Case of the Pilfered Pooches

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Got an address?” I asked as I gathered up my files and carefully put them on top of the filing cabinet in the tray provided.

  “Yep, it’s here. Come on. I want to see what kind of dog this Portuguese thingy is. I’ve never heard of them and yet there’s one in town? Do you think it’s a coincidence that the strangest sounding breed that we’ve ever heard of just happens to be nearby?”

  “The AKC has some pretty crazy sounding breeds of dogs, pal,” I argued. “Wanna hear the weirdest I’ve ever heard of? There’s a breed of some Mexican hairless dog that I can never pronounce that starts with an ‘x’. That one would have my vote.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “Look, there are pictures in here,” I commented, as we paged through the file.

  “Pictures are commonly found in a police file, Zack,” Vance reminded me as he threw me an unsettling look.

  “You know what I mean. Look at this one. Tire tracks. Do you think they’re the same as the one we saw yesterday?”

  Vance studied the picture for a few moments before shaking his head, “Nope. Look. You can see two distinct marks in the dirt. Unless there were two reported dogs at the same time, and the perp made two trips, I’d say not.”

  “I’m surprised someone didn’t run those treads through that tire tread database you’re always bragging about.”

  Vance flipped a page in the report and tapped a yellow sheet of paper.

  “They did. Here are the results.”

  Eager to hear more about the tires, I leaned forward.

  “The tires are a generic 12” by 2.25” design found in many stores.”

  “What type of store would carry a tire that small?” I asked, bewildered.

  “Off the top of my head, I’d say any store that sells baby supplies.”

  “Huh?’

  “These are stroller tires, Zack. In fact, the report even goes one step further and says that these tires are typically found on jogging strollers. You know, the ones with the big, rubber tires?”

  “Ah. Got it. That doesn’t really help us, does it?”

  Vance shook his head, “Nope.”

  “Now what?”

  Vance closed the file and placed it in a tray with several others.

  “Now we go talk to this guy and see if he knows why his dog was returned to him.”

  “I’d like to help you guys, but I haven’t a clue why my dog was returned to me.”

  We were sitting inside the home of Mark Cooper, owner of Rico, the Portuguese Podengo Pequeno. Vance actually had Mark repeat the name of Rico’s breed several times to ensure he had the pronunciation down. I am proud to say that I actually got the pronunciation right. Rico’s owner and Vance were sitting on a sectional couch that fit neatly in the corner of the living room while I chose to sit on a recliner opposite them. Sherlock and Watson took up their posts on either side of my chair, choosing to sit rather than lay down. It almost looked as though I had two guard dogs keeping an eye on me, only there was no way a corgi could pull off an intimidating look.

  The dogs were silently staring at each other. Rico, being less than four years old, had his butt up in the air with his tail swinging wildly back and forth. He wanted to play and was hoping the corgis did, too. Both Sherlock and Watson continued to regard the newcomer without making a sound.

  Oh. I guess you’re probably curious about Rico. I’ll pass on what I learned from some online research, since his owner, incredibly enough, didn’t know too much about the breed. Rico is a Portuguese Podengo Pequeno. The breed was recognized by the AKC in 2013. The “Podengos”, as their owners typically call them, are a member of the Hound Group. It is a primitive breed, being known for its small size. I’d have to agree. Rico couldn’t be more than 13 pounds. They have erect ears, like my corgis, have wedge-shaped heads, and come in two coat types: smooth and wire. Rico’s coat is long and harsh, and has a bearded muzzle, making him a wire-coat Podengo.

  “Look at the size of him,” Vance was saying. “Anyone could walk up to him, pick him up, and slide him inside a jacket pocket. Hell, I’ve had cats that were bigger than him.”

  “Keep your voice down, dude,” Mark crossly said. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  Prior to becoming a dog owner, I would have laughed at that particular comment. I shit you not. Now, however, having experienced first-hand how sensitive my dogs can be, especially if – God forbid – I have to chastise them for something, I found myself siding with Mark. So, what did I end up doing? I frowned. At Vance. Thankfully, I managed to wipe the scowl off my face before he noticed.

