by S. L. Menear
Dudley’s picture appeared on the front pages of newspapers and on every television news channel. During a ceremony, my squad watched the mayor award him a medal for bravery. Rosie was so proud she named a sandwich after him: The Dudley Delight.
The following day, our Sleuth Hound Squad returned to the park with little JJ.
I looked down at him. “Dudley saved not only your life when we chased the drug dealer but also all the people in Rosie’s restaurant. I hope you understand now why we never call Dudley a dimwit.”
JJ nodded. “Yeah, he’s my good buddy too.”
The bank alarm sounded. Our masters sprang up and looked across the street. A masked man ran out of the bank with a large cloth bag in one hand and a gun in the other. He rushed across the street, threw his mask into a trash can, and raced into the park.
Our masters yelled the attack command, which filled me with joy. I felt young again as my squad chased the perp through the park with our masters following.
We dodged his bullets as he ran to the woods. As we closed in, he stopped at the base of a big tree, shoved the money bag inside his shirt, and aimed his gun at us.
“Hit the ground!” I barked.
We all hugged the ground except Dudley, the biggest target. I heard a shot and Dudley’s yip as he fell to the ground, motionless. The man pocketed his gun and jumped for a branch, trying to climb above our reach. I ordered my squad to nail him while I rushed to Dudley’s side.
“I’ll get him!” JJ barked. He raced to the tree, jumped on Max’s back, and leaped into the air.
The perp wrapped his arms around a branch and hooked his right leg over it. He was about to lift his left leg up when JJ grabbed his pant cuff and jerked his little head from side to side. The gun slipped out of the man’s pocket and dropped to the ground.
“Let go!” The man yelled as he tried to shake JJ off his dangling leg.
JJ growled as he swung back and forth.
Fritz picked up the gun and waited for his master, who arrived out of breath. He wrapped the gun in his handkerchief.
Dudley lay on his side, panting and bleeding. I leaned down and licked his wound, trying to comfort him.
My master pulled out his cell phone and took a deep breath. “I’ll call the police and our vet. Rosie will be heartbroken if Dudley dies.” He petted me. “That’s good, Spike. You take care of him while we wait for the vet.”
“Hang in there, buddy. Help is on the way,” I whined. Dudley blinked his sad, trusting eyes at me and snuffled. I heard police sirens wail in the distance.
Detective Lyn and two police cars arrived. She ran up and kneeled beside Dudley.
“Our vet was only a mile away on another call,” my master said. “He’s on his way now.”
She cradled Dudley’s big head and looked into his eyes. “I know you’re big and brave, but you’re Aunt Rosie’s loveable, furry child. She mustn’t lose you.”
The vet parked his van and rushed out with his medical bag. “Good, Spike, I see you’re taking care of my patient.”
I barked hello and moved out of his way.
The vet examined Dudley. “Just a flesh wound; the bullet grazed his shoulder. I’ll cleanse it, stitch it, and give him a shot of antibiotics and pain medication. He’ll be fine. I’ll give Rosie some antibiotic pills and instructions on how to take care of her big boy.”
After the vet finished, Dudley limped toward the man hanging in the tree and snarled. Fritz’s master handed the perp’s gun to Detective Lyn. Smiling, the humans rested their hands on their hips and gazed up at JJ swinging back and forth from the man’s pant leg.
The thief had a death grip on the branch as he looked down at us snarling K-9s. We drew our lips back and bared our fangs.
“Get those dogs out of here! I might fall!” he yelled.
“Good, maybe we should leave you with the dogs,” Detective Lyn said. “You shot their best friend.” She turned to our masters. “Gentlemen, your K-9s taught my dog how to catch criminals. JJ has a good grip on the perp. I think we can all agree this is his collar.”
We watched JJ as Max barked, “You’ve got to give the little runt credit. He really hangs in there.”
“Yep, he’s an official Sleuth Hound now,” I barked.
My First Ocean Dive
S.L. Menear
I earned my deep-water scuba certification in October of 1999 in an Arkansas lake with a depth of over two-hundred feet. In April of 2000, I was ready to explore Florida’s fabulous coral reefs. My brother, Larry, with forty years of dive experience since age ten, accompanied me. The Atlantic Ocean and its inhabitants were new to me. This was another of my first experience anomalies, which I referenced in the story about my first solo flight.
I beamed with excitement as the dive boat ploughed through five-foot rollers on its way to the offshore reef. This would be my first venture into the ocean in scuba gear. I tightened my buoyancy-compensator vest straps as the captain put the engines in idle. My next move was to roll backwards over the side while holding my mask in place, which was far easier than trying to walk to the aft platform while wearing the heavy tank and dive weights.
The warm waters of the Atlantic Ocean along Florida caressed me as I descended in water as clear as air, my bubbles sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight. I dived to a depth of ninety feet off the Palm Beach coast where brilliant fish darted over a rainbow-colored coral reef three miles offshore from The Breakers, an iconic grand hotel built in the 1920s.
