Case of the Pilfered Pooches

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Well, it’s not against the law to be curious, is it?” Clara returned, placing her hands on her hips.

  “Of course not. I wish more of our citizens had them.”

  “You do?” I said as I turned to my friend, dumbfounded.

  “You do?” Clara echoed.

  “Of course. It means you care about what’s going on. Now, I think I’ll go with your suggestion, Zack. Perhaps if you could round those people up over there and I’ll take… Ms. Hanson? Would you take your bird back? Zack and I have work to do.”

  “Is there something I can do?” Clara hopefully asked as she pulled a few sliced carrots from her pocket. She tapped them on her shoulder, which had Ruby abandoning his perch and flying to her owner.

  Carrots. I had no idea parrots loved carrots. You learn something new every day.

  “There is something you can do,” Vance was telling Clara. “You can be in Zack’s group. Wait here while we gather everyone around. We’re going to be conducting a search of the park.”

  “Oh, honey. You just made my day! So, what are we looking for?”

  “We’ll tell everyone at the same time,” Vance promised.

  Once we had assembled all the curious onlookers, which turned out to be every single one of them (perhaps two dozen in all), Vance lined them up and split them into two groups. Mr. McGee arrived moments later with over two hundred pounds of hyper dogs. I quickly indicated he should join Vance’s group.

  As Vance was explaining what we were doing, which was to try and ascertain where Chip had been held while she had been missing, I noticed that there were several dogs in my group. Besides Sherlock and Watson, of course. Both corgis had their ears sticking straight up and were giving warning woofs at any of the dogs, should they wander too close.

  One woman, probably around my age, had a beautiful golden retriever. The silky golden coat sparkled illustriously in the sunlight. That was one pampered pup, I thought. Then a middle-aged gentleman appeared at the back of the group and I saw an Irish Setter sitting complacently on the ground by the man’s right heel.

  Sherlock woofed at this dog, too.

  I noticed a young family with two small children near the front of my group. The man met my eyes and nodded. Both of his children, a girl of 5 and a boy of 8, were staring – transfixed – at the corgis. Then the mother came into view and I saw that she was holding a small white dog. Maybe a Bichon Frise? Or some type of terrier? Then I was able to get a closer look. It had to be the smallest damn dog I think I had ever seen. All I could see was a tiny ball of fluffy white fur. The woman saw me looking at her and smiled.

  “Isn’t she cute? She’s only 8 weeks old.”

  “Umm, what is she, exactly?”

  The husband looked at me and nodded, “Thank you. See, honey? He didn’t know what it was, either.”

  “She’s a Toy Poodle, and only a baby at that,” the woman huffed out, lifting her nose. “Just because you lost the coin toss doesn’t mean you have to be rude. You’ll love her, Brian. I know you will.”

  I glanced at the husband, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. I felt some movement on the leashes, so I glanced down to see what my dogs were doing. Sherlock had his neck craned all the way back in an attempt to study the white fluffball. The woman, thinking it’d make a great picture, started to lower the sleeping puppy down to corgi-level when I noticed Sherlock’s ears were now lying flat against his head. Watson’s, too.

  “Better hold off on that,” I warned the mom. “When I see his ears droop down like that, it tells me he’s not happy with the situation. I’m actually surprised the two of them aren’t barking their fool heads off.”

  The woman immediately straightened and sighed, “It’s no bother. I’m used to it. Other dogs always seem to get so jealous of little Sonya. Anyway, I’m glad we decided to go for a walk. I would’ve been upset had I missed the chance to help search for those missing dogs.”

  The family moved off.

  “Remember, people,” Vance was saying, “you’re looking for anything out of the ordinary. Like I said earlier, we have reason to believe that one of the dogs who was dognapped has been held somewhere nearby. This dog managed to escape, so I’d like to see if anyone can tell where this dog came from. Everyone with me?”

  People were nodding their heads.

  “All right. Everyone head out. Concentrate to the south and the east, and everything in between. If you see anything, find either myself or Zack, or any policeman, for that matter.”