  “Podengos are becoming more and more popular,” Mark was telling us. “They’re the perfect dog. Small, playful, rarely barks, and are good with other dogs. See?” Mark was pointing at the corgis. I looked down in time to see Rico sniff noses with each of the corgis. Watson was giving me the impression that she might like to play. On the other hand, Sherlock was giving me the impression that he wouldn’t give Rico the time of day.

  Dogs.

  “How is he around strangers?” I asked as I leaned down to hold my hand out.

  Rico recognized the invitation and promptly trotted over, but was brought up short as Sherlock repositioned himself. He sat in front of my outstretched hand and dared Rico to venture closer. That was enough to send Rico back to Mark’s side.

  “He loves everyone,” Mark was saying. “And that’s the problem. It wouldn’t take much to get him to go with you.”

  “Give him a piece of food and he’ll follow you anywhere?” Vance guessed.

  Mark shook his head, “Hell, all you’d have to do is pat him on the head and you’re his new best friend.”

  “Any ideas how Rico got away?” Vance asked as he continued to scribble in his notebook.

  Mark shrugged, “Sure, that’s the easy part.”

  Vance’s head snapped up at the same time mine did. Mark knew how Rico had escaped? What a break!

  “Okay, I’m all ears,” Vance said. His pen was hovering just above his pad of paper. “Why would the dognappers let your dog go and no one else’s?”

  “Oh, they didn’t let him go,” Mark assured us.

  Vance looked as baffled as I felt. He shared a look with me before turning back to continue the interview. He cleared his throat and tried again.

  “You told me just a little bit ago that you had an idea why they – namely the dognappers – would let Rico go. Now you say they didn’t?”

  Mark pointed an accusatory finger at Rico and chuckled, “You’d have to know him. His name may be ‘Rico’, but I really should have called him ‘Houdini’. He’s been escaping from pens ever since I got him at 10 weeks old.”

  “You’re suggesting that Rico escaped from his captors by finding a way out of his pen?” I slowly asked.

  Mark nodded, “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. He’s escaped out of every pen I’ve ever put him in.”

  “Do you have any idea who’d want to take Rico?” Vance continued.

  Mark shrugged again, “Not really. I mean, look at him. He makes friends easily. He gets along with other dogs. People will stop me on the street and tell me how cute he is. On more than one occasion, I’ve had people tell me they remember meeting Rico before. Do they remember me? Nope. Nada. Nothing.”

  “I can totally sympathize with you, pal,” I quietly murmured. “Been there, done that.”

  Mark heard me, threw me a grin, and returned his attention to his canine best friend. Rico had reared up on his hind legs and was waiting for his owner to pick him up. It was right about then that I noticed the couch.

  The only way I recognized this particular model of couch was because I ended up doing a little bit of research on the model when I introduced several new characters for my latest book. This was a Sloane leather sectional, built by a company called American Leather. This particular model, I knew, typically retailed for around $6,800 in average stores.

  My eyebrows shot up. This was an expensive couch for a single man. A quick
glance at my friend confirmed that Vance and Mark were now going over a list of potential suspects. I decided to take this time to glance around the living room of the house we were in.

  On the wall, a 70” LED TV had been professionally mounted. There, housed in a recessed cabinet set into the wall on the left of the television, I could see the makings of a sophisticated home theater setup. I casually glanced up and confirmed that I saw not one set of surround speakers but two, making the receiver in the cabinet a 7.1 channel electronic miracle I would love to have in my own home.

  I inched closer to see if I could get a model name and number. Just then, Sherlock woofed. I immediately glanced down. Much to my delight, Rico’s continued perseverance was finally melting Sherlock’s cold exterior. It looked like my tri-colored corgi wanted to play.

  Returning my attention to the wall cabinet, I noticed several open video game cases scattered on the floor in front of the TV, indicating he had not one, nor two, but three different high-end game systems. Through the hallway on my right, I could see a mountain bike resting against the wall near the door leading into what I assume was the garage.

