The Dog Catcher: Chronicles of a Super Sleuth

CHAPTER 1

Maxim, time to do your business, Lynnie bellowed, her voice resonating throughout the house.

Why is she sweating me at five o’clock in the morning? Just once I want to wake up quietly and chill in my room, I grumbled aloud, not ready to face the day.

I waited for Lynnie to burst through the door as she always did this time of day. Minutes later I was still waiting before I realized that the voice wasn’t Lynnie’s after all.

It was Acooa, a twenty-year-old African gray parrot from the Congo. Lynnie was pet sitting for her aunt while she was on another trip to her beloved Africa.

Regrettably, Acooa possessed a special skill. She could mimic human speech. In fact, she could impersonate any sound, human or otherwise.

Hurry up, Maxim. I’m late for work! Lynnie roared. At least it sounded like Lynnie. It was hard to tell. Seconds later the actual Lynnie appeared in the doorway.

Let’s go. Time to do your business, Lynnie commanded.

Maxim. Maxim, Acooa called again in Lynnie’s voice, sitting on her perch.

I don’t know what’s worse—the rushing or the racket. And don’t get me started on Acooa. She only arrived yesterday, yet I was ready to bid her good-bye. How would I survive the summer with that bird in my nest?

It was early Monday morning, and I was already exhausted by our weekday hustle-and-bustle routine. Every weekday morning, Lynnie pulled me out of my bed before sunrise, ushered me to the yard, demanded I do my business and guzzle my breakfast, all in the name of her sacred schedule. Barely awake, I grudgingly followed her to the yard, wondering for the umpteenth time what made her an expert on my business. Needless to say, she was driven by structure, rules, and the almighty clock.

Passing the hallway mirror on the way to the yard, I was drawn to our reflection. Lynnie’s perfectly pressed navy suit hung flawlessly on her size-twelve body. Her brown-blond-streaked hair framed her stoic caramel-colored face. Lynnie wasn’t a bad-looking woman as humans go, but she would look better if she relaxed, loosened up, and smiled on occasion.

Naturally, while critiquing Lynnie’s reflection, I noted that my chestnut brown fur could use a good brushing, and perhaps the white streak down the middle of my snout could use a trim. Still, I looked pretty good for a thirty-five-pound mixed-breed border collie that never turned down a meal. Admittedly, staying in shape has its challenges, but in my line of work, being out of shape was not an option.

What line of work is that, you ask? To put it concisely, I’m a detective—a sleuth, a gumshoe. Unlike humans, the animal world does not have an organized police force. That’s where I come in. Nicknamed the Dog Catcher by my friends, it’s left to me to protect the innocent and ensure justice for all. You might call it keeping the peace.

I bet you’re wondering where all of this peacekeeping and sleuthing takes place. Right here in my neighborhood, which includes a five-acre wooded patch of perfection called Palmer Park. In my world Palmer Park is known as the neighborwood, or the wood for short. The wood is the animal meeting place. It’s also my stomping ground and part of the territory that I’m entrusted to serve and protect.

Now, as tough as my occupation is, hiding it from Lynnie is even tougher. Every morning I drag behind Lynnie to the yard as if it’s the last place I want to be, but between you and me, I love hanging out in my yard. It’s my gateway to the wood and beyond.

Except this day was different. Standing in the middle of my yard, I immediately noticed something was out of place, but I couldn’t put my paw on it. Granted, I wasn’t in the best of moods and it was a little early in the day to solve puzzles, even for me, but I was uncomfortable in my own space and I didn’t know why. Finally, after a couple of jaunts around the yard, I spotted the problem.

I rubbed my eyes and blinked several times. I could not believe what I did not see. I’ve been robbed! Call the police! I barked.

My favorite bush was gone. Worse yet, a meager twig of a prickly rosebush stood in its place. I liked what I liked, and I missed my sweet-smelling, perfectly-sized, impeccable lilac bush that had been there ever since I could remember. Crummy sakes! What’s the world coming to when a dog can’t sleep in weekday mornings or use his favorite bush? Now, Lynnie’s cool, as owners go, but to change my décor without warning was whack.

I was so upset about my stolen lilac bush that I lost my appetite, preferring to sulk instead. Maybe I’ll refuse food until Lynnie replaces my lilac bush, I plotted. Surely she’ll give in rather than watch me starve.

Good sense and a growling belly soon prevailed. There were other bushes. Besides, I didn’t really want to test Lynnie’s resolve. I had a hunch she would see my hunger strike as a cost savings. After all, I had to eat to keep up my strength. Animals depended upon me.

After breakfast I wandered to the front gate just in time to hear the garage door rattle to a close. I breathed a sigh of relief, watching Lynnie’s red taillights turn the corner, tires screeching. She was late for work as usual and stressed about it. I almost felt sorry for her, confined to her desk on such a lovely summer day. The idea of being free to roam the neighborhood for the entire day, without fear of Lynnie’s interference, lifted my spirits. Feeling charitable, I forgave her for swiping my lilac bush.