  “Don’t forget to tell them to not do anything stupid,” I quietly added.

  Vance snapped his fingers, “A damn fine point. People, if you come across anyone that appears shady, or doing something that they shouldn’t be doing, you are to find me or Zack immediately. You will not try anything heroic, is that understood?”

  “I’d definitely try him first,” I joked, pointing at Vance. “He’s got the gun.”

  That comment earned a round of laughter. Just like that, the ice was broken and people began chatting amongst themselves as they moved into the forest. I literally watched people head out in all directions. So much for following instructions.

  “What was Sherlock’s problem with that white dog?” Vance asked as we stepped into the woods.

  “I’m really not sure,” I admitted. “It was just a puppy, although I had no idea dogs could get that small.”

  “What kind of dog was it?”

  “The woman identified it as a Toy Poodle. That’s the smallest version of that dog, right? There couldn’t possibly be anything smaller than that. That thing couldn’t have been more than a pound or two.”

  Vance nodded, “I think you’re right. There’s Toy, then Miniature, and then the Big-Ass variety.”

  “Big-Ass?” I snickered.

  “Have you seen them?” Vance asked as we pushed deeper into the woods. “I saw one last year that had to be well over sixty pounds and looked to be bigger than Anubis.”

  “Did it have that funky haircut like many poodles have?” I asked.

  “Yep. Half the dog’s fur was long, the other half shaved, with…”

  Just as Vance was launching into a diatribe of weird canine haircuts, his cell phone started ringing. Loudly. It was enough to make both of us jump.

  “Detective Samuelson. I… Hey Jules, how’s it going? Where am I? At the park. Captain Nelson suggested… No, the one on the east side of town. As I was saying, Captain Nelson suggested we should try to figure out where Mr. McGee’s recovered dog had been held. We figured out that it has to be… what? Would you please repeat that?”

  Curiosity piqued, I sidled closer, hoping to be able to hear what Julie Watt, or ‘Jules’ to her friends, was telling Vance. I should also mention that Julie was my best friend Harry’s wife. However, I don’t know whether Julie was talking in a low voice, or else I was too far away, but I couldn’t make out anything.

  “Okay. Thanks, Jules. You’d better send Jones and Peters out here. We have a group of civilians helping us search through the park and I can’t even begin to imagine how bad that’d make the PVPD look if we abandoned them. They’re gonna need some type of supervision. What? No, we’re on our way right now.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, as soon as the call was terminated.

  Vance took my arm and guided us towards the park.

  “There’s been another dog napping. This one happened less than ten minutes ago.”

  “What? Where??”

  “At the other park.”

  EIGHT

  We arrived at a surprising scene of utter calm, since there were less people in this park than the other one. With that being said, in the time it took us to park our cars, four more cars pulled in next to us. Each of the cars, I noted with dismay, were crammed with people and their dogs. They piled out of the cars in time to see nearly a half dozen more turn into the park’s drive. All were filled to capacity.

  “This is just great,” I heard Vance grumble. “I’m gonna have to cal
l in for backup before these people decide to take matters into their own hands.”

  I was somewhat reluctant to bring Sherlock and Watson into the middle of this throng of people, but I really didn’t have a choice. I was here to investigate the disappearance of another dog. I certainly couldn’t do that while hiding in my Jeep, although it sure as hell sounded like a great idea.

  “Whose idea was it to become a police consultant?” I asked the dogs as I placed them on the ground. Both dogs turned to stare curiously at me, as though they couldn’t believe their canine ears. “Okay, stop looking at me like that. I enjoy solving mysteries just as much as you two do. And yes, maybe you’re better at it than I am.”

  Sherlock snorted and turned on his heel, leading us straight into the heart of the park. I followed the dogs, and Vance followed me. Conversations came to an abrupt halt as Vance and I pushed by the curious onlookers in order to keep up with the corgis. Being low to the ground, Sherlock and Watson had no trouble navigating their way around the boots and sneakers they found in their way.

  “Now might be a good time for you to make that call, pal,” I whispered over my shoulder.

