slightest bit, it became something the other dogs shied away from. If something bad happened the others assumed that it was his doing; though they would never say so. He actually wished they said it out loud; as it would have given him the opportunity to present his side of the argument. No such good fortune was to come his way. Pablo was silently charged with some unspecified crime, had no attorney, and had no way of clearing his good name. He was truly alone as a result of their beliefs and good manners; though those fine attributes could not transcend appearance and sound; or where the others thought that he was born. In actuality it was on the other side of Poochville; but he was certain they thought it to be Rapidtown.

Cover of "The Trial"; modified public domain.

At some point Pablo had made that aloneness official. He had the company of his many books. Franz Kafka and his "The Trial" were well worn by many strokes of his paws.

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

Now, he was again fearfully looking through his window. He was hopeful that he might be able to see something which would make him be able to be a hero by finding the true culprit. At the same time he was gnawed at by the logic which suggested that it was much more likely that he would not see anything useful from the vantage point of his window. He fretfully had a more likely expectation. If he saw anything it would be the authorities coming to take him away. It's the same as the feeling one gets when the computer stops working and you were the last one to touch it.

Pablo was reminded of his recurrent dream. The good-looking little white lab puppies were frolicking without a care in the world. Sometimes he was one of them and other times it was as if he was watching them from a distance.

Pablo's dream Lab pups; property of the author.

So adorable. But, the dreams were not something Pablo sought. He had no choice in the matter. For Pablo the result was always the sad same. Eventually he woke up. During his dream; if he was watching them from afar he was saddened by not being one of them. If he was one of them, he would sooner or later wake up to find out that he was not. Though the latter sometimes seemed worse; the net result was not worth making any fine distinctions between. The effect was sadness. Things were the same ten minutes later. He was Pablo, the deserted.

The dreams which he had been trying to bury for years resurfaced because of the Pacific Lane theft. In these thoughts Pablo was distracted from his books. He again thought that if he could prove himself to be a good, useful friend that the others would be able to see through his tough appearance and hear the dance rhythm behind his harsh sounding bark. He stared out his window hoping to see something which might solve the mystery of the missing food.

When he tired, Pablo abandoned the window, and went back to his library. He stared and stared at his accumulation of friends; puzzled, panicky, perplexed, and finally again pleased, positive, placid, and peaceful. His books were like magic for him. They took his cares away and he would be transported into another life; some more tragic than his own.

Pablo's library; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Today, he was particularly drawn to another one of his Franz Kafka books. "The Metamorphosis" seemed the appropriate return to normality. He didn't know what took him so long to make the decision. Upon his touch of the outside binding he was immediately morphed in his head; just like when a kid dreams of becoming Babe Ruth.

Pablo's transformation; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

He became an unconventionally handsome prince of Terra Firma also known as Earth. Pablo pawed through the pages slowly, gliding, imagining that his clunky paws had become gliding wings and graceful legs.

### 19-A Morning Shade

Once more, Genevieve gruffed her way out of bed and started the coffee machine. If not for her concerns over the recent goings on in Poochville, the sun rising over the Denial Mountains would ordinarily have portended another glorious day for her. But, this morning it cast a long, thin shadow where Genevieve had never previously seen one.

Through the living room window she saw it on her front porch. It looked something like an armless and legless torso. It had a shock of hair sticking up equal in size to its body; like a midget rasta man's dreadlocks in a particularly unruly upsweep.

Genevieve was un-nerved and yipped like she hadn't since she was a pup. She wanted to make a ferocious bark. But, her little voice box and lack of training in being fierce resulted only in a series of nervous yips. Her sounds were not capable of scaring a "fraidy kitten" away. The thing reminded her of a punk humanoid out of am extremely low budget movie.

But, this deformed thing couldn't be removed with the push of a button. And Genevieve was concerned that her night time snooping might have attracted some unwanted attention. But, right now it didn't matter what had led to her uninvited visitor's rude company. It was there. Genevieve called out; "Time to bring out the old shotgun," in reality a bluff, as a shotgun was something neither she or anyone else in Poochville had.

The thing didn't move. It remained right where it was and made no sound. She stomped her paw in frustration. Genevieve, then proceeded to jump a foot in the air as the coffee machine beeped its accomplishment broadcast. "Oh, shut up, you," mumbled Genevieve.

She filled a cup and paced in circles; her tiny paws frantically moving. Each time she passed by the living room window she hoped that the thing was gone. Each time she passed by the living room window she saw that it was still there. Genevieve dreamily recalled the days of her puppyhood; when her biggest concern was whether or not her winter coat was enough to withstand the breeze boosted freezes of winter. Her short lived, fortunate, and contented distraction faded and quickly disappeared as she became more and more alert with each coffee sip.

Genevieve surmised that she was in some sort of "new" Poochville. And she didn't like it one little bit. However, she also knew that any personal choice that she might have had in the matter had some severe limitations recently imposed upon it. No matter how much Genevieve concentrated, meditated, wished, prayed, or conjured; even aided by the "fairy wooden box keepsakes" obligingly obtained when for the entirety of one month she used to attend weekly "New Age" meetings, there was nothing that was going to bring back the idyllic life of old Poochville; least of all this "monster" that had taken up residence on her front porch.

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

On the other hand, this thing waiting by her front door had not moved in ten minutes. Perhaps more; as she only knew of the ten which had passed since she had woken up. Genevieve considered the non-threatening possibility that the uninvited guest was dead. Maybe it had just chosen her front door as the inconvenient place to pack it in; though apparently standing up.

Her level of fear returned to the height of what it previously was, when she realized that the thing could just be sleeping. Well, could be. Who knows? Horses and cattle sometimes sleep on their feet, hooves, cloven hooves, or live soles. Maybe some other things do too.

In a moment of defiance she put down her coffee cup and walked boldly to her front door. She opened it just a bit; ready to slam it back shut if necessary. She got a glimpse and recoiled in horror. It was worse than seeing a spaceman with creepy tentacles coming out of its head. It was a solitary pineapple which defiantly sat on her porch.

She feared that it might connect her to the theft. At the very least its possession could easily be seen as "proof" that she had violated the crime scene restrictions by going back to the taped community cupboard. She thought; "Somebody is trying to get me into trouble."

Lone pineapple; property of the author.

Genevieve did the only thing a rational pooch could do under the circumstances. She took the lone pineapple in. And that wasn't easy for a little girl.

"Whew," she said after she got it two feet inside the door. "Whoops, hold on there fella," she added when she noticed that the pineapple was rocking on its base. She was afraid that it was showing a sign that it might topple. Genevieve leaned against the pineapple to steady it.

She refreshed her coffee cup and sat next to Mr. Pineapple. "I've got to get you back to the cupboard. .......... I think you weigh as much as I do. ........... I guess I could eat you. But, that would take some time. Somebody's bound to come here and see you before I finished. Then they'd charge me with destroying evidence. ........ That's a joke. You're supposed to laugh."

Genevieve was trying to amuse herself as her work and worries had just been further complicated. She had intended to go back to the cupboard and re-check those "cartwheel" lines in the daylight. But, now she also had to find a way to get Mr. Pineapple there too. She didn't own a cart, she didn't want to be seen, and one leg was not what it used to be.

As she sat there, cup in paw, she looked at the clouds through her living room window. There must have been a high wind as they were moving rather quickly and changing shapes. "Aha," Genevieve thought. "I could dye my hair and cut off his. ...... On second thought, maybe not. I'd probably come out blue, and I'm not sure if he wants to be a baldy pineapple."

Genevieve concentrated. Soon, she got another idea. She could go the back way and probably roll him for the entire trip. "Why didn't I think of that right away?" she thought. "All these goings on just clutter one's mind."

She knew that this trip was not one to be undertaken on an empty stomach and a disagreeable foot. She couldn't do much about the foot part. But, she could well spend the next fifteen minutes devouring her Chewy Life Protection Brand's blend of rubbery sweet potatoes and salmon.

It took Genevieve a bit more time than she had anticipated to devour the meal. She washed it down with her favorite "Fine Wine for Dogs from Howl Vineyards" brand; this bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon Bark taste and aroma variety. Simplified descriptions of red or rose will suffice for the uninitiated.

Genevieve's wine; property of the author.

At any rate, after the first glass, well initiated Genevieve started feeling warm and giddy. She decided that it wasn't any particular rush to get Mr. Pineapple back home. Nor would a few more minutes matter in the overall scheme of things. She convinced herself well, and Mr. Pineapple wasn't raising any objections. Besides, she was feeling more and more up to the task with each swallow. She thought; "Courage is essential for this dangerous trek, ........ and I could use a little more."

Three glasses later with the sun just a safe bit shy of his moody, misleading, mid-day mount; Genevieve decided that this was the correct time for the foray. A fourth would have left her with a perfect excuse for a fifth and a headline banner of "Tomorrow."

She got up. Her bad back leg seemed to have been properly medicated. However, the other three seemed to indicate a certain degree of possible wobble. They seemed to have an agenda all their own. And it went over, under, sideways, down, left, right, forward, and back; often three at a time.

Genevieve patted his head and said; "Time to go back home, Mr. Pineapple. Please forgive me if I appear a bit careless, but you're about to get knocked over and rolled. .......... Glad there are no objections."

She leaned her shoulder into him and shoved. He rocked around on his base for a few encouraging whomp-whomps, like your kitchen-table-vase does when you try to polish around it and always manage to give it a whack when you get too close. He then re-settled a few inches from where he started. Genevieve tried another shove and the same thing happened. "One more time," she said and proceeded to use her weakened balance to fall right into him. Excepting the one more than usual whomp, he did the same thing again.

