“Didn’t I tell you that you’d like it? But, the million dollar question is, what do your parents think? I’m the one who suggested they should stop by on their trek to the Grand Canyon. Did they like it?”
“Not only do they absolutely love it, they won’t stop raving about it. Oh! I should also inform you that we followed your advice and went to One-Eyed Bill’s Steak House last night for dinner. My father would never admit it, but I know he had a fantastic time. I even saw him tapping his foot several times when the wait staff began singing.”
I do believe a little bit of context is in order here. One-Eyed Bill’s is a restaurant in Flagstaff, AZ, that employs local music students as its waiters and waitresses. Northern Arizona University has one hell of a music program, and it actively encourages its students to seek jobs at the restaurant so they can get a taste of performing in public. One-Eyed Bill’s has an old west motif about it, complete with saddles, bridles, and all manner of bric-a-brac from that time period. Plus, they can – and do – serve one wickedly awesome ribeye.
“That’s definitely good to hear. Your father concerned me the most. I couldn’t quite tell if that would be his type of thing, but I decided to take a long shot.”
“Well, it worked. I just think it might’ve worked too much.”
“Oh? Might I ask why?”
“My parents now think you’re the best thing to happen to me since Michael passed.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that. Is that good?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Then I’m glad. I think if it were up to our parents, then they would have already married us off.”
Jillian laughed, “I know. I think your mother has my mother on speed dial.”
“Just what I didn’t need to hear.”
“What did you end up doing today?”
“We just stopped by the pet store. I am really hoping I can get Sherlock to abandon that ratty pheasant he carries around. The squeaker died long ago. It’s more pathetic than anything.”
“Zachary Michael, you will do no such thing.”
“Whoa! Why are you middle-naming me?”
“Do you have any idea how much that toy probably means to Sherlock? That’s the first toy that you bought him. I’ve seen him carry that thing around all over your house. In fact, I’ve even helped patch it up when it was torn. If you’d like to give him a new toy, so be it. However, you need to promise me you won’t take his treasured toy away.”
“You’re suggesting that dogs can get sentimental over their toys?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m informing you that I know they can. You’ve given Sherlock a second chance in life. You’re his daddy. You gave him that toy. He won’t want to part with it.”
“Well, now that you’ve completely made me feel like an ass, I guess I’ll stop trying to replace it.”
“Good. What new toy did you pick out for him?”
“He turned his nose up at all the plush animals I showed him, and let me tell you, Fur, Fins, & Feathers has quite a selection to choose from.”
“See? Didn’t I tell you?”
“Yeah, yeah, score one for you.” I heard Jillian laugh. “Do you want to know what he picked out instead? One nasty-ass, disgusting, I’m-doing-my-best-not-to-puke pig ear.”
“What do you have against pig ears? I hear they’re perfectly safe for dogs. My father used to give them to our dogs back when I was growing up all the time.”
“Do you know what else the owner suggested I get for the dogs? A pizzle.” I heard a distinctive snort, followed shortly thereafter by a gasp of surprise, and then a bout of coughing. “Jillian, are you okay?”
“Do you know… cough, cough… do you know what a… cough… heavens. Excuse me. As I was saying, do you have any idea what a ‘pizzle’ is?”
“I do now.”
“And you bought one? Willingly??”
“Hell no. The owner of the pet store gave me one free of charge to split between the dogs. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can give dried bull dong to the dogs, let alone cut one in half.” Jillian snorted again and her coughing resumed. “Find this funny, do you?”
“Oh, you have no idea! I have such a clear, vivid picture in my head of you with a look of utter disgust on your face as you give that thing to the dogs. You just made my night. Thank you!”
“I’m glad I amuse you.”
“If only you knew how much.”
I felt my face flame up. She wasn’t even here. How could she possibly make me blush?
“You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”
WTF?
“Now, how in the world did you know that?”
“Because I know you. What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“I’ve got both dogs with me. I don’t need to go back to the house yet, although I wouldn’t mind losing the bag of animal parts sitting on my passenger seat. I was thinking that maybe I ought to go for a drive.”
“That sounds nice. Where would you go?”
“I’m not sure. Do you have any suggestions?”
“You could always take I-5, towards Grants Pass. It runs along Rascal River for at least ten miles. It’s a pretty drive.”
“That sounds like a plan. I think I will do that. Thanks!”
“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy your afternoon. I’ll call you tonight.”
“I look forward to it, Jillian. Say hello to your parents for me.”
“I will. Goodbye, Zachary.”
The Rascal River in southwestern Oregon stretches nearly 215 miles and flows in a general westerly direction. It starts at the Cascade Range and flows all the way to the Pacific Ocean. People flock to the river for its salmon fishing, whitewater rafting, and its gorgeous rugged scenery.
Some of the best examples of the rocks that form the Earth’s mantle can be found in the Rascal Basin. In fact, the only dinosaur bones that have ever been discovered in Oregon had been found in the Otter Point Formation located in the extreme southwestern corner of the state. And if you’re wondering, yes, I do sound like I’m reciting from a tourist’s map. That’s because I am. I picked it up the day I moved here. In fact, it’s still in my Jeep.
