Case of the
Pilfered Pooches
By
J.M. Poole
www.AuthorJMPoole.com
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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This book is a work of fiction. All characters and locations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real locations, is purely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
1st Digital Edition: December, 2017
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Case of the
Pilfered Pooches
By
J.M. Poole
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Acknowledgments
Welcome back!
There are several people to thank for our return visit to Pomme Valley, OR. High on that list would be my wife, Giliane. That woman has a super stressful job – which works her to the bone – and she still has the time to go through the book, looking for errors. She’s the love of my life and I am damn lucky to have her at my side!
I also need to thank the members of my Posse, most especially Jason, Gina, Michelle, Elizabeth, and Diane, my mother. Thank you for taking the time to go through the book with a fine tooth comb. Trust me, it is much appreciated.
The cover illustration was once again provided by Felipe de Barros. Not only has he demonstrated exceptional skill in catering to my crazy ideas for the cover – like adding my father’s dogs and my mother’s dogs – he’s been a delight to work with. Thanks again, Felipe!
And, of course, I have to thank you, the reader. There are many titles of books to choose from. Thanks for selecting mine!
I hope you enjoy the story! Happy reading!
J.
Giliane –
These stories are for you. I love making you laugh, whether intentional or unintentional! Thank you for being there for me!
Love you always & forever!
PROLOGUE
“Get back here, you knuckleheads. I’m not gonna go runnin’ off after you. I’m too old for that shit. You know that. I know you do. Stop being a little toad. Casey, don’t you even think about running away from me. I’ll put a leash on you. So help me, I’ll do it.”
A loud, joyful bark indicated the recipient of the threat was in no way ashamed of their actions. Before long, sharp, piercing barks echoed noisily throughout the park. Three chocolate labs were out enjoying one of the first sunny days Pomme Valley had seen since Christmas. It might’ve been only 55°F, but one would think it was a warm tropical day judging by the number of people that were in one of the city’s two downtown parks.
The owner of the three brown dogs smiled politely at the people he passed as he followed his dogs around the park. There have always been leash laws in place in Pomme Valley, but the dog owners knew it was rarely enforced. It was a generally accepted fact that, if your dog caused problems, or else ran off, then any damage the dog caused was the responsibility of the owner. Thankfully, the PVPD had yet to be called in to negotiate any crises.
The labs’ owner, a man in his early seventies, wearing a blue windbreaker, jeans, and work boots, had his hands full keeping an eye on his three dogs. All three were running around off leash. Thankfully, two of the dogs were immediately distracted when the owner produced a knotted three foot section of rope and threw it up into the air. Within moments, a dog had attached itself to each end of the rope, and, in less time that it takes to say ‘pull’, a fierce game of tug-of-war was on.
Satisfied that at least two of the dogs had become preoccupied, the elderly dog owner turned his attention to the third. Youthful, spirited, and displaying an excess of energy, the third chocolate lab starting running circles around her owner in eager anticipation of what each of them knew was to come. A tattered tennis ball was produced, sending the young dog into fits of ecstasy. Her sharp, enthusiastic barks echoed raucously throughout the entire park.
“Okay, okay. Calm down, Chip. I’ve got the ball. Here. Go get it.”
He threw the ball as hard as he could. Chip was back in less than ten seconds. She proudly spit the soggy ball at his feet.
“Yuck. That’s disgusting. Do you have to make it so slimy? Fine, here you go. Go get it!”
The man lobbed the ball a second time. As before, the ball was returned in just a matter of moments. A quick check of his other two dogs confirmed that neither was willing to relinquish their end of the rope, so the game of tug continued. He threw the ball a third time, but just as he released the ball, he heard a growl come from behind him. Distracted, he turned to look. The game of tug had been settled. The victor was trotting victoriously toward him, holding her prize with her nose lifted high. The other, the man noticed, was looking as though she was trying to ascertain the easiest way to get the rope back.
The ball he had thrown landed on an exposed rock and immediately ricocheted off, angling straight toward the nearby woods. Chip barked enthusiastically, signaling she was in pursuit. Within moments, she was gone.
“Chip! Get back here! I don’t want you going in there by yourself. Do you hear me? Chip, I’m serious! Get back here right now!”
The other two labs abandoned the rope and appeared by their owner’s side, concerned by the firm tone of voice he was exhibiting.
“It’s okay, girls. You’re not in trouble. Chip ran off after the ball. Let’s give her a few minutes. She’ll be fine.”
Several minutes later, and growing uneasy, the man entered the woods with his other two dogs shadowing him. He pushed through a row of shrubbery bordering the woods and called again. When there was no forthcoming response, he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.