However, Genevieve was now sideways on the floor with her butt a few inches higher than her head. She found that amusing, though she also recognized that her efforts had not moved Mr. Pineapple very much. In fact, he was standing there, arrogant as can be. Genevieve remembered that lately people had come to her windows for a peek. And she did not want to appear to be "heels over head" for the visual benefit of just any stranger who might trespass on her property.

Genevieve righted herself and shook off any dust which might have impolitely nested on her coat. She gazed out her un-curtained living room window to verify that no "surprise" audience was waiting. Then she rolled back on her side and giggled. She said; "Mr. Pineapple; your stubborn nature requires me to think about alternative plans. ............ It wasn't my choice. It was dictated by your behavior." Genevieve was again successful in amusing herself. She stared up at the pineapple's super, super Mohawk.

Genevieve said; "Enough of this frivolity. Realities intrude. It is more than high time to figure out what to do. ........ I must find a mechanism with which I can sweep you off your feet." She laughed as she got to her feet and walked around her house. In one of the kitchen drawers she found her spatula, which she used to mix, spread, and lift her foods. She slid it under Mr. Pineapple. Its broad, soft, flat, and flexible edge led the way to avoid any cuts. When the spatula was fully under him, Genevieve lifted the handle, and with a dull whump and a rock, Mr. Pineapple was on his side, in no position to put forward any arguments.

Spatula; property of Genevieve.

Genevieve swapped pushing with her snout and body. Either way she and Mr. Pineapple were on their way out the door and through the backyards to Barney, Clara, and Gizmo's sheds. She knew that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, and Genevieve didn't want to spend time dawdling in full sunlight. However, the sway caused by her wine influenced legs resulted in some zigzagging delays. Her legs were not totally at fault for those delays. Mr. Pineapple had an unexplained liking to sometimes roll on his sharply curved head area, which resulted in roundabout movements to the left as well as the right. Apparently not high-low biased, he showed no preference as he sometimes rolled on his smoother base, causing a zig, but almost no zag. This further delayed matters a bit.

Genevieve wore no gold watch, not even a Timex "True Blue." So she could not precisely calculate the amount of time they spent on well lit, daytime detours. However, the precise calculations were beside the point as the duo arrived at the sheds without attracting any unwanted attention.

Genevieve saw the eight other pineapples sitting on the shelf behind the yellow police barrier tapes. They were huddled together like impounded idols only three feet above the ground.

"How am I going to get him up there?" she thought. Genevieve's Mr. Pineapple was lying on his side, back, or front. It's hard to tell with a silent pineapple. And since he had chosen to give no indications, it seemed reasonable to her to conclude that he either doesn't care, is unconscious, or is open to a number of interpretations. Still, Genevieve thought that she should do her best to put him back where she remembered him originally being. She also thought that her memory might be faulty, but that thought just led to further doubts, and to further doubts, and to further doubts, and to further ...........

Still, she couldn't pick him up. He was much too fat for that. And he wouldn't co-operate in the least; not offering the least of jumps; not even a little jerk. Genevieve rolled him to the base of the shelves which held his eight siblings. "There," she said; "When they see you they'll think that you fell."

Now that she knew where to look, Genevieve had no trouble re-finding the tracks she had first seen the previous evening. Having no better idea of what to do with tracks, she figured that she'd follow them.

Parallel lines in daytime; property of the author.

Genevieve was no longer afraid of being seen. She had broken no laws. Well, not really, unless someone wanted to get very picky-picky technical. And she was no longer near a restricted area. She still had some concern over the mysterious appearance of the pineapple at her door. But, she concluded that whoever had done such a secretive thing was not likely to do anything in the open. Their specialty, if any, was apparently limited to sly and covert attempts at the falsification of "evidence," like in a CIA false flag operation. She hoped that it wasn't the wine that was doing her bold thinking.

The tracks stopped at the door to Clement's barn. She looked through the nearby window and saw a cart which could have made the tracks.

Clement's cart; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve did not expect this at all. And she did not like what she was seeing. She tried to find reasons which would explain it away. "Not Clement. Not Clement," she thought as she also said those words out loud.

She observed through the window. The cart's front wheels had roughly the same distance apart as the tracks. The fact that the cart had two sets of paired wheels; the back set floppy and at slightly different distances was a good explanation for the irregularities in the tracks. Genevieve moved away from the window and searched the ground. She hoped to find more tracks, but couldn't. They ended at Clement's barn door.

### 20-Genevieve's Most Dreaded Call

Genevieve used the shortest and slowest steps she had taken since she was two months old and even tinier than she was now. In only her second month she had happened to be right next to it when all of the stuff chose to fall out of the curio cabinet. It must have been a minor earthquake. Her older sister's glass figurines smashed at her feet. Genevieve was only looking at them at the time. But, from the ensuing days of questioning, tears, shouting and harangues, she learned that when a disaster occurs, it is best to be as far away from it as possible.

But, this was a little different, as the disaster only seemed likely rather than one hundred percent certain. There was no broken glass; at least not yet. Any possible disaster might still be averted.

Clement was her long term friend. Clement was all of Pacific Lane's long term friend. For a second she considered forgetting what she had seen. It took her just another second to realize that if she could find the tracks that eventually somebody else would too. The most probable somebodies were Billy and Jack. Genevieve had found them to be decent dogs, if a bit pushy and routinely so; in the pursuit of what was their difficult job as policemen. Overriding any unimportant reservations was that they were there to be protectors of the innocent. Still she also knew that they were bound by black and white statutes in the coldness of written law, which once prompted Charles Dickens to write in "Oliver Twist;" "The law is an ass."

1846 cover of "Oliver Twist"; public domain.

She kind of decided that her old friend Clement would be better served if she was the investigator. Kind of. ..... It was a tight fit. Her fear was twofold; that she would go through the porous border and become a reluctant judge, and/or that she would get herself in trouble. She decided to go ahead, as there was no downside for Clement; only her.

Genevieve went to Clement's front door and knocked. She heard some scuffling about, Clement making whispered shoo-shoo sounds and interior doors closing. Seeming out of breath, he ultimately opened the door saying; "Genevieve! What brings you here? I mean to say to what do I owe this pleasant surprise visit?"

Genevieve said; "Hi Clement. I'm not sure. I'm a bit befuddled. But, I'd like to discuss some things I've seen. May I come in?"

Clement stood back and gestured toward his living room with his left front paw and said; "Pardon me. Please do."

Genevieve hopped onto a chair and sat on her haunches, while Clement did the same on the sofa opposite her. He said; "Can I get you something? A biscuit or two? Some dry vegan garden medley? Some water?"

Genevieve momentarily giggled when she said; "No, thank you. Though the dry vegan garden medley does sound tempting."

Clement said; "Yes, it's quite good. Healthy too. We all enjoy it."

Genevieve said; "We all?"

Clement said; "Just a manner of speech. Perhaps I've been watching too much British or Southeastern United States based television." He forced a chuckle.

Genevieve grimaced as she returned the chuckle and said; "Clement; let me make it easier on both of us and come directly to the point. We've been friends as long as I can remember. For the first time we've had a theft right here in Poochville, and I've become an amateur sleuth. It's out of necessity as the cops aren't able to find a thing. ........ "

Nervously interrupting, Clement said; "Yes, yes. They keep coming around here." He shook his head side to side, as if to indicate either disapproval or reluctant tolerance.

Genevieve said; "Clement; you're making this difficult for me. It's hard enough as is." So as not to risk being sidetracked, she rapidly blurted; "Last night I found tracks in the moonlight. I re-confirmed them this morning and they lead from the pantry to your barn. .......... "

Clement again interrupted and said; "That could well be the result of my many trips there. I tend to follow the exact route each time."

Genevieve said; "Well, for some reason this time someone brought that cart you have in your barn with them."

Clement said; "I'm ....... It's ....... Does anyone else know?"

Genevieve said; "Just me."

Clement said; "That wasn't wise to say that."

Genevieve said; "I know you Clement. I've known you for decades. I know you wouldn't do a thing to hurt me or anyone."

Clement sighed heavily and looked at the floor, searching for words. He said; "Sometimes things just aren't right and somebody has got to step up and do something about it." Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes.

Genevieve got up and joined Clement on his sofa. She rubbed her paw on his head and said; "We have to know. Tell me what happened."

Clement kind of stumbled, but caught himself after a brief sway. His voice was kind of in an out, like the tone of a squeaky stop made by a 1954 Chevy with the original footbrakes. He said; "You know; it's a lot of things. It's not as if anything happens in a vacuum. All things are related and they kind of merge. Some of them aren't good. If somebody doesn't stop the bad ones from following their natural courses they get worse. I mean like these things are not permitted as evidence in courtrooms. They say it's irrelevant. The jury is told to ignore it and it is stricken from the record. Sergeant Friday says; 'Just the facts; only the facts.' But, what does he know of 'facts?' There are no accurately calibrated instruments with which to gauge events in the softest of 'soft' sciences. And if you make analogies intended to explain a matter of nuance or parlance which could well be a bridge between the dictated disciplines of physics to the newer, but already dictated disciplines of metaphysical philosophy, they find you incomprehensible at best, psychotic at their 'norms,' and subject to; 'I already knew that' at their pretenses. I've always been tempted to counter with; 'If you knew that is there some date at which you plan on beginning to act as if you did?' but that is unproductive and likely viewed as contentious.

But, let me get off this general view and just relate the story as I experienced it myself. I have these dreams sometimes, you know. .......... They're nice dreams. But, I wish they'd go away. Like a week ago there was this new one about recurrent Linda. She was a cheerleader, so different from me. I saw her for the first time freshman year in high school. We were pups then and I couldn't wait until I was grown enough to have my own place. There was so much time and energy every day; so much time. I used to look at her constantly, trying not to be noticed. I really wanted to know her, but I was too shy to say anything. She was beautiful. I was scared to approach her as she was just too good for me. I always figured that tomorrow would be a better day. You know, tomorrow; when the big pimple was off my nose; when my coat was better combed; when we would just 'accidentally' meet at the door; just a natural event, as opposed to her possible perception of a concocted one with ulterior motives on my part. ......... " Clement snorted out kind of a stifled laugh; "Not that they weren't there; mind you. They just weren't the primary thing. I liked her in every way.