  Then I remembered the car in the driveway as we pulled up. It was a Toyota Highlander, which is already pricey to begin with, but I remembered seeing the ‘hybrid’ decal below the model name. Those things had to be at least 30K or greater.

  Everywhere I looked, I saw something that had a comma in its price tag. This guy was either loaded, or else had a family who was loaded. A quick check of the guy’s attire and appearance had me leaning toward the latter. He was wearing a faded t-shirt and ripped jeans. No shoes or socks.

  “Tell us about the day Rico was taken,” Vance instructed.

  “I’ve already been through this,” Mark complained.

  “I know you have,” Vance said as he tried to soften his voice as much as possible. “Anything you can tell us could be helpful.”

  “You’re a cop, right? Can’t you just read my statement from the files?”

  “What happened to you has been happening to other dog owners in Pomme Valley,” I said, drawing Mark’s attention. “Do you remember how bad you felt when you lost Rico? It’s happened twice recently. We don’t want it to happen to anyone else. Come on, buddy. Just walk us through it, okay?”

  “Fine. We went to Prescott Park. It’s Rico’s favorite park. He loves to run, you see, and he’ll typically run circles around any other dog he sees.”

  “Was he off leash?” Vance asked. His attention was back on his notebook and he was once more taking notes.

  “Obviously,” Mark snorted. “Anyway, I was throwing a tennis ball for Rico – one of his favorite pastimes – when the damn ball bounced into the trees. Now, since this has happened many times before, I wasn’t worried. Rico has always brought the ball back, but not that time.”

  “What happened?” I asked, as gently as I could.

  “Well, whoever it was that took him must’ve been hiding just inside the trees, because as soon as Rico went after the ball, I heard him yip.”

  “He yipped,” Vance repeated as he wrote in his notebook.

  “Was it a yip like you’d hear if you accidentally stepped on him?” I asked.

  Mark looked at me with a look of horror on his face.

  “I’ve never stepped on my dog, thank you very much. But yeah, if something, or someone, surprises him, he’d make a noise like that.”

  “But no barking?” Vance asked as he continued to look down.

  Mark shook his head, “No. No barking.”

  “The original police report said that Rico was found in the same park a week later?”

  Mark nodded, “That’s right.”

  “How did he seem?” I asked.

  Both Mark and Vance looked over at me.

  “What was that?” Vance asked.

  “What do you mean?” Mark asked, at the same time.

  “Was he tired, hungry, thirsty, stressed, or scared?”

  Mark was silent as he considered the question.

  “The people who found him in the park said he didn’t seem agitated, or scared. They offered him some water, which he drank a little, but not much. He didn’t even act like he was hungry.”

  Now Vance was nodding, “Which suggested someone was caring for him.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I confirmed. “But, in the same area?”

  Vance looked up, “Hmm?”

  “Mr. Cooper said that Rico was found in the same park. Wouldn’t that suggest that he was being held somewhere in the vicinity?”

  Vance slowly nodded and hastily added more notes to his notebook, “It would. Well, at least, it would in my book.”

  “Mine, too,” Mark added.

  “Thank you for your time,” Vance formally announced as he rose to his feet and held out a hand. “You’ve been a big help, Mr. Cooper.”

  I promptly got to my feet, too. Mark slowly stood and, with a shrug, shook both of our hands.

  “I’m not sure how that was helpful, but if it was, you’re welcome.”

  On the way home, Vance and I compared notes.

  “Did you see the stuff in the house?” I began. “I’m pretty sure that guy’s family is loaded. Huge TV, game systems, home theater system…”

  Vance pulled out his notebook, flipped to the first page of notes, and showed it to me.

  Affluent dog owner

  “That was the first thing I noticed, after the SUV hybrid in the driveway.”

  “I saw that, too.”

  “He said that his dog’s abduction happened during daytime hours,” Vance recalled.

  “With people present,” I added.