I’ll just have to enjoy the day for the both of us, I mused aloud. I was invigorated. Sunshine, here I come!

Hey, Maxim, did you hear? Jasmine panted.

Startled, I turned to find my pretty cockapoo sidekick standing at the back gate, trembling with excitement. I was thunderstruck by Jasmine’s beauty, the way her blue-black fur gleamed in the sun. I just saw her yesterday, but somehow she was prettier than I remembered.

Maxim! Jasmine shouted.

Be cool, Jazz, or you’ll blow our cover, I cautioned. We can’t be too careful.

Sure, you’re right, sugar, but did you hear? She tried to whisper, her excitement contagious.

Jazz was bursting at the seams to tell her news, but I insisted that she wait for my all-clear signal. I was anxious to hear Jazz’s news, but I had learned the hard way not to make assumptions where Lynnie was concerned. I waited for several minutes to pass, for she was known to circle back to the house, forgetting one thing or another.

Okay, she’s gone, I said, satisfied that the coast was indeed clear. Did I hear what?

Paulie’s been killed! Paulie Possum’s dead! Jasmine shrieked.

Yeah, right, I said sarcastically.

I wouldn’t joke about this. Paulie Possum’s dead, Jazz repeated.

I took a minute or so to absorb the news. I wasn’t shocked by Paulie’s death—just surprised that it had not happened sooner.

CHAPTER 2

To say Paulie Possum was not well liked would be an understatement. Paulie was a hateful creature whose sole joy in life was to intimidate others when possible. He had a knack for zeroing in and preying on ones weaknesses. He was so despised that animals crossed the street or headed in the opposite direction to avoid him.

Staggered by the notion that I would never have to deal with Paulie Possum’s ugliness again, I immediately began to calculate the impact of his death on the wood. I began listing Paulie’s enemies in my head, but I soon realized they were too numerous to count. Suppressing my own excitement, I casually asked, So, what happened?

Don’t know, sugar, but if anyone can get the story, it’s you, Jazz said with a sparkle in her eyes.

Honored by her belief in me, I smiled at Jazz, all the while wondering if it was deserved. Embarrassed, I quickly changed the subject. Let’s go, Jazz. There’s work to be done, starting with my escape from this fortress Lynnie calls a backyard, I complained.

Scanning the yard, I took a deep breath, dreading what lay ahead. Escaping my yard was always an ordeal. I had a choice of jumping the four-foot-high chain-link fences at either end of the yard, or squeezing beneath the neighbor’s six-foot-high picket fence, which enclosed the longest side of the yard. Either way I was sure to sustain cuts and scrapes that could not be explained. I wondered how long I could feign clumsiness before Lynnie became suspicious of my activities and decided to investigate the source of my injuries. There had to be an easier way to exit my yard, and one day soon I was going to find it! But right now there were more pressing matters.

On our way to the wood, I recalled my last encounter with Paulie Possum. Just before dawn yesterday morning, I retired to my doghouse for my after-breakfast nap. I was just getting comfortable when I heard a rustling noise within my house. Cloaked in darkness, I followed the sound to find a pair of beady black eyes studying my every move. My nose told me there was a male stranger in my home, while my instincts warned me he was not friendly.

No visitors allowed! I barked in the darkness.

I’m glad you could join me in my new home, which makes you the visitor, the intruder stated as if it was a done deal.

Identifying Paulie’s raspy voice, I edged closer, muscles tight, and ferociously barked, Get out!

Maxim, come here this minute. You’re waking our neighbors with that racket! Lynnie hissed through the screen door.

I ignored her, refusing to relinquish my house to Paulie or anyone else. My fur stood on end as I prepared to defend my home.

"For the very last time, get out now!" I growled in my most aggressive voice.

Muscles tensed, I was standing nose-to-nose with Paulie when Lynnie appeared outside my door.

Maxim, come here this instant! she demanded.

I did not move. Demanding my immediate attention, Lynnie stooped to grab my collar. Peering into my house with my collar in hand brought her face-to-face with Paulie, whose shiny yellow eyes appeared to float in the dark.

Ahhhhhhhhhh, Lynnie screamed, scooping me under her arm midstride.

I’ll be back, I growled as Lynnie charged into her house.

Call before you come. I don’t like unexpected visitors, Paulie answered.

For the next several minutes, Lynnie paced the family room, wringing her hands with every step. I was careful to stay out of her way.

The nerve of that beast! How dare he trespass on my property? Lynnie ranted.

Understandably, Lynnie was upset, but so was I. It occurred to me that I could not count on her to address the problem. I needed my own eviction plan. After all, he was in her yard, but he had invaded my house, with the intention of making it his home. It’s called a doghouse for a reason, I mumbled, noting the irony of Lynnie and me fighting on the same side, against the same foe. Truth be told it felt good, although it wouldn’t last.

Moments later the room fell eerily silent. In that instant she had my full