And at the time there seemed to be an infinite supply of tomorrows left. I'd see her every day. You see she was in my sophomore, junior and senior, high school reg class. I knew that was to be the case in our sophomore year as the system was designed that way. For some reason they switched you after freshman year, but kept it the same after that.

Anyway, by the time I had noticed that time was getting short, halfway through senior year, she disappeared. Must have moved away. She's not even in the graduating yearbook. ......... Well, recently, this darn dream came along and in it I was high school age and having my usual squabbles with mom and dad; this time he the infrequent leader of some stupid nonsense. I walked away from them, into the next room and Linda was there. She was at the top of one of those small ladders; working on the wall just below the ceiling. She had medium length white hair, puffed up in a cute way. Linda said 'hi' to me as if we were old pals, though we had never previously spoken and she certainly had not been in my house prior to that. For some strange reason I was able to act the same way I am now in the dream; and told her that I was really depressed over this parent stuff. I never spoke about stuff like that to anyone in real life, yet here in the dream I just blurted it out without being asked. Not the usual response to someone who says 'hi.'" Clement smiled at Genevieve and then made the slightest of giggles. She smiled and nodded approval.

Linda; property of the author.

"I always thought that this exuberant, cheerleader type joyfulness Linda constantly showed was a cover for some sadness she wanted to forget and kindly not inflict on anybody else. Before Linda could respond to my depression stuff; and frankly I don't even know what the term exactly means; I nervously asked her if she'd like to see a movie."

She said; "Yes, what's on TV?"

I said; "No, like at a real movie theatre. Let's get out of here."

She enthusiastically said she'd like that; and that there was a cowboy movie playing that she'd like to see. She asked if I liked cowboy movies and I said yes. She took a newspaper and looked for the playing times. Next thing I knew we were outside on the streets of our mutual town of birth. There were some packaged things which I just knew that my parents had left in the wrong place; on top of something like a perforated sewer cover.

Perforated sewer cover; property of the author.

Linda said that I should gather them and take them to the post office. I considered doing that only because Linda had said so. If not for her saying that I'd have figured that if my parents had left them in the wrong place that it wasn't my job to fix things. Besides, they never admitted making any mistakes to me; so most likely, at least according to them, this was exactly where they wanted their packages to be.

If it was solely up to me I'd have just left the packages where my parents had chosen to leave them and go to Linda. But, most of all I wanted not to offend her. So, I tried to pick them up. Not only were there much too many of them for me to handle; but they were soggy, corroded, or something; unstable for sure; and the two or three of an uncounted multitude of packages that I could at first cradle in my arms quickly proceeded to break apart and fall back into the pile. Each one became two. Given their size, I pictured that if I picked them up again the two would just break up into a four and beyond. The most simple of points was that there was no way I was going to be able to carry this stuff to the post office; and also catch up with Linda, who kept moving. I mean, I thought that carrying the packages could possibly be done, but it would take like all day and a million trips; and it would be like trying to carry a school of dead and decayed fish. And I'd lose sight of Linda for sure. As they fell off my arms I looked up to see her."

Genevieve smiled when she interjected; "You could have made good use of a cart. That's what I thought we were talking about at the beginning."

Clement also smiled and said; "I'm getting there. I'm getting there. You have to put the horses before the cart. So, where was I? Oh yeah. So, I had the decayed residue of the packages on my front paws, and I looked up. Linda was running in the street toward the parked cars a block ahead. I was frightened that she might be running away. In desperation I called out; 'No, no. I understand that no means no. I'm not a pillager.' She called back; 'I know that, silly. I'm just running because I'm excited.' She opened the door and sat in the driver's seat of one of the cars which was parked that block ahead; a red Volkswagen Beetle. ........ You don't see them much anymore. Just once in a while an antique collector takes one out for a spin. But, they were very popular with young people when I was young."

Genevieve covered Clement's pause with her own comment, and said; "Oh yeah. I remember. They were great little cars. They didn't cost much and you could leave them parked for months; and with one turn of the key they'd start right up. Wonder why they disappeared."

Clement said; "I'm not sure. But, I think they started to disappear when they started to bring in all that Japanese stuff. My dream kind of ended there. I was still uninterestedly fumbling around a bit with my parent's stuff when I woke up. It was time to get up but I wanted to go back to sleep and continue this dream. I got half my wish as I got back to sleep and I dreamed that I was in my old high school walking through the halls at a class break. I was alone, which was weird, but I knew that if I kept on going through the connecting bridge to the adjoining building that Linda would be there and that everything would be all right. Then I woke up again. My high school had four buildings. The two that were used for the college preparatory courses were connected at the second of three floors by an enclosed 'bridge' from one to the other. You had to go outside to get to the other two buildings. One was for technical stuff like auto body shop and machine tool classes. And I don't know what the fourth one was for. Might have never been in it. Probably was management and administration. I know that the Vice Principal had his office there. Nobody knew his real name. Everybody used to call him 'The Axe,' as it seemed that his only job was to come into the class and get students out when they were suspended. A fat Doberman Pinscher. Can you picture that? .......... I'm exhausted. Let me just sit here with my ball for a while."

Clement and his ball; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve registered no objection as she too was feeling more than a bit tired. This simple theft of some food was not so simple after all. That one "simple" act was setting other things into motion, or vice-versa, and having enormous effects on Genevieve's, as well as all the other lives on Pacific Lane, if not the entirety of Poochville. Clement's reminisces, coupled with her own recent re-discovery of her old photo album had again aroused some of her own memories and dreams. Her un-remembered thoughts of her high school years and the expectations and loves she had back then raced through her mind; like an old VHS tape set to fast forward. The forgotten, fleeting images came back all at once and raced at breakneck rapidity, like a collage gone crazy. Genevieve wished the moment would go away entirely; willing to settle for a button to push to slow the reel to a turtle's pace. Her thoughts might have been affected by something else too. It was also likely to be true that Genevieve's two-three hours prior; but who's counting; unusual and infrequently large consumption; as she would undoubtedly and properly insist; of "Fine Wine for Dogs from Howl Vineyards;" Cabernet Sauvignon Bark was now at the tail end of wine's gradual wearing off process, and was having its own emotional effect on her. She shut her eyes hoping to be able to focus on the happiest of the cascading pictures; or even better, dream a sweet dream. And maybe she did; maybe not. Only a well-tuned clock might have made some suggestion. And Clement felt no need for the personal possession of the precision of the exacting correctness. Besides, the electrically based variety required resetting after the merest of power outages. And the wind-ups ran out if unattended. In either case, Clement didn't want another tedious maintenance task when he could gauge the time by the position of the sun.

In the quiet, Genevieve's undeterminably gauged attempt at reverie was interrupted when she heard a door creak. She opened her eyes and saw that one of Clement's closed bedroom doors was being pushed open by a tiny cat. The action seemed bold under the circumstances, but the facial expression of the cat seemed timid. Or maybe inquiring. Genevieve looked at Clement to see what he intended to do about it. What he did about it was to make the briefest of snorting exhales combined with an elaborate smile. Genevieve yelled; "Clement. There's a cat in your house!" The cat stopped in its tracks; half way in and half way out; and made a little apprehensive "Yeow."

Puff-Puff, the curious kitten; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Clement said; "No. You're wrong about that Genevieve, and then he paused.

While Genevieve speculated about his sanity, Clement added; "It's not just one. I have six cats in my house. And please don't yell, because you'll scare them."

Genevieve said; "There are no cats living in Poochville."

Clement said; "Well, you're obviously wrong about that too. ............... I'm sorry, Genevieve. I'll refrain from being silly. A few days ago I heard a scratching near my front door. When I looked through the nearby window, I saw that five scrawny kittens and a much worn looking mother were there. 'Cats!' I thought. 'This is Poochville. What's going on here?' I thought of dialing the police, but remembered that we didn't have any."

Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, and Teddy; property of the author.

"I wondered why they had stopped here at my house. Why me? You know; there are lots of houses all over the place. Then I thought that they may not have wanted to. Maybe they had been turned away from other doors. That was truly unfortunate. But, still, I didn't consider it as my problem to fix as it was not a problem caused by me.

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

Poochville is for dogs and dogs only. That's the way it always was, and it worked. Cats would upset the applecart. At any rate, that was what was running through my mind at the time."

### 21-A Liberating Truth?

Clement continued; "I went near the door and started barking, hoping it would scare them away. A few kind of took one step back, but remained. I peered at them through a peek hole I made in the curtain I had just drawn. I opened the door and for the first time I got a good look at the kittens who I very quickly came to know as Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, and Teddy; and momma Sheba.

I said; 'Shoo.' They bristled, but did not run away. I again said; 'Shoo,' a bit louder this time. I closed the door behind me and walked to them. They held their ground. In fact, Puff-Puff started rubbing against me. They looked so cute and in-trouble, that I thought I'd give them some food and send them on their way. Then, I started to think about my dream of Linda and how I should have been bolder at the time. Then I started to think about how much solitary space I had in this way-too-big house of mine;

Clement's house; property of the author.

and you know, the next thing I knew they were in the house, chewing on the edges of the rug and pretty much everything else that's soft. They were so hungry. I gave them everything I had in the house, and they were still looking for more. I couldn't throw them out. So, I decided that when the sun went down I'd take the cart to the community cupboard. And you know the rest."