  “Right. Another common denominator is the ball. That’s precisely what happened with me and Anubis. What is this guy doing, hanging out in the trees and waiting for an errant ball to bounce inside? That makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “It happened to that guy with the three chocolate labs, too,” I reminded him. “I just don’t know how that could help us.”

  “Neither do I,” Vance admitted.

  I checked the back seat of my Jeep and saw that both Sherlock and Watson were snoozing on the seats.

  “Talk about an interesting dog breed. I didn’t even know that one existed.”

  Vance nodded, “We’ve been hit with a wide variety, that’s for sure. What have we seen so far?”

  “Are you talking about dog breeds? Well, in Medford alone, there was the Miniature Schnauzer, the Boxer, and the Chow.”

  “I had the Australian Shepherd and the Pachinko,” Vance added.

  I fought to keep a straight face.

  “Er, the Pachinko? Isn’t that a Japanese pinball machine? I’m pretty sure they weren’t called that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Vance countered. “You don’t remember any better than I do what that little dog was called.”

  “Sure I do,” I argued. “They were called ‘Pankos’.”

  Vance stared at me as a smile spread across his face, “Pankos, huh? Named after seasoned bread crumbs? Let’s face it. Neither of us remember.”

  I checked the status of the corgis in the rear mirror. Both were still asleep. In fact, both had their mouths cracked open and had their tongues sticking out. Corgis. You gotta love ‘em. Thank goodness there hadn’t been any other corgis involved. I could only imagine the hell their owners must be going through while…

  Wait a minute.

  Schnauzers, Boxers, Chow Chows, Australian Shepherds, and Pankos, or whatever the hell they’re called. All different breeds. No repeats. I didn’t know off the top of my head which breeds had disappeared from PV, other than the chocolate lab, but I had a sneaking suspicion that the breeds were all different there, too. Was this significant? Could this be the first clue to help us crack this case and find Anubis?

  FIVE

  “Back! Get back, foul demon! Go back to the pits of hell from whence you came!”

  Titters of laughter met my ears. Curious, I leaned around Caden – and his blasted
Suitcase of Samples – to see who was laughing at me. Apparently, two kids – who looked to be around 16 or so – had snuck in behind my winemaster. Why Caden decided to bring two teenagers with him, I’m not sure.

  The girl was slim, had brown shoulder-length hair, hazel eyes, and was wearing a dark purple shirt with (of all things!) gold shorts. The boy was just as slim as the girl, had short brown hair, and was a few inches taller. Oddly enough, he was also wearing purple and gold clothing. Were they making a fashion statement? Or, more likely, were they students and these were their school colors? Curious, I turned to Caden and gave him a questioning look.

  “Zack, meet Kimberly and Doug. They’re high-school students who have each expressed an interest in winemaking. I thought I’d give them some invaluable experience by allowing them to see the inner workings of a real working winery. Guys, allow me to present Zachary Anderson, owner of Lentari Cellars.”

  “You’re the guy who owns those two corgis, aren’t you?” the girl asked, amazed. “Sherlock and Watson? I’d love to meet them someday.”

  Doug formerly shook my hand, “It’s good to meet you, sir.”

  Confused, I looked at the two teenagers, and then back at Caden, “So, you’re just showing them around in here, is that it?”

  Caden nodded, “That’s right. They’re both exceptional students…”

  Kimberly blushed at this.

  “…and on the principal’s honor roll. The school actually reached out to me about this as a way to reward them for all their hard work. I didn’t think you’d have a problem with this. In fact, both have expressed interest in volunteering here. Remember the conversation we had a few days ago?”

  Bemused, I could only nod.

  “They’re willing to work for the experience.”

  “Like interns?” I asked.

  Caden’s face lit up, “Yes! Exactly. So, what do you say, Zack?”

  I stepped forward and shook both of each of the kids’ hands.

  “Slave labor. Awesome. Kimberly, Doug, welcome aboard! The only thing I have to ask you is, how do you feel about being exposed to expletives?”