Twenty minutes into the drive, I came across one of those roadside fruit stands. The bright, appealing specimens of fruit had me pulling off the road so that I could make a few selections. An older couple smiled politely at me as I approached.
“Hello, young man,” the older woman began. “Might we interest you in some fresh strawberries?”
I nodded eagerly, “Absolutely. The fruit in the grocery stores are nothing compared to this. How is it this fruit looks so good? I didn’t think this would be the time of year to harvest anything.”
The old man grinned, “Greenhouses. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? We’re the only farm this side of the Rascal to have over half our crops protected from the elements.”
I nodded appreciatively. The woman handed me a basket and I proceeded to select several flats of strawberries, some blueberries, a few nectarines, and even several plums, even though they didn’t look like plums to me. The plums I was used to were small, purple, and weren’t more than several bites. These things were large, nearly the size of lemons, and had skins that were mottled light red. The man saw me studying the plum and clucked his tongue. He pointed at a small, handmade sign which indicated what they were.
“Freedom plums. They’re sweet and juicy. You’ll love ‘em.”
“Can I interest you in a jar of honey?” the woman asked from my left. I turned to see her holding out a large mason jar filled to the brim with some of the best looking honey I’ve ever seen in my life.
“You have your own bee hives?” I asked, impressed. “It looks fantastic. Sure. I’ll take one.” A thought occurred. I knew Jillian loved honey. More than likely, she’d like a jar, too. “You know what? I’ll take two.”
Smiling approvingly, the elderly couple began assembling
my order.
“Oh my goodness!” the woman suddenly exclaimed.
Alarmed, I looked up.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Aren’t those two of the sweetest looking dogs I have ever seen in my life?”
I looked over at my Jeep. Two canine faces were plastered to the windows. Four ears were sticking straight up and each dog had two lines of drool running down the window to presumably collect on the sill. How they knew I was buying food was beyond me.
“Are those corgis?” the woman hopefully asked.
I nodded, “Pembroke Welsh Corgis, if you want to get technical. I adopted both of them last year just after I moved to Pomme Valley.”
“You live in Pomme Valley?” the elderly man asked, surprised. He nudged his wife and pointed at the dogs. “Honey, I’m willing to wager that one of those pups is the famous Sherlock we’ve heard so much about.”
My eyes shot open. Wow. I couldn’t go anywhere anymore without someone recognizing the dogs. Me? I’m an unknown, but the dogs? Royalty.
The woman turned to me with an imploring look on her face.
“Is… is one of them Sherlock?”
I smiled, nodded, and held out a hand.
“I’m Zack Anderson. That’s Sherlock, on the right. He’s the one with black on his face. The other is Watson.”
The woman clapped her hands delightedly, “Oh, Sherlock and Watson. How adorable!”
“Would you like to meet them?”
“May I? I would love to.”
I walked over to the Jeep, opened the door, and carefully set each of the dogs on the ground. Making sure the leashes were tightly wound around my wrist – we were still on the side of a road after all – we approached the fruit stand.
“Sherlock? Watson? I’d like you to meet… umm, I never caught your names.”
The woman ignored me as she hurried out from behind the counter to squat down next to the dogs. I heard a sigh and looked up at the old man. He took my hand and gave it a firm shake.
“Peter Boone. This is my wife, Dora.”
“How have you heard about Sherlock, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“We may not live in Pomme Valley, but the exploits of this little dog are the talk of many in our town.”
“Which town is that?” I wanted to know.
“Wimer. We’re about 25 miles north of Pomme Valley.”
“That’s a long way to come to sell fruit, isn’t it?”
“We don’t mind the drive. We’re both retired. This gives us something to do. Wait until everyone hears we met the famous Sherlock and little Watson, too!”
Dora was still cooing over the dogs, who were loving every second of it. Butts were wiggling, nubs were wagging, and each of the dogs was vying with the other to see who could get the most attention. I felt a tap on my shoulder. Peter was holding out another Mason jar, only this one looked to have peanuts in it.
“Here. These are dry roasted. They’re safe for dogs. I’ll throw these in at no extra charge.”
I smiled and thanked the shopkeeper. The dogs were definitely better known than I would ever be. They had procured another freebie just on their looks alone. Oh, well. At least it wasn’t dried penis.
I thanked our new friends and promised to come back soon. We returned to the road and continued west until I could see the outskirts of Grants Pass. I made sure no cops were in the area – and no traffic, for that matter – and executed a U-turn.
I was going to have to admit it. I was bored. After Samantha’s death, I had become accustomed to remaining indoors in Phoenix and shunning all human contact whatsoever. I had become absorbed with my work, even if my writing was nowhere near as good as it had been when Sam had been alive.
That was the past. This was the present, and it was definitely a different story. I was startled to learn that I enjoyed going out and talking to people. I enjoyed going out on excursions with the dogs. I was also surprised to discover I enjoyed hearing how complete strangers were fans of my dogs.