His gray hair was still there, but Clement looked happy and somehow ten years younger.

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

Genevieve said; "You left the pineapples."

Clement said; "Sure I did. Do you have any idea how hard it is to move those things around?"

Genevieve would have silently raised her eyebrows if she had had any. Instead she grunted lowly.

All five kittens and one cat came out of Clement's bedroom and commenced circling the sofa which the two dogs sat upon.

Clement continued; "Besides, I wanted to leave something there in case anybody got desperate."

Genevieve said; "You could have made things simpler and told everyone."

Clement said; "Dogs here aren't all that fond of cats. You know that. They probably have never even met any. And the cat's lives were at stake. As soon as I saw how friendly they were, I was thinking that I could use the company." Sunshine jumped onto Clement and Genevieve's sofa and sat next to Clement. When nothing bad happened the others hopped up and took turns investigating and snuggling Genevieve.

Clement and Sunshine; property of the author.

Genevieve said; "Oh, you're all so wonderful. And you feel so fragile. Not solid like we dogs. Doesn't Clement give you enough food?"

The sofa cuddling cats jumped to the floor and they all raced into the kitchen.

Genevieve said; "Did I say something wrong?"

Clement said; "You said the only Dog word they've yet learned. FOOD."

Genevieve and Clement followed the kittens and momma cat into the kitchen. To the tune of merry, anxious howls Clement dispensed food into three bowls. The cats scurried around until they reached a workable situation, whereby two heads were in each of them.

Genevieve said; "Clement, you should really consider putting out six. It might avoid all this jockeying for position."

Clement said; "I've got six. I used them all at first, but the same thing happens. The only difference was that I was left with more to clean up. So, I went with the three."

The felines wolfed down their chow. After spending some time at the water bowl, they nuzzled against Clement and their new friend; Genevieve."

Clement said; "See; they're just like puppies. They're nothing like those images they show you on TV of those vicious fighting kittens in Rapidtown."

Genevieve's attempted response was hindered by a slew of furry tails rubbing against her face. She did her best to refrain from sneezing, in fear that the sources of her tickle would become startled and run away. With one front paw she attempted to pet each friendly visitor while also using it to stifle a sneeze.

Clement said; "So, I guess you don't have to say anything about all this."

Genevieve took a few steps away from the tiny, furry causes of her snout tickles and said; "Bluntly, Clement; yes I do. What you did affects the entire community." Sunshine and Wailer caught up with Genevieve, causing her to add; "Choo."

Clement said; "Do you have to? They might not like it." He made no additions as he had already developed a tail-nose immunity.

Genevieve said; "I know. But, I've been thinking about it. Choo. It's just a matter of time until it's discovered anyway. Someone who is selling 'protection devices' could stop here and see them through the window. Choo. And they can't very well spend their entire lives inside here. They have to be able to go out. Didn't you ever hear that cats are curious? Choo-choo. Puff-Puff and Tippy, you are so cute; and I love you all. But, won't you let the adults speak for a moment?"

Clement grimaced and said; "They have no idea what you're talking about. And I'm having a little trouble myself, though I can't take exception with any of the particulars Genevieve. They MIGHT be discovered anyway, but your approach is a SURE discovery. The cats might not be thrilled about spending their entire lives in here; but it is a life and the place is pretty big. Didn't you ever hear of house cats? MIGHT is the key word. And I really need the company. Thank you Teddy and Sheba."

Now it was Genevieve's turn to grimace. She said; "I should just learn to mind my own business. Things would be a lot simpler; certainly for me. I should have just brought the pineapple back and left it at that. Choo-choo. You're so cute. Forgive me; choo; I've forgotten the three of your names."

Clement said; "Pineapple? What were you doing with a pineapple? And do you really think that I'm cute? You know my name. It's Clement."

Genevieve said; "Yes, pineapple. Yes, cute. Yes, Clement. Choo. Someone left one by my front door this morning. I thought they might have done it to get me in trouble with the law. So, I struggled with the thing, but got it back where it belongs. ........ Almost. Choo-choo. You're Wailer; aren't you?"

Clement said; "No, I'm Clement. I thought that you just said that you knew that. That's kind of my point with my situation. Sometimes to do the right thing, it's necessary to do something in secret."

Genevieve said; "Gets confusing, doesn't it? Sunshine, you are a persistent scamp; but don't stop. Choo."

Clement shook his head "yes," while saying; "No." He seemed suddenly somber.

Genevieve said; "I'm tired. Very tired. And I have a headache from drinking too much wine today over that stupid pineapple business. I'm sure I'm not thinking clearly. I'm going to go home and sleep on it. I'll see you in the morning. I'll be glad to see all of you too; insistent tails and all; no matter what your exact names are. Choo-choo-choo. ........ I hope I haven't gotten any on the rug, Clement."

Clement said; "A little bit; but I'm sure you'll be fair. Just remember that I'm cute."

Clement escorted Genevieve to the front door. Both of them had to be extremely careful not to trip over Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, Teddy, and Sheba; who circled in front of them. Genevieve gave each a few pets and said; "Don't worry, little ones."

As she walked home, Genevieve considered the possibility that she was lying to the little ones. They had every reason to be worried. Then she considered that since the cats couldn't speak Dog, what she said didn't matter. She wasn't sure of that, but she was certain of one thing. She'd be in better shape to try and figure this whole mess out after having slept on it.

### 22-Delicate Decisions

When she got home, Genevieve didn't get on the internet, didn't watch any TV, didn't eat, and certainly didn't drink anything but water. She flopped right into her wicker doggy bed and yelled "Ouch." That broken wicker strand had again stuck her in the belly. Not in the mood for any nonsense, she finally took care of business. She bit it off and spat it on the floor. "I'll clean up tomorrow," she thought as she quit resisting and let her eyes do what they wanted to do; close.

The next thing she knew was that she was on a boat. Not too big a boat; but not too small either. She was holding on to the railing somewhere toward the boat's center, looking over the side. Genevieve concluded that she was coasting on the slow current of the Boggy Cleave River. It appeared as if Poochville was in front of her and the huge Denials were behind. Genevieve also knew that was impossible as the Boggy Cleave was so shallow in many spots that even a rowboat would soon be stuck on the bottom. She saw that as an irrelevant thought, as here she and the boat were obviously floating.

Genevieve curiously gazed downriver to her left; and then she curiously gazed upriver to her right. She didn't see anyone else, and for a second thought that strange. It was a gray day with a mild wind. The resultant slight chill took her mind off other matters. The boat bounced along for a bit; and then Genevieve heard someone call her name.

She looked toward the voice and saw her long gone Dillon, the Irish Setter who had long ago charmed her. Though it is best not said out loud, as not to be offending to well-loved numbers, two, three, and etcetera, there is always that special number one. Isn't there? Dillon was hers and the feeling seemed mutual. Genevieve thought; "This can't be. You're dead." She said; "Dillon?"

Dillon; property of the author.

Dillon was standing still with his mouth open; just like he had always. That is, until the last time Genevieve had seen him, as he went off and left to "do his conscripted duty," marching off to the Second Rogue River Conflict. He moved toward her, but after a few steps was jerked back. Genevieve saw that Dillon was now wearing a collar which was attached to two chains.

Demons; Plutus and Camulus; property of the author.

The menacing holders of those chains came into her view. They were winged, dark gray, and each had one arm held to the sky for no apparent reason at all. Perhaps the gesture was the now beside-the-point result of a habit picked up from scratching a higher head no longer there or some method to attempt to get their withered wings to fly. Or maybe there was just some simplistic finger gesture involved. Genevieve instinctively knew that the names of the chain holders were Plutus Cash and Camulus Battle. Plutus Cash lost hold of his handle, but Camulus Battle held on tightly to his. Plutus Cash smiled maniacally as if this was his precise expectation; him now either appearing to be the "good guy" or the "incompetent guy," thereby throwing the burden on his partner, Camulus. Camulus Battle showed no emotion. He may well have expected Plutus' performance, as it was far from the first time that Plutus Cash had let go of his chain. Though it was impolite, imprecise, impious, improper, impeachable, and otherwise resultant of a royal pain in the posterior to say so out loud Camulus Battle confidently knew that he was the stronger of the two in his total disregard for the results of popularity contests.

Dillon tried to call out; "Gen............," as his chained collar choked and pulled him back down the stairs which led to the boat's hull. She moved toward him and was immediately back laying down in her wicker bed. Genevieve would rather have been back in her dream. The only light was that of the half-moon in her window. The only sound was that of the late autumnal silence. It was the time of year when most of the insects and small animals had wisely gone into hibernation.

Genevieve pulled the covers over her head and tried to go back to sleep and get back to her dream. She was certain that if she could get close to him, that she could break Dillon's one remaining held chain. She had been so tired; both mentally and physically; from all her recent activities, she did quickly go back to sleep; but not to the same dream she had hoped for.

This time she saw a hound she didn't know, but looked just the slightest bit like Clement. He was walking alone in a big city; maybe Rapidtown. This time Genevieve wasn't there. For this dream, it was as if she was watching the scene from a perch above. She had to have been flying or at least hovering, like Mary Poppins, though without the aid of a magical umbrella. She was not in any of the skyscrapers of many stories which lined the concrete street. Jackhammers blared from somewhere unseen, apparently to repair the broken squares of concrete sidewalk; though it seemed incredulous as to how their breaking up of the pavement had anything to do with its repair. Their discordant persistence drowned out any sound which may have been generated by the bumper to bumper autos on the five lane, one way, blacktopped street. Understandably, the blast of the jackhammers got her attention initially. But, after no more than a minute, their "blast" was reduced to a commonplace dullness which resulted in an eerie silence of sorts. They became inconsequential in their thunderous, excessively vulgar, loud repetition; and may as well have been replaced by a web-generated, ambient, lack-of-sound.