Still nothing.
A whine caught the man’s attention. He glanced down to see one of his other girls, Casey, staring straight at the dense woods. She whined again. Abby, the third and oldest of the trio, had settled to the ground. Her tongue flopped out of her mouth and she was panting contentedly.
“Are you okay there, buddy?” a voice interrupted.
The concerned dog owner turned to see a much younger man holding a leash to a golden retriever. His dog, identified by his tag as ‘Buster’, was pulling at his leash and was also looking in the same direction as Casey. Both dogs barked, almost in unison. Abby leapt up from the ground, as though she had been sleeping on a hot plate that had just been turned on. Within moments, all three dogs were barking their heads off.
“One of my dogs has gone missing,” the elderly man stated. “I threw a ball, and it bounced in there. She hasn’t come back yet.”
“If you’d like, I’ll watch your other tw
o while you go look.”
“Will you? Thanks. I’ll be just a moment.”
Leashes were produced and clipped into place. Both chocolate labs whined when it became apparent they weren’t invited to accompany their owner. Right about then, Buster, the golden retriever, came up to sniff noses with both of the labs. Once the introductions had been made, all three settled to the ground to wait.
Ten minutes later, the lab owner returned, holding the tattered ball with a look of concern on his face.
“You didn’t find her?” the Good Samaritan asked.
The man shook his head no. He looked worriedly down at the ball he was holding. A crowd of concerned dog owners was gathering.
“She’s gone. I found the ball, but there was no trace of Chip. She’d never run off like that. I think… I think someone stole my dog!”
ONE
“Well, what about this one? It’s furry and has an obnoxiously loud squeaker. It’s sure to annoy the hell outta me. Would this one work, Your Excellency?”
A long tri-colored snout poked into the bin of plush animals and started nudging them around, much like a toddler would do when looking for his favorite toy. With an exasperated snort, the owner of the snout extricated itself from the first bin and shoved it into a second. And then a third. Within moments, the entire aisle was covered with strewn toys.
“Really? Come on, Sherlock. Must you go through each and every one?”
“It’s okay,” a voice assured me. “I can have my son clean all those up. Don’t even think about it.”
I turned to look at the pet store owner and smiled apologetically.
“I’m sorry about all of this. I should have warned you, Sherlock is a smidge on the picky side when it comes to toys. I’ve been trying to get him to replace that nasty, ripped up toy pheasant of his for a while now. Nothing seems to spark his interest.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m Justin Roesh, the owner of the store.”
“Zack Anderson.”
“Of course. I know who you are. You are well known around here, Mr. Anderson. But, probably not as well-known as your dogs, am I right? Well, isn’t this a treat? I’ve been wanting to meet your dogs ever since I first heard about them. We don’t get many corgis in here.”
“They’re an interesting breed,” I confided with the owner, “no doubt about it. Highly intelligent and highly stubborn. Sherlock, come on, buddy. Make up your mind.”
“Your other dog appears to have made a selection,” Justin announced.
I automatically glanced down at Watson, my other Pembroke Welsh Corgi. The timid little red and white dog had selected a long-necked purple giraffe and was proudly carrying it around the store by the neck, as though she had killed it herself. I squatted down to give Watson a friendly pat on the head.
“Good job, girl. At least someone was listening to me while we were in the car. Come on, Sherlock. I didn’t want to be in here this long. Pick something, you stubborn goober.”
Sherlock trotted over to the next aisle, which contained all manner of treats and chew toys, and paused, as if he was a fox and had just discovered the hidden hen house. He promptly thrust his nose into a half whiskey barrel and came up with an irregular, triangular-shaped piece of… I blinked at the thing. I really didn’t know what it was. It looked like leather? Rawhide?
“An excellent choice,” the owner told me. “Pig ears are a favorite chew toy for many of our customers.”
I looked over at Justin and raised an eyebrow.
“Did you say ‘pig ears’? That’s just the name for that rawhide thing, right? It’s not an actual pig ear, is it?”
Justin grinned at me. He slid his hands into his pockets as an unreadable expression spread over his face. I groaned aloud and my forehead wrinkled with disgust. Sherlock had picked out a pig part? I pulled one of the ears out of the barrel and studied it.
Yep. It was an actual, genuine, pig ear. In fact, I could even see a few veins showing through the skin. A look of horror appeared on my face as I suddenly imagined a whole sty full of pigs without their ears. How nasty could you get?
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Justin waved a dismissive hand at me.