A longtime surfer and boater, I had always thought lovingly of the sea as Mother Ocean. I was about to learn she had a dark side and suffered from occasional PMS.
My eager eyes roamed over the magical undersea world on the way down. When I reached eighty feet, Larry pointed under a coral ledge. I swam in for a closer look and recoiled as an eight-foot long, neon-green moray eel greeted me.
Holy crap! I wasn’t expecting a sea monster right out of the gate!
As a woman, I had a God-given fear of snakes that traced back to Adam and Eve. Moray eels looked like giant snakes. I swallowed half my air when it opened its mouth and showed me its razor-sharp teeth.
Cornering the huge, potentially dangerous eel didn’t seem like a wise move.
I retreated, my heart hammering as the frantic flutter of my fins telegraphed my terror.
My breathing was barely under control when Larry tapped his tank with his dive knife to draw my attention. He waved me over to where he hovered in front of a large hole in the reef and pointed at something inside.
Silly me, I still thought I could trust my brother, so I swam to the hole and looked in.
When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed two large yellow eyes glaring at me. A head the size of a basketball opened its enormous mouth full of scary teeth. My heart rate skyrocketed as I sucked in too much air and looked for Larry. He was farther along the reef, poking the tail of the fifteen-foot monster moray eel facing me so it would lunge out of the hole and give me a better view. Nice.
I panicked, gulped more air, and backpedaled like crazy in a cloud of varied bubbles of my own making.
As I tried once again to get my breathing under control, the dive master waved me over to show me a deadly stonefish that blended into the reef. His hand gestures meant never touch this.
Like I would ever do that. With the fire coral, stone fish, and nasty critters waiting to dart out and bite my hand off, no way would I reach in or touch anything!
The bright light of a flash camera drew me to a ledge where two eight-foot nurse sharks slept on the sand underneath. They looked like giant catfish. Their eyes popped open and radiated anger the moment I arrived.
I gulped even more air.
Holy hell! What had happened to benign Mother Ocean?
This was like swimming through a living minefield! I wish I’d had a chance to acclimate to the extraordinary underwater world before encountering all the scary stuff. Then maybe I could’ve managed my air consumption better—and my heart
rate.
My anxious breathing had depleted my air supply down to the reserve air, so I had to return to the dive boat long before the experienced divers. On my way topside, a dark shadow glided in overhead, blocking the sun. It was a fish as big as a submarine and covered with white spots. This time I stopped breathing and tried to become invisible.
My body vibrated with chills, despite the warm water, as I prayed the massive shark wouldn’t notice me. He meandered away, uninterested in my quivering body.
Thank God!
When I surfaced, the swells had grown to ten feet. Clearly, I had picked a bad day to visit Mother Ocean.
Every time I reached for the dive platform on the back of the boat, a huge wave would lift it high above me and then send it crashing down. It was exhausting trying to climb aboard without being crushed. I was almost out of air, and I couldn’t use the snorkel because the swells breaking on my face kept filling it with water. It was then that I understood how it was possible for a person wearing a mask and snorkel to drown.
When I finally grabbed the hinged platform, Mother Ocean took pity on me, and a wave flung me onto the deck like a dead fish. The crew helped me remove my heavy dive gear, and I crawled to a seat and collapsed.
Later, my brother surfaced, swiftly mounted the platform, and strode onto the deck like the boat was parked on concrete. He made it look so easy. I envied him.
That night, I learned on the TV news that the gargantuan fish I’d encountered was a sixty-five-foot whale shark rarely seen in local waters. It only ate plankton ... unless its Volkswagen-sized mouth inadvertently inhaled an unlucky diver.
Larry told me the fifteen-foot moray eel, named Gretchen, was accustomed to local divers feeding it. He explained moray eels breathed through their mouths, so they weren’t trying to scare me with their array of pointy teeth.
Why hadn’t he told me that before the dive?
Sleep Deprived
D.M. Littlefield
I parked my car and pulled down the visor mirror to check my face. There was lipstick on my front tooth. Why couldn’t I be like my best friend, Sarah? Picture-perfect, pretty, and petite at almost five-feet.
We’d known each other for over thirty years and were neighbors in Golden Lakes Village in West Palm Beach. Two times a week we met at Dunk the Donuts early in the morning, followed by a trip to the library while our husbands golfed.
It was almost eight when I walked to our favorite booth at the back of the doughnut shop, where Sarah was looking out the window.
“Good morning!” I said as I slid into the booth and laid my purse down.
She turned and scowled. “What’s good about it?”
Dark circles under her bloodshot eyes shadowed her face, devoid of makeup. Small white feathers blanketed her messy hair and clothes. Her sweater was crooked because it wasn’t buttoned right.
Dumbfounded, I leaned in. “What happened?” I whispered.
Sarah sipped her coffee and blew out a sigh. “I’m thinking about a divorce.”
My eyes widened. “But just last week you celebrated your forty-eighth anniversary. You and Ed have been our best friends for years. When Ed retired and you moved to West Palm Beach, we missed you both so much we moved here too. Please don’t get a divorce.”