There was a commotion on the street, just a bit ahead of the hound. He, as well as Genevieve, could hear and see that six uniformed dogs were snarling. Their khaki shoulder epaulets were unbuttoned, and stood up at an odd, lax, lack of angle; much like a piece of cut, soft pine wood, warped by years of being exposed to the rains and drying heat. The brown shirts the epaulets were sewn into were dark; a burnt umber; virtually indistinguishable from the shade of black; called onyx.

There was also another dog. He was not snarling and he was also the one not so garbed. He sported only a grin. He had something in his mouth; maybe a fish. Their numbers must have distracted him, and one of the six took what he had. He and the other five snarling dogs started to leave. Other uniformed dogs came. They appeared to be official. Their countenance and demeanor was upright, choosing to err on the side of "overly so," if at all. The intermittent and fleeting, sun generated flashes of the string held tags around their necks, and the way the others stopped moving and became silent when the "officials" barked at them, was further evidence of their officialdom.

The dog who was stolen from said; "They took my fish."

One of the six said; "He's crazy. This is our fish. His companions barked out agreement. Calls of "Our fish," "Our fish," and "Our fish," rang out.

The "officials" shrugged and told the dog who had lost his fish; "You have no witnesses. We have the word of six dogs that this is not your fish. Can you prove that it is yours?"

The dog who was stolen from cried; "Of course not. Fish are fish. ....... But, that was my only fish! My family and I need it."

The officials shrug became more of a shake, sufficiently violent that the epaulets on their onyx shirts jiggled a few times; enough for a noticeable, but not devastating 3.8 on the Richter. They looked away. They then waved their paws, indicating to the other six that it was okay to leave.

The dog who had his fish stolen sighed heavily. Then he saw the dog who looked something like Clement (TDWLSLC) coming. He said; "Wait, maybe he saw it!"

The "officials" asked TDWLSLC if he had seen anything.

TDWLSLC quickly sized up the situation. He saw two uniformed officials, six somewhat similarly uniformed thieves showing their teeth, and one sad and solitary dog who had his fish taken from him. TDWLSLC decided that it was best to say; "I didn't see anything," and tried to make no eye contact with the one who had his fish stolen. He immediately felt horrible, cowardly, and also a practical survivor.

Genevieve roused again, and exclaimed; "Why doesn't someone ask me? I saw the whole thing." She saw that she was not flying or hovering over a big city. She was in her wicker bed in her home in Poochville. The sun was not yet visible to her; but she saw the new day's beginning of light creeping over the Denial Mountains. The things in her bedroom were again lightly visible; and with each passing second they became more so. Genevieve was relieved of her dilemma. She knew exactly what to do about Clement and the five kittens; ......... also one cat.

Genevieve knew that Clement would be anxiously waiting to hear her decision. She wanted not to keep him waiting. Genevieve regarded that as cruel and unusual, very unproductive punishment. She got out of bed and started the coffee machine. Rather than risking a net based distraction she left her computer off. Instead, she looked out all of her windows to see if there were any lost pineapples around. Seeing none, she filled her cup and carried it to Clement's house, drinking and spilling on the way.

She knocked on his door, and heard the same scuffling and doors closing that she heard the last time. Genevieve called out; "It's okay, Clement. It's only me."

It was still a few more grunts, rattles, and door slams before Clement opened the door a crack. "Hi, Genevieve," he said; "You're early."

"I didn't want to keep you on pins and needles. Things got very clear when I slept."

Clement peeped his head out the door and revolved it around. He said; "Are you alone?"

"Of course I am. It's rather insulting that you might have considered otherwise. May I come in?"

"Yes, yes. Oh, please do. Forgive my poor manners. You might understand that I've been a bit nervous and disoriented lately."

Genevieve took two steps in and said; "I really should come right to the point. It became clear to me that .......... "

Clement interrupted, saying; "Could you hold that thought just for a minute? I don't like to keep the little angels sequestered in the presence of friends." He opened the bedroom door and out spilled Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, Teddy; and momma Sheba. Well, spilled may not have been exactly the right word. Sunshine, Tippy, and Puff-Puff more or less spilled, as they virtually tripped over each other in their fearless exuberance to escape their confines. But Wailer, Teddy, and Sheba were more shy creatures. They held back until they were sure that it was their friend Genevieve.

In a matter of seconds, they all had run to their new friend. They tried to jump all over Genevieve, but she was too small to accommodate six kittens at once. So, the kittens took turns. At any given point, the temporarily postponed ones had to settle for once again rubbing against tried and true Clement. This didn't seem to bother them much. It was just a matter of availability.

Genevieve did her best to stroke each one while purring out a gentle chorus of love. When she was sure that she had touched all, she turned her attention back to Clement. Genevieve said; "I guess you thought this might make me change my mind."

Clement replied; "I thought it was worth a shot. Look at them. They're happy just as things are."

Genevieve hesitated prior to saying; "Yes, they are. And they also do not know what it will be like to spend the entirety of their lives in the confines of this house. It's a vast improvement over what they've seen. But, they will grow. ...... And they might accidentally be seen by someone. And they are likely to outlive you. And, and, and ....... it's just the right thing to do to inform the community as it affects the community. Achoo. Choo. Choo. Wagging tails in the face do wonders for clearing out obstructions."

"So, you're going to tell everyone."

"Yes, I think that is what I said. Choo."

Clement sighed and said; " ................. "

Genevieve said; "Oh, come on Clement. I'm not being a bad guy. You full well know that the dogs that live on Pacific Lane are good dogs. You know that."

"Yeah. I know. It's not that. It's ........ "

Genevieve said; "It's what? ......... Choo. Teddy, you have the longest tail."

"That's Sunshine."

"Sorry, Sunshine. At my age it's difficult to remember new names."

Clement said in exasperation; "I've told you that they don't yet speak Dog."

Genevieve said; "Yes, I know. But, I feel like talking to them anyway. Look, Clement. We could stand here and chat all day, and that wouldn't change my mind. I'm leaving and I'm going to invite all of Pacific Lane to be here at noon." She petted each of the six who were nuzzling around. She said; "I love you all too. Everything is going to be all right."

She let herself out and thought; "I hope so. They're so cute and happy; and they're such cuddlebugs."

### 23-Genevieve Hits the Road

Genevieve sharply shook her head trying to make her doubting thoughts detach from their furry enclosure. The brisk shake produced a ringing sound in her head. The ring overtook her doubts, making the shake an excellent maneuver. The now detached thoughts crept away, returning to the nightmare they came from; like a razor thin earwig hiding in fear of a nearby nighthawk or owl. Earwigs can slip between the pages of a closed book. There they can remain in the darkness until an unwitting reader gets to that page. They then leap into the reader's ear. Why do you think they call them earwigs? From there they use their sharp pincers to burrow into the reader's brain. And here could well be Genevieve's very own, personalized earwig!!

Earwig; property of whoever wants it.

"No," she thought. "It's okay. The horrible brain burrower was still on the page. See. The trick was to just turn the page quickly before the little monster saw my ear. Okay again."

Genevieve was enthused and childishly confident. That was normally no easy accomplishment for a pup her age. But today, armed with enthusiasm, a back leg which quit nagging, hope for Clement and the kittens, and a lack of earwigs; she was off to do her part in making everything right on Pacific Lane once more. No, that was too modest. She was off to make everything again right in all of Poochville. ............. Well okay, sometimes little pups get a bit carried away with themselves.

Genevieve bustled down the road with a spring in her step as quick as she had the time she was startled by accidentally stepping right into the tall grass which the chubby toads had previously laid claim to.

Chubby toad; property of the author.

She excitedly knocked on every door. She told all the residents of Pacific Lane that their presence was requested at Clement's house in two hours; high noon. She told them that there was good news about the stolen food; who had taken it and what they had done with it. When constantly asked; "Who and what?" Genevieve merely replied; "You'll have to come to Clement's," and trotted off to the next house as if her legs were floating on a wave of white clouds in the wind.

Her fast, unthinking, and exuberant manner of walking resulted in her near bowling over of Billy and Jack.

Billy and Jack; property of the author.

The two were rather grim as they were still not in possession of anything they would consider to be evidence. They didn't even have a lead. In fact their considered most likely motive was now questionable. In their lengthy experience; they had learned that a thief normally makes inroads into the criminal underground in an effort to find a purchaser for their loot; preferably one with cash. But their sources were not aware of any such secret communications. So, Billy and Jack were just sluggishly pacing the neighborhood, hoping that something would come along and smack them right in the snoot.

They kind of got their wish. Kind of and not exactly. The old clichéd phrase everyone claims to know while at the same time acting as if they didn't; "Beware what you want. You might get it," took a hand. Just as they emerged from behind a thickly trunked oak, Genevieve, being blinded to them being there by the fat tree, had but a fraction of a second to stop her lively swift way of walking; and couldn't. She ran right into Billy and careened off him right into Jack. For a second she wondered if she might be a replay of the magic bullet the Warren Commission theorized, but never saw. The thought quickly passed as she watched Billy and Jack rub their noses.

"I'm sorry," she said, as she exhaled noisily and anxiously; "It was entirely my fault."

Jack said; "It's lucky for you that we don't have our speeding citation book with us." He then proceeded to sneeze out something primarily green which took residence at the top of a thicket of tan, out-of-season grass tips. "That was supposed to be a joke. .......... The speeding citation part, that is. Jeez, would you look at that. ....... Genevieve! What has gotten you all revved up this morning?"

Still somewhat breathless, Genevieve blurted; "Glad I ran into you two. I have news about the food theft. Or rather, I should say that Clement has news about it. And everyone is invited to his house at noon to hear it."