Oh, and I mustn’t forget to mention how much I missed spending time with Jillian. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still not ready to get married again. Neither of us are, for that matter. However, we each had managed to fill a void in our lives that neither of us realized needed to be filled. We enjoyed each other’s company so much that, for the first time ever, I’m contemplating taking a cruise. Me. Hater of boats. I’m actually thinking about paying someone a lot of money to see how sick I could become out on the open water. What was this world coming to?
Now, you need to understand something about me. I’ve never understood what the fascination was with cruises. You spend all your time on a boat. Eating. Drinking. Partying. Well, two of those three were activities that held little to no interest for me. Sitting around on my ass, day in and day out, didn’t sound like something I wanted to do. I mean, if I wanted to sit around and read a book, then there were certainly more economical ways to do it.
Jillian had assured me there were other things to do. According to her, these ships had everything on them. Theaters. Live shows. Shopping. Even rock climbing, although why someone would want to do that in the first place also escaped me. The one thing that did hold some promise were something called ‘excursions’.
I had started to turn my nose up at this, too, when I suddenly realized I was being selfish. I could see this was something Jillian really wanted to do. Samantha had never expressed any interest in taking a cruise, either, so the subject had never come up. Jillian, on the other hand, had brought the subject up several times. Later that night, I had begun my research on why anyone would spend thousands of dollars on one of those floating hotels. You want to spend the night away from home? That can certainly be accomplished by...
Sorry. I should stop harping on that. The fact of the matter was, thanks to Jillian, I was willing to give it a shot. I don’t know where we’ll end up going, but if we...
My phone rang again. This time my phone reported that the caller ID was unavailable. Do I answer? I did know a few people who purposely have their numbers blocked. However, I hadn’t heard from either of them in over a year. However, there was only one person that frequently called me with a blocked number, and I've never heard them speak. And, it always happened super late at night. Or very early in the morning. Whatever. Oh, the hell with it. I’m not afraid of a damn phone call.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Is there anyone there?”
Still no answer. Hmm. Was that the sound of someone breathing? If this was my mystery admirer, I've never heard them make a noise before. My cell was resting in one of my Jeep’s cup holders. A closer look was warranted. A check of the display confirmed that a call had connected, only I still couldn’t hear anything. I deactivated the hands-free option and held the phone up to my face. Nope. I still couldn’t hear anything.
“Last chance, sport. If you don’t say something, then I’m hanging up.”
Silence.
“Very well. Adios, amigo.”
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Stupid cellular technology. In this day and age, they still couldn’t guarantee your call would be completed properly. There's gotta be a way to block those damn calls.
As I drove back toward Pomme Valley, enjoying the breeze from the open windows, I decided I wanted to do something. Something fun. But what? Maybe see a movie? Go out for a pizza? It was approaching noon. I could go for a bite to eat.
I tried Harry first. Unfortunately, I got his voice mail. He was probably tied up at his vet clinic. The discovery of Harry’s role as Pomme Valley’s only veterinarian still ranked in my top 5 surprises of all time. It also meant his schedule mirrored that of a typical banker: 9 to 5, Monday through Friday. Weekends were no better. He had two kids, and spent the vast majority of his free time with them.
Well, I could try Vance. I never knew what his schedule was like. He might have the day off.
“Hey Zack. What’s going on?”
/>
“Vance. How’s it going, buddy?”
“I’ve had better days. What’s on your mind?”
Suddenly, my feelings of boredom felt supremely insignificant. Here I was, calling Vance, to see if he had an hour or two to spare so he could hang out with me when it sounded like he had more pressing matters on his hands. Not only was he a detective in the Pomme Valley police department, he had a family of his own. I clearly had caught him at a bad time.
“You know what? It sounds like you’re busy. Sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“It’s okay, Zack. I appreciate the distraction. I’ve been working on this case that came in last night, and it isn’t going well.”
“Case? What kind of case? Hopefully nothing bad.”
“It isn’t. No one was hurt, if that’s what you’re wondering. A dog has been reported missing.”
My ears perked up. There had been a dog napping? While deplorable, it just might be what I needed to get me out of the funk I’ve been in lately.
“Good timing, pal. I’ve got Sherlock and Watson with me right now. Where are you? We’ll get to work.”
“Thanks for the offer, Zack. I appreciate it. However, these types of cases pop up all the time. The dog has undoubtedly wandered off. Give it a few days and they’ll turn up somewhere. So, at this time, we don’t need you.”
Damn. Vance had dangled the carrot, and I had taken the bait. Now what do I do?
“That’s okay. I guess if you need our help, you know where to find us.”
“I do. Thanks, Zack. I’ll keep you posted.”
We were driving through town when Sherlock suddenly perked up. He stepped up onto the window sill so he could look outside the window. The little corgi gave a soft woof. Within moments both corgis were looking through the windows, only they weren’t looking at the same thing. Sherlock was looking back at the street I had just passed. I checked the mirror. We had just passed Oregon Street. I waited for the traffic to clear before I executed a U-turn. Once I turned down the street, I saw that there was a small park nestled in between several large lots. Did Sherlock want to go outside and burn off some steam? Why not. I think some exercise might do us all some good.
Case of the Pilfered Pooches Page 2