She shook her head. “Eileen, I didn’t say I was getting a divorce. I said I was thinking about a divorce.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Hmmm, if I were single, I wouldn’t have to wear earplugs to bed because of Ed’s snoring, and I’d have complete control of the TV remote.”
The breeze from the ceiling fan dislodged one of the feathers in her hair, and it floated onto the table. “Don’t worry, Eileen, I won’t get a divorce.” She rolled her eyes. “I still love the big lug.” She brushed the feather off the table and took another sip.
“What’s with all the feathers?”
Sarah sighed. “You know I have insomnia. I lie awake for hours, sometimes till dawn, trying to sleep. About five this morning, I finally got to what I call my twilight zone—just before the sleep zone. That means I’m drowsy, about to drift off. I have to be very careful not to disturb my twilight zone.
“I was almost asleep when I needed to pee. I kept my sleep mask on and didn’t scrounge for my slippers. Barefoot, I felt my way to our master bathroom, where I lifted my nightgown and fell into the toilet.”
I gasped and covered my mouth. “Oh, Sarah, no!”
“They can put a man on the moon, but they can’t get a man to put the toilet seat down. My legs flew up as I hit the cold water. I yelped when I banged my head against the lid, and the seat fell down around my neck. It pushed my sleep mask down and uncovered my right eye.
“I struggled to grip the slippery toilet rim and push myself up. But I couldn’t, so I grabbed for anything within my reach and accidentally flushed the toilet. The water rose up to my armpits and overflowed. I yelled for Ed but didn’t hear him. Then I remembered to remove my ear plugs. When I lifted my arms to remove them, I sank lower in the toilet.”
“That must’ve been awful.” I tried my best to sound sympathetic and not crack a smile.
“I heard Ed shuffling to the bathroom, thank god. He turned on the light, rubbed his hand over his face, and leaned against the door frame with an incredulous look.”
“’What the hell are you doing in the toilet?’ he said.”
“I growled, ‘What do you think I’m doing, taking a bath?’”
“He scratched his head and said, ‘I use the tub.’ Then he raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘I think you’re losing it, baby doll. Why didn’t you turn on the light?’”
“I shouted, ‘You know why I never turn on the light! Help me up! If you’d put down the toilet seat, I wouldn’t be in this pickle!’”
“He said, ‘Don’t you mean you wouldn’t be in this toilet?’”
“Ed bent down to grab my hands, but then he backed away. He pointed at me and said, ‘Don’t move! I’ll get the video camera. We can win ten-thousand dollars for this on Funniest Home Videos!’”
“I shrieked, ‘Hell no!’ Then I narrowed my uncovered right eye and hissed, ‘Not if you want to live!’”
“He rolled his eyes and said, ‘Tsk ... tsk! You do get cranky when you fall into the toilet.’”
“I hollered, ‘You’re the reason I’m in the damn toilet, and that’s where our marriage is going if you don’t shape up!’”
“He finally pulled me up, handed me a towel, and said, ‘When I was little, my mother taught me this rhyme: If you sprinkle when you tinkle, lift the cover when you hover. Because I’m neat, I always lift the cover.’ He looked at me with a silly grin as he patted the top of my head.”
“I hate it when he pats my head. It makes me feel so short. Seething in anger, I mopped up with the towel.
“Ed ambled off to bed and said in a condescending tone, ‘You could’ve avoided all this by just turning on the light.’”
“I went berserk and ran up to him, pushing him face-first onto the bed. I whacked him over and over with my feather pillow while he covered his head with his hands. The pillow ripped open, but I didn’t let up until it was empty. Our bedroom looked like a blizzard. I threw my wet nightgown on the floor and got dressed.
“He rolled around on the bed, roaring with laughter and holding his belly. I was looking for something else to hit him with when he fell off. I smirked and flashed him a vigorous two thumbs up for payback. Then I grabbed my purse and slammed the door on my way out. I could still hear him laughing, the devil.”
Suppressing a laugh or even a smile, I swallowed hard and glanced out the window.
“Ed’s in for a big surprise. I ordered an electric toilet seat. If the seat is raised, it automatically returns to the down position after one minute. Problem solved and marriage preserved.” She grinned and sipped her coffee.
A feather floated down and landed on my doughnut.
“Um, Sarah, where can I buy one of those electric toilet seats?”
&n
bsp; Aerobatic Lessons
S.L. Menear
He wasn’t the best husband in the world, but he was one hell of an aerobatic pilot, and I wanted him to teach me some of the stunts I’d seen at air shows. We both flew jet airliners for a living. Our home was attached to a grass-strip runway near Hershey, Pennsylvania, and our favorite toy was a 1947 Bücker Jungmann biplane. Our German antique aircraft was equipped with a modern engine and was fully aerobatic.
My problem? A fear of falling. Most people call it a fear of heights, but it’s really a fear of falling off high places. The Bücker’s open cockpit triggered my fear during inverted maneuvers. Even though I was strapped into a five-point harness and wearing a parachute, the powerful negative G-force