Billy said; "Tell us now."

Genevieve curtly replied; "No, I will not. It's 11:30 already. Just wait a half hour and be at Clement's. It's his news; not mine. I'm just a messenger. ...... Now, if you will excuse me, I have other places to deliver my message. ...... Yuck; be careful where you walk. You don't want any of that on your paws. Gross." She hurried off as Billy and Jack watched her.

Billy said to Jack; "Some piece of work; that one."

Jack replied; "Yeah; but maybe she's got something. Half an hour. ...... Hey, watch your feet. Those boogers are hard to get off the fur."

### 24-Neighborhood Meeting Plus

Everyone on Pacific Lane had been invited and at noon everyone came to Clement's house. Even some not from Pacific Lane; such as Billy and Jack, were there. The adults solemnly sat on the living room floor. All seemed to sense that something important was about to take place. That is, all but the playful Pawsborne quadruplets; Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette. They romped a bit and were not successful in engaging the equally young, but much more serious, Gizmo in their activities.

The quads sniffed at something on the ground; a rather rude thing to do when visiting someone else's home. Sarah said; "I've smelled this before. But I can't remember where or when."

Elmo replied; "Me too. It's so musky."

The sniffing Pawsborne quads property of the author.

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

The quad's weary parents; Carlo and Lizzy sighed and Lizzy called out; "You four. Get over here right now and behave. Carlo used his left front paw to point at the floor near him and said no words.

Sarah said; "The smell is all over here!"

Carlo said; "Get over here right now!"

Carlo and Lizzy; property of the author.

The quads trudged over and nicely stood. For about a second that is. As soon as Carlo and Lizzy turned their heads away Sarah put her nose on the ground and said; "It's here too."

Lizzy agitatedly said; "Just stop it right now. Or it's no stuffed rolls for all of you for a week."

Elmo, Sarah, Ozzy and Bernadette sat on their haunches near their parents. Sarah said; "But ....... " She stopped speaking when Elmo and Ozzy gave her vigorous nudges from two directions.

Private conversations were muted and brief.

Barney said to Clara; "We're lucky with Gizmo," and she nodded.

Maureen slowly slurred her words when she almost inaudibly whispered to Pablo; "Havven seen ya much lately. Been doin' somethin' happy?"

Pablo thought she had said something about "heaven" and "happy," getting it half right in the overall meaning. He replied; "Sure. What else? Are you now religious?"

Maureen didn't understand Pablo's response and got disinterested in the conversation saying; "More or less. Mostly spaced. See them kids," incorrectly thinking that she was being particularly obtuse and distracting.

Daisy told Waylon that she suspected the whole thing had to do with migrating turtles hiding on an island. Waylon said; "You'll be all right, babe. Soon as you get back to the shallow water." She liked his ability to reassure her the most about him.

Willy mumbled to no one in particular; "Hope there are some distracting bushtits in here."

Bella heard Willy and said; "Not a chance. They have conspired to migrate away from here."

Lucky said; "Conspired with who? It takes two."

Bella said; "That is yet to be determined."

Willy said; "I just saw a bunch of them yesterday. I don't understand."

Maureen said; "Don't even try. It's absolutely futile."

Maggie said; "Tell me about it. I just hope those perpetrating pesticide pineapples preclude posthumous part playing."

Tanner said; "I like the pineapples' plentitudinal proclivity."

Billy said to Jack; "I wish they'd get the show on the road already. I presently possess a plethora of ponder."

Jack said to Billy; "Productions powerless to pass planned preparatory points puerilely presume prudent pardon."

Tardiff said; "I just remembered why one of my favorite sayings is that it is the second mouse that gets the cheese."

Lenta said; "That's so optimistic darling. It assumes that the trap works right in the first place."

Uninterested in and not hearing the wocky being jabbered in the living room, Genevieve stood in the adjoining hallway. She was by the closed bedroom door and could hear Clement's voice. He had stopped the free for all romping he and the kittens-cat had been engaged in since she had left earlier that morning. He was saying a tentative good bye.

In a breathless and somber tone, Clement said; "Okay. That's it. So much for now anyway. There's something going on which you'll never understand."

Sheba pushed the worn, yellow tennis ball to Clement. She skirted away from him trying to get a head start on where it might go when he kicked it. When he didn't she made a low, plaintive, echoing report which sounded something like; "Whaaaaaaaat?" in Dog and "Whaaaaaaaaat?" in Cat.

Clement smirked in a manner not intended to convey genuine mirth. The short snort was more like a faux cheery resignation. He said; "Yes. What? What indeed. I don't know. I'd tell you if I did. Even though you wouldn't understand the exact words, you'd probably understand the meaning better than me. But, I don't know. There's something I have to tend to right now. It's pretty stupid that I have to. At least I think so. But, apparently I'm not in charge around here. Not even in my own house."

In Cat, Wailer asked momma Sheba; "Is he all right?"

Sheba answered; "I don't think so. But I'm wrong half the time."

Clement continued, having made a good guess; "No, I'm not all right. For some reason, I think you know that right now. Hehe. And yet, in a way, I'm more all right than I've ever been thanks to all of you."

Momma and the kittens might have suspected that the ball game was over. Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, Teddy; and momma Sheba ambled over and cuddled next to Clement. On the other hand they may have simply done that which comes naturally.

Clement said; "You have to make this especially hard. Don't you? Guess that in your place I would too." His eyes moistened as he petted and kissed each. He said; "Thanks to all of you. This has been the best part of my life. And I'll believe that it has meant something to you too. ........... I better go before I do something stupid. It'll be all right; I know it."

Clement got up, slowly extracting himself from the many furry paws which gently weighed all over his body. He took one more look at the wide eyed and curious kittens and saw their unspoken hopes and curiosities. He looked at Sheba and saw her struggling worry. He hoped he hadn't been unintentionally lying to them about things being all right, as he opened the door to the hallway. He took another look at those who depended on him. Most were stretching out their paws in that unintentional, falsely jittery, contented and exhausted shake little animals often do just before they go to sleep. Clement stepped out and shut the door as quietly as he could. The tiny click was no noisier than the blue "on" button at the top left of his recently neglected computer.

Genevieve said; "Everyone is here. Ready?"

Clement said; "As I'll ever be."

Genevieve entered the living room and cleared her throat. She said; "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Clement has something to tell you all. We just ask that you listen to what he has to say in its entirety and not make any rash judgements based on buzz words. This looks as if it's just a little neighborhood issue; but for all we know might have a broader significance. ...... Clement."

Clement stepped into his living room. He nodded to the crowd and sat on his haunches. He said; "Hi everyone. It's good to see you all well. Too often the necessities imposed by our days make it difficult for us to all get together like this.

I don't have anything prepared, so please bear with me a bit. .......... I don't think that any of you have ever been here before. If you have been I don't remember it. My sincere apologies to you if my memory has failed.

It's a big living room, isn't it? Fits you all comfortably I guess. Certainly has the room to do that anyway. You might be able to appreciate that this is only one of the seven rooms I was given. Just me. And all this space.

Clement's house; property of the author.

Sure, over the years, I've filled in the space with objects. Pretty objects. Chests, mirrors, sofas, chairs. All of them discarded things from prior times. I fixed them up and refinished them. It kept me busy for a while. A hobby of sorts. But, then when all the space was filled and I got idle, I noticed that they creaked at me. At the oddest times. In the still of the night. I'd be half asleep and then I'd hear a groaning type of sound which was no doubt amplified in the dark stillness.

After the first few nervous investigations, I came to know that there were no burglars in my house. It was just that the furniture chose that time to make themselves heard. Why? I don't know. One might as well ask them. Anyway, for me it meant that I wasn't in any danger, but would be unable to sleep until the sunrise made it time to get up."

Ozzy yelled out; "That happens to me all the time."

Carlo said; "Hush. We'll get you a night light. Okay. And if you get very scared you can come in and sleep with mommy and daddy. .......... Sorry, Clement. Kids, you know."

Clement said; "Unfortunately I don't. Well anyway, I'm alone in this big creaky house and I had a dream about Linda. We went to high school together and I hadn't thought of her in years. We were perfect for each other. At least I thought so, but I kept putting things off. There were so many more tomorrows when things would be just right for me to approach her. Then the tomorrows unexpectedly and abruptly ended. Her family moved away.

So, I was morosely grousing around over morning coffee. I was thinking about Linda, this big creaking house, and how it would be nice to have some company, when I heard a tap, tap, tapping by the front door.

Sarah blurted out; "I need a night light too."

Lizzy whispered; "You'll have a night light too. Now shoosh."

Clement chuckled and continued; "I could use a night light too, Lizzy. Please put me on your list. ..... So, I had heard this tapping sound near my front door. Through the window I saw five tiny kittens with a bedraggled mother. 'Cats!' I thought. 'What's going on in Poochville?' I wondered why they had stopped here at my house. Why me? There are tons of other houses. I didn't ask for this. Then I thought that they had likely been turned away elsewhere. They looked so desperate somebody just had to do something. Then I thought about how one dog cannot handle everyone's problems without getting major problems himself. ...... "

Ozzy let out a plaintive call, saying; "If everyone else is going to get a night light; why can't I get one too?"

Before tired Carlo and Lizzy could speak, Clement took the liberty of answering for them. "I'll get you the damn night light myself. Okay? Now will you please pipe down and allow me to finish?"

Ozzy mumbled something no one else could make out and cuddled next to his mother Lizzy. He was not quite sure whether he was satisfied or in need of protection.

Clement sighed and continued; "I loudly barked right next to the closed door. I guess their level of desperation exceeded their level of fear. ....... Either that or my old bark no longer had the resonance of a lion. A few of the kittens kind of respectfully made one step back, but remained.