  A few seconds later, I heard Vance on his phone, requesting backup. Turns out we wouldn’t have long to wait. Apparently, they were already on their way. As for me, I had my hands full keeping a tight grip on the leashes and not trying to piss people off as I pushed my way by.

  “Excuse me. Sorry ‘bout this. Yeah, I know. I’m a klutz. Look, I’m just following my dogs, okay? Whoops, pardon me. Sherlock, I hope you know where you’re going.”

  Of course, the din of nearly a dozen conversations started up again the moment Sherlock and Watson were recognized. It was as if someone had unmuted the park itself. Before I knew what was happening, it was suddenly so noisy that I could barely hear anything, let alone my detective friend who was directly behind me.

  “Oh, look! There are those adorable corgis,” I heard one woman say to her companion.

  “They must be on the case!” the second woman exclaimed.

  “Perhaps I should tell them that they’re looking for someone driving a white windowless van?” a man’s voice said.

  “He’s looking for no such thing,” another male voice contradicted. “It wasn’t a cargo van, but a minivan. And it was red.”

  “You’re both wrong,” a third voice added. “They’re looking for a silver van.”

  “I thought the guy got into a lifted pickup truck?” yet another voice tremulously said. “At least, that’s what I saw.”

  My head jerked up. The possibility of interviewing a witness who could identify our suspect wasn’t something I could ignore. Realizing that I had to act on this new information, I pulled the dogs to a stop and turned to see a young guy, probably early twenties, with thick glasses and a pale complexion. Truth be told, this guy looked like he’d be more comfortable in front of a computer. Still, I had to talk to him.

  “You saw this guy? Could you describe him for me? What did he look like? Any distinguishing characteristics?”

  Pale Dude nodded, pleased that someone was paying attention to him.

  “Yeah. Several. Let’s see, this guy was huge. I’d say he was at least six and a half feet tall. Probably weighed around 300 pounds, easy. He was ripped. Covered in tattoos.”

  “Was that the guy that had some type of bag slung over his shoulder?” a woman asked, frowning.

  My informant nodded, “That’s right. I had forgotten about the bag. Yeah, he had a big green duffel bag of some sort. I think it could have been military issue. I couldn’t make out what was in it, only that it looked heavy.”

  “How heavy?” I wanted to know.

  “Maybe forty or fifty pounds? It’s hard to say. I don’t think I would have been able to lift it.”

  Without a notebook handy, I had to resort to my phone. I started texting all the details to Vance, so that there’d be some type of written record in place. I looked back at my informant and nodded appreciatively.

  “Do you, by chance, happen to know the make and model of his vehicle?”

  Pale Dude didn’t bat an eye, “It was a 2006 Chevy Silverado 2500HD, with what looked to be at least an 18” lift kit installed.”

  I was surprised that he had such a detailed answer. I texted the information just as fast as I could. I’m sure I could have done it faster, had I used two hands, but I’m sorry to say that I’m a single-finger texter. Once I finished, I glanced up and around at the people who were gathering around us.

  “Did anyone catch the license plate?”

  “It was a personalized plate,” I heard someone say. “You’re talking about that big brown truck, right?”

  My informant nodded, “Right, only it was dark blue, not brown.”

  “I thought it was more of a charcoal color,” one woman decided.

  “Are we sure we’re all talking about the same truck?” I asked, raising my voice so I could be heard over the chatter coming at me from all directions.

  Heads were nodding. I felt a tug on the leash. Both of the dogs wanted to keep heading further into the park.

  “Just a sec, guys. We’re almost done here.”

  I sent the text off to Vance, who then seemed to magically appear by my side.

  “Backup’s on the way,” Vance quietly informed me. “I got your text. How reliable is the information?”

  “Completely,” my informant answered, overhearing the question.

  “Only you guys can’t be sure of the truck’s color?” Vance asked as he looked around the group. “Did anyone agree on a color?”

  “Only that it was dark,” a different man – who up until this point hadn’t said a word – added.