“Oh, don’t worry. Everyone says the same thing. It’s completely natural, organic, and believe-it-or-not, it’s perfectly healthy. In fact, we have a wide variety of pig ears, cow hooves, and…”
“What’s this?” I interrupted, holding up nearly a foot long elongated, shriveled piece of rawhide that looked like it had been left in the oven for far too long.
“That’s a ‘pizzle’. They’re very popular, too.”
I held it up to my nose and sniffed.
“It smells terrible. What’s it made of? Do I want to know?”
Justin’s smile threatened to split his face in two.
“That would be one of the chew toys we sell here that are composed of 100% organic ingredients.”
“And that would be…?”
“Dried bull penis.”
I dropped the thing as though I had just discovered I was holding a live rattlesnake. I looked at my hand in disgust. An automatic swiping of my hand down my pant leg assured me that no trace of ‘pizzle’ remained anywhere on my skin. A quick sniff of my hand had me looking around for a restroom since I could still pick up lingering smells from that nasty-ass thing. Then I saw both Sherlock and Watson lift their noses, sniff a few times, and then collectively turn to stare at my pant leg.
Shit.
I do believe it was time to change. Or burn these pants. I had been holding dried bull penis? That was a secret I would willingly take to the grave. I think I was gonna be sick.
“Do people know what these things are when they buy ‘em?”
Justin nodded, “Of course. Naturally, their first reaction is similar to yours, but I assure them that everything is perfectly healthy and safe. The dogs love them! You really ought to let them each have one.”
“In a pig’s eye, pal. Oh, no. Let me guess. You sell those here, too?”
Justin laughed, “No. Tell you what. The first one is on me. If either of your dogs doesn’t like them, then at least you won’t be out any money. Samuel, would you please start ringing up Zack?”
“You’re that sure of yourself?”
“I am. Just step over there to the counter and my son will take care of you.”
I glanced at the young teenager with the severe case of acne. It was the same kid Vance and I had seen in here last year when we went looking for that missing glass tiger. It had been hidden in plain sight in this store. The kid, if memory served, had tried everything he could think of in order to keep us away from its hiding spot.
It hadn’t mattered. Sherlock had honed in on that thing the moment his paws had hit the ground. The simple fact that this store was still open suggested that Justin, the kid’s father, had made peace with the police. That, and paid back all the money he had owed his distributors.
We were given the pig ear and the (shudder) pizzle, free of charge. Justin had insisted. He was yet another fan of Sherlock’s and was thrilled to death to say that Sherlock and Watson frequented his little shop on a regular basis.
“Mr. Anderson.”
I had just pushed open the door to head outside when I hesitated. Justin was approaching from behind. He nodded his head, encouraging me to continue moving outside.
“I just wanted to say, once again, how sorry I am about how Samuel behaved with that damn tiger. He really is a good kid.”
“He was just trying to protect you,” I reminded him. “He thought that reporter was going to turn you in and that you’d be arrested. No one wants to see that happen to their father.”
The shopkeeper’s head fell, “I know. We had hit some rough times. However, all is good. I squared up with my distributors, apologized to the police and am hoping I can put this unpleasant business behind me. If it wasn’t for your little Sherlock, I think I’d probably be in jail.”
Sherlock promptly
sat and reverently raised a paw as he looked at Justin.
“Is he trying to shake my hand?” the store owner asked, bewildered.
I shrugged, “Sure looks like it. You’d better humor him. Go ahead. Shake his paw.”
Bemused, Justin knelt down and gingerly took Sherlock’s paw. After giving the stubby leg a firm shake, Justin regained his feet, but continued to stare curiously at the corgi.
“I never knew dogs could be that smart.”
“Not all of them are,” I said. “These, however, are as sharp as tacks.”
Satisfied that peace had been made, Sherlock turned on his heel and strode towards the street. Two minutes later, I had loaded the dogs back into my Jeep. The brown paper bag holding the dogs’ new toys/treats was sitting on the passenger seat. The bag had been stapled closed, but even with it sealed shut, I could still smell the foulness that emanated from within. No wonder both of the corgis were staring at me from the back seat. I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to stay in the same room when I gave them those disgusting things.
My cell rang. Or, rather, my car’s stereo rang. It was Jillian’s cell. I rolled up the windows to cut down on the outside noise and took the call.
“Hi, Jillian! How’s your vacation going for you? How are your parents liking Flagstaff?”
“Hello, Zachary! It’s wonderful here. I never knew any part of Arizona could be this beautiful, or this green. There are trees everywhere! And do you know what? I can even see some snow dusting the tops of the nearby mountains!”
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