You've been so polite Bernadette; that I'd like to assure you that you too will have a night light. Absolute promise. ......... You too Gizmo. Absolute promise."

As Bernadette smiled, Gizmo said; "I don't want a night light. But, if you can get me a 'Resident Evil 7: Biohazard' cartridge that would be super cool, dude."

Clement said; "I assume that you already possess a 1024 bit, 4096KB Nintendo 4DS, for a maximum, four screen visual experience."

Gizmo said; "No, not really. What I have is a ....... "

Clement said; "Shut up, kid. Until you can comprehend when a comment is sarcastic; you'd be better off settling for the simplicity of the night light. You're getting me so off track here."

Gizmo turned to his parents, Clara and Barney. He said; "I didn't do anything wrong. What is he talking about?"

Clara said; "It's all right baby. He's just being a perplexed old man. Don't worry. Christmas is coming, and we'll be getting you that 'Resident Evil 7: Biohazard' cartridge, along with the 1024 bit, 2048KB Nintendo 3DS."

Gizmo said; "No. That's 4096KB Nintendo 4DS, for a maximum, four screen visual experience. My friends at school all ...... "

Simultaneously Barney and Clara said; "Whatever. Shut up Gizmo, and let the man speak."

Gizmo said; "I'm telling my school psychologist all about this."

Barney and Clara laughed.

Clement continued; "Thank you. I stared at the cats through a peek hole I made in the curtain I had just drawn. I remembered my dream of Linda and how my delay resulted in complete sadness and lonely failure. I couldn't let that happen again. So despite my misgivings I opened the door and let them in. For the first time I got an up close look at the kittens who I very quickly came to know as Sunshine, Tippy, Puff-Puff, Wailer, and Teddy; and momma Sheba.

In a last moment of doubt I said; 'Shoo.' They mildly bristled, but did not run away. I again said; 'Shoo,' a bit louder the second time. It had to have been seen as a half-hearted attempt as I had already been unable to deter them with a bark. I shut the door and joined them. Puff-Puff nuzzled against me. They kept looking at me, letting out little aarrooows and aarroos. They were so hungry. Again I thought of Linda and this empty house. They started chewing on the rug, the plushy parts of the chairs and even the balsa wood Toucan sculpture. I gave them all the food I had and they were still hungry. I decided that after dark I'd get more from the community cupboard. In the meantime I was just hoping that there would be a house left by the time I did. ...... I guess that's it."

### 25-Serious Reactions from the Jabberwockers

Maggie said; "So it was you who removed the food and the cats are still here?"

Clement said; "Yes."

Waylon asked; "Why did you take all this time to tell us?"

Clement said; "I had no plans to ever tell you. Genevieve did some excellent detective work and found out that it was I who emptied the cupboard. She insisted that I confess to all of you. You know we don't have any cats here in Poochville, and I was afraid; still am; that you'd object."

Billy gruffly said; "What about the pineapples? Why did you leave them?"

Clement grinned and said; "That's the easy part. Not counting my own there are nine houses on Pacific Lane. There were nine pineapples. I figured that a pineapple was big enough to feed a family for a week, so I left one for each for any possible emergencies. Besides they're too heavy to carry and I would have had to have pushed them off the table into my cart and I didn't want to make any noise, and get caught. ...... Is there anything else anyone is curious about?"

Murmuring went on.

Clement said; "So, is this all right with everyone?"

Louder murmuring accompanied by paw shuffling upped the tempo.

Clement said; "You have to meet them. They're so cute and friendly. I'll bring them out. Now, understand that they're going to be scared in a room full of dogs. So, don't start barking or jumping around."

Clement opened his bedroom door and saw no cats. Not even a kitten. He looked to the window and saw that it was still closed. So, he knew they hadn't gotten out. They had to be hiding. He used his nose to push away the bed ruffles, and there they all were. Under the bed. They were huddled together and their fixed, bulging eyes seemed to display a terror which the maestro, Stephen King had not yet put into words.

Highly stylized cover of Stephen King's "The Shining"; property of the author.

Clement put his belly to the floor and implored; "They're just dogs like me. Yes, there are a lot of them; but when unafraid, they are peaceful creatures, just like me. True, they don't know any cats. And further true; it would have been perfectly all right with them if they never met any. ........... I was just like them; ...... until you all came to my door. As soon as I saw you something happened in my heart. Something nice. A shining we'd all like to exude forever. Something we seem to be afraid of knowing and feeling most of the time. That doesn't make any sense. Does it? It's like a computer program. My brain kicked in on default mode and made an attempt to confuse that glow with the dullness of a half-charged battery. Our brains have such an overused advantage. But the truth is they intimidate everything else, merely because they deceivingly look so big when there is only about 10% of their size that is of any known use. And then they sit there near the top of the mountain as if there were something preferred about being the little one near the peak, rather than the bigger one just a few steps back. ......... Oh, dammit. You don't know a word I'm trying to say; never mind what I'm foolishly attempting to convey."

The kittens and cat were puzzled as they looked to each other in hope of getting some idea of what was going on. In the language of Cat, which was not yet known to Clement, Momma Sheba said; "I'm not quite sure what you're talking about. But, maybe I have a little idea; as I've begun to see that some Dog and Cat words are similar. We're not afraid or hiding from anything. We're all under here just because some moron was yelling near the door and being behind the ruffled bed skirt provided more tranquility than anyplace else in this little room."

Clement heard; "Meow. Meow! Mmmmmm. Wrrroow! Ummmeow."

Sensing something short of a feline disaster, his reaction tending more toward him cautiously thinking that the kittens and one cat were registering nothing more than some sort of petty distaste for unspecified current events, Clement half lightheartedly responded with; "That's a likely story. Come with me. It's time to meet the neighbors." His head movement and steps toward the opened door prompted Momma and the kittens to follow him.

The cat family huddled together at the perimeter of the living room. Clement was just a step ahead and served as a temporary and much too undersized buffer zone of sorts. Both sides were hushed. The dogs had been prepared to see cats, but actually seeing them was another matter. The cats were uncomfortable because of the hush.

Clement attempted to break the impasse, saying; "My dog friends, meet your new neighbors. My cat friends, meet your new neighbors."

Gizmo made the first move. He wasn't in the best of spirits after having received that rude public upbraiding about the Nintendo 4DS thing. When he got three feet from the kittens he held his ground and emitted a low growl.

Genevieve quickly stepped to him and said; "Behave yourself young man. Nobody wants to hurt you."

Behave yourself, young man; property of the author.

Gizmo immediately quieted down. He figured that this was just not going to be one of his charmed days. He sheepishly apologized to Genevieve and Clement. More importantly he apologized to the cats, saying; "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just a little upset over my folks not understanding that when playing a 'Resident Evil 7- Biohazard' cartridge, a 1024 bit, 4096KB Nintendo 4DS, for a maximum, four screen visual experience massively blows away a 1024 bit, 2048KB Nintendo 3DS. So uncool."

The cats didn't exactly understand the fine distinction that Gizmo was making. But they were quite happy with his pleasant tone. Not one told him to shut up.

Mama Sheba answered; "Roo, roo, roo, rooooo." The kittens laughed and everybody seemed okay with the situation. Actually Mama Sheba was aware that Dogs don't speak Cat very well, and took advantage of that; as what she really said was; "This one's a lovable, super nerd dork."

His tough morning suddenly took its toll on Gizmo. He flopped on the rug and closed his eyes in an exhaustion mental, physical, both, or general principles. Sunshine thought that something was wrong; so he went to Gizmo and rubbed his magical head against that of the fallen puppy's.

Sunshine and Gizmo rubbing heads; property of the author.

It worked! Gizmo's eyes immediately opened; he giggled, and got back on his paws. More than that, Sunshine's magic must have filled Clement's entire living room. All the dogs smiled and slowly walked to the kittens. Suddenly cautious, Sunshine and Wailer made their ways to an empty floor-mopping bucket and hopped in for "protection." Pablo stood next to them, offering his thoughtfully innocent form of protection. In those moments, he appeared to be a young white lab; outdoors in spring; with his rubber ducky and two wide-eyed kitten companions. His dream come true startled everyone, including himself.

Sunshine, Wailer, and Pablo; property of the author.

Infectiousness set in, without any of its usual yucky attendant drawbacks of oozing pus, viruses or parasites. Lacking that, one would have to say that the permeating feeling positively defied simple definition in that it was obviously transmissible and very, very contagious. Voluptuous and disease, separate or joined, were one or two words which were as close as the unnecessary word description permitted and needed at that time.

Yucko type infection not present; property of the author.

The dogs and the cats started dancing together. They must have heard a song no one else could have; perhaps a collective memory, perhaps a delusion, perhaps the song consisted of notes which exist only in theory for hominids, perhaps it was Pandora, perhaps ....... Whatever. It just had to have been one which only they could hear right at that particular time. In only one dog or cat this is often considered a disorder called a paracusia, or auditory hallucination. However, it was very strange that two dozen dogs and a half dozen cats got the same disorder at precisely the same time. The odds against that happening had to have been even greater than the odds against Donald Trump becoming President of the United States, ........ until it happened. The music most likely came through the dogs' and cats' finely-tuned and very special ears. Some were small and upturned and some were big and floppy. But each was special, nonetheless.

Mythological Pandora; modified public domain.

Screen of Pandora Radio; a personalized internet radio service; modified public domain.

But they had two things in common. They always were capable of hearing things hominids could not. And they were all naturally set to the Pandora which was playing somewhere in the air nearby.

Dance started; property of the author.

They seemed silly, but didn't care. They paid no heed as to which was which and who was who. Dogs danced near kittens and puppies danced near cats. The whole thing was kind of innocent and free. Barney was near Wailer; and Clara jokingly said; "Watch it, buster," while she danced near both Sunshine and Puff-Puff. Barney just cleared his unclogged throat a bit more than audibility required. When those others in proximity started laughing, so did Barney and Clara.