  “What about those two dog walkers?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Both Vance and I shared a look. With a sigh, Vance pulled out his notebook. He jotted down the notes I had texted him and then – and only then – did he turn to see who had spoken.

  It was a girl in her late twenties, holding a Starbuck’s coffee cup in one hand and a neon purple leash in the other. I followed the leash down to the ground to see what kind of dog she had. I pegged her as maybe a Yorkie or a Chihuahua owner, but surprisingly enough, the dog on the other end of the leash was anything but. It was a Rottweiler, and a big one at that. This beast had to be 140 pounds of solid muscle.

  The Rottie was sitting on its haunches and staring disconcertedly at me, as though it was trying to decide whether or not I should be considered ‘Crunchy’ or ‘Original’.

  “That’s one big dog,” I heard Vance mutter.

  “Who, Samson?” the woman asked. “Oh, pssht. There’s no need to worry about him. Samson wouldn’t hurt a flea, would you, big boy? That is, unless I tell him to.”

  Those great jaws opened and a pink tongue flopped out. Samson panted contentedly as I gave the Rottie a friendly scratch on the top of his head. Right about then, I heard a warning woof. Together, both Samson and I looked down.

  Sitting directly between the huge Rottie’s front legs was Sherlock, who was staring up at the much larger dog, as though he was daring Samson to do something stupid. When the huge Rottie continued to stare curiously at him, Sherlock woofed again. Samson cocked his head, regarded Sherlock for a few more moments, and then dropped his head down to the ground. Then, much to his owner’s chagrin, Samson flopped over onto his back to expose his belly to the world.

  I’m sure my mouth fell open. Had Sherlock just stared down a huge Rottweiler? We’re talking about a little dog that couldn’t weigh more than 30 pounds, staring down a Rottweiler, which had to have over a hundred pounds on him, easy. Watson, on the other hand, was peeking out at the large stranger from behind my legs.

  Sherlock approached Samson, raised one of his stumpy front legs, and reverently placed a paw on the Rottie’s nose.

  I’ll be honest. The first thing that went through my mind was, I was going to have to test Harry’s skills as a vet and see if he could surgically reattach a leg. After h
e removed it from the stomach of a Rottweiler, that is.

  Thankfully, I had nothing to worry about.

  Samson yipped excitedly, like a puppy, and stared at Sherlock as though the little corgi was the Grand High Poobah of the Canine Universe.

  “Samson? What are you doing? Get back up, you goofball! Hey, Mister! How did your dog make my dog do that? I’ve never seen Samson back down from anything. It was one of the reasons why I got him.”

  I looked down at the small (in comparison) corgi and shook my head, “Haven’t a clue. I was ready to grab both Sherlock and Watson and run for the hills.”

  “Sherlock? This is Sherlock? And that’s Watson? Oh my goodness! I’ve heard of your dogs! Oooo, they’re so cute!”

  A high-pitched voice, you may recall, was corgi-speak for immediate acceptance into the pack. Sherlock wiggled with delight and actually rose up onto his hind legs and bounced a few times. Samson slowly rolled to his feet.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” I apologized, as I pulled Sherlock down. “He knows he’s not supposed to jump up on people, yet he does it anyway, just to spite me.”

  “You have the cutest dogs,” the girl continued to gush. “Not like my pushover. I cannot believe Samson is such a wimp.”

  “So, what were you saying about a dog walker?” Vance asked.

  The girl held up two fingers, “Two, actually. There were two dog walkers. One was an older lady, with about five tiny dogs, and the other was a man who was younger than you. Probably more my age, I’d say.”

  Wise-ass. Why does the younger generation always make age-related comments at my expense? Damn teeny boppers.

  “Where’d they go?” I hastily asked. I heard how gruff my voice sounded and flinched. Jillian would definitely not approve. “How many dogs did the guy have with him?”

  “Well, this park only has one parking lot,” Samson’s owner pointed out. “They both left that way. I’m sorry, I didn’t see what they were driving. As for the number of dogs, I’d say he had three or four. Hey, can I take a picture?”

  Surprised, I could only stare at the girl.