Things seemed to be going as well as things can possibly go. Even weird Maureen was shakin' it while she told Tippy and Teddy about the origins, evolution, and cultural significance of dance. Since Tippy and Teddy did not yet speak much Dog; certainly not the type spoken at universities; they were quite content to be thinking that Maureen was rapping out some kind of love song to an unusual and inventive beat. And maybe they were right about that.

Frolicking was rampant. Dogs and cat were caught up in the graceful motions of the dance. Then something exceedingly prudent which must reside in the pollution of the no longer totally feral air compelled everyone to look toward Billy and Jack. The two investigators were not dancing with or near dogs, cats, or each other. In fact, they weren't moving at all. They stood together motionlessly; their facial expressions indicating neither approval nor disapproval.

### 26-A Brief and Necessary Paws

A sudden, terrifying, and chilling sobriety reared its fretful skull. The swaying celebrants seemed to collectively realize that there was something else to be considered. Despite their demonstrated acceptance of Clement's fitting and heart-warming explanation, they had strong suspicions that Billy and Jack would soon arrest Clement for grand theft. The dogs didn't want to visualize the unimaginable horrors imminent for the kittens and mother cat whose cruel fate had placed them in Poochville. In an attempt to fight off that thought they kept dancing until they saw the fear in their partner's eyes. They tried to avert eye contact which suggested something they didn't want to see. But it was there, and they were inevitably drawn to the precise view that they didn't want to see. It seemed unavoidable, like another Hollywood zombie or vampire movie.

The dogs, but not the four puppies, and Mama Cat, but not the five kittens had a few words they had clairvoyantly learned of the other's language which flashed through their minds. Sad words. Sorry words. At the same time, deceptively posing as confident words. Unsure words. Words of those not learned. Almost-able-to-ask-the-right-question words. Believing words previously dashed on more than one occasion. Confusing words. Words that refuse to go away.

The kittens and puppies knew few words, a serviceable minimum even in their own language; and certainly none like these difficult-to-translate monstrosities in the heads of their elders. But, all the same, they seemed to sense what was going on.

Discordant colors and forms made their ways through their tiny heads, and they knew something was very wrong. Very wrong. Scary kind of wrong. It was nothing like when the zombies and vampires had given up hope of even dreaming that they could instill real fear; instead aiming at the safety of ham fisted hilarity, rejoicing in their besieged viewers' obligatory plastic smiling masks.

Three of a billion "scary" zombies, eliciting smiles; property of the author.

This was much worse than any of that nonsense. This was real. In unison the dancers slowed and slowed, until they came to a halt; just like the last moans voiced by the creaking blades of a power un-supplemented, grinding windmill when subjected to a sudden stillness.

No one wanted it that way. Yet the two Scottish Terriers who seemed to be in charge had been so quiet. The crowd looked to them with eyes that seemed pleading.

Sunshine, Wailer, and Pablo again huddled together. Rather than the wariness they fleetingly displayed through their impromptu triage prior to the dance, this time they just looked primarily sad, though through eye-averting hints also a bit disgusted.

Sushine, Wailer, and Pablo awaiting verdict; property of the author.

Knowing that this was likely the climax, Clement looked at the floor, both afraid that he would spend the rest of his life in jail and proud that he had done the right thing. To him in that moment, in which he viewed Gizmo, Sunshine, Tippy and the rest of the babies, it was clear, liberating, emboldening, and peaceful to him, that most importantly, all his long term and newly found friends had found him innocent, and were worried for him about the verdict of the outside authorities.

Waiting group; property of the author.

The ball obviously in their court, Billy turned to Jack. He shrugged and in a monotone he said; "The way I see it, this food was there for all the residents. There was no requirement to make any record of when food was being deposited or withdrawn. Clement broke no rule when he took what he did. It was more than the usual, but there were no limits imposed, and he had his good reasons. It is merely an old tradition that there are no cats in Poochville. It is not a requirement. No law was broken here. Our job is done. Any disagreement?"

Jack said; "Not a one."

The adult crowd screamed and danced in delight, while the puppies and kittens at first looked bewildered at the almost instant turnaround celebration. But they quickly followed suit, not wanting to have missed anything; and started to jump around and yell.

Billy and Jack gave the slightest hint of a smile. It seemed dutiful, rather than impulsive. As they turned they waved gently as if this all was just in another day's work. It was unclear whether their waving paws had shown the two fingers of the old peace sign. The gesture was so brief as they exited through the front door.

Daisy popped a CD in the player. It was an old one with a slow start; Lynnrd Skynnrd's "Free Bird." The opening lines had everyone just looking at each other; not knowing what to say or do. When the guitar picked up and the singer said; "fly," everyone started to dance once more.

Dance resumed; property of the author.

Suspicions were that everything was and would continue to be quite fine; just like prior to the bad news. And for once, suspicions were correct. Later, propelled by the Stones, the music and dance continued. Barney was dancing with Sheba. Clara squiggled her way on over and again jokingly said to her spouse; "Watch it Buster." The music was still playing when some of the tuckered older folk had to sit.

Breath short Pablo had his chin on the edge of the rug. He said to breath short Clement, who was similarly situated, but on the thinly planked, wooden floor; "If it's a bit much for you all under one roof, I could make room for a kitten or two. I could teach them to read and I have a lot of books."

Tuckered Pablo property of the author.

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

Clement kind of nodded a "Yes," as much as one could tell from a tired, grunting dog whose head was now only capable of moving from side to side.

Pablo was happy. He looked forward to kitten companionship. His tired and closing eyes looked at his paws. They were still white! And Clement had recognized this same lab puppy to be Pablo. "It must be true. It's no illusion. They see it! They see it! That horrible old perception of Pablo was the illusion," he thought. For a second he felt a sadness for all the lonely, wasted time. But, he quickly snapped out of it when he realized that he was young again, nice-looking; and had all the time in the world to do it over and get things right; like the rest of Poochville. His heavy eyes became irresistible, and he was carried off to the sweetest of dreams.

### 27-The Love Letter

The following morning Genevieve creaked out of bed. Her cranky back leg was a bit more obstinate than usual, because of all her dancing the previous day. She had dreamed of other dreams and times when a loving hand rubbed her belly. She'd squiggle all around hoping it would never end. She came to know that the hand took some breaks, but always came back.

So, Genevieve's nirvana was not constant. But that was okay with her. She realized that for her to be able to fully appreciate nirvana, it was necessary for her to have something else lesser to compare it with. If the color gold was everything it wouldn't be gold; it would merely be everything. In the past, she instinctively thought it wise to keep this kind of thought to herself. Now, she had no need to say it as everyone would surely see that their brief time in a flawed Poochville, made it all the more precious to return to the perfect Poochville.

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

Just like every morning; but no longer just like every morning Genevieve hobbled on her bad leg to the kitchen counter and started her coffee machine. As it percolated she was compelled to turn on her computer and send an e-mail to the Rapidtown Police Department. She wrote;

"To: The Rapidtown Police Department

From: Genevieve

Subject: Thanks

Thank you so much. My name is Genevieve; and I have lived here in Poochville for all of my tranquil years. Recently, we had an incident of missing food on my block, Pacific Lane. Naturally, I was shocked and bewildered by the event; as nothing of the sort had ever previously occurred in Poochville.

A couple of great, great Officers from Rapidtown came here to investigate; Billy and Jack. In the course of their investigation, a few times they came to my residence. I have to apologize for my impolite behavior on some of those days. The best excuse I can come up with is that at the time I was totally unfamiliar with police procedure and thought that they were treating the victims as the criminals. In retrospect I now understand how they had focussed on this area; as the most likely suspicion was that this was some sort of 'inside job,' to use the lingo.

The Officers said that they were unable to do anything at present, but the incident was resolved for the good of everyone. And though they took no credit, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they had something to do with that. I'll be forever grateful in either case.

We live in a well-armed and dangerous world where second guessed, split second decisions have to be made by our protectors. Too many of us forget that. If not for our heroes bravery we'd be quickly overtaken by thugs.

So, the least I can do is to thank you all for enabling Poochville to continue to be the safe place that it is. And I'd especially like to thank Billy and Jack for their abilities and patience.

We don't need any walls or travel bans here as long as we have the services of Rapidtown Officers like them.

Thanks, big guys. From now on, I'll be rooting for the Rapidtown Raiders.

Damn. Gotta go. Who the hey is knocking on my door this time of the morning? ............ Er; I mean 'Excuse me. I have guests.' Ah, I'm not quite myself before coffee.

Genevieve"

Poochville morning; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CCO license.

Once again the morning sun broke through the clouds and everything was again fine in Poochville.

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

In fact, they were better than fine. Five playful kittens were rassling right by Genevieve's front door and they were pushing the littlest pineapple.

Genevieve opened the door and chuckled when she said; "You guys are such tiny scamps."

The kittens seemed startled and began to scoot away.

Genevieve said; "No, no, no. Play here all you want. And thank you for the pineapple."

As the group strutted back, the one who was Puff-Puff said; "See; we brought you a present."

Genevieve said; "Thank you for the pineapple. Just wait here. I have a present for you too. It's a book."

Genevieve got her precious childhood hardcover copy of "Two Purple Rabbits." She handed it to Puff-Puff, who immediately dropped it through his tiny paws.

Two Purple Rabbits property of the author.

Puff-Puff said; "Thank you. But, this will be more difficult to get back home than a pineapple."

Everyone's eyes glanced at the other eyes for one of those seconds which last a lifetime. For some unexplainable reason, everyone then started to laugh.

One little, well-used pineapple; the property of ALL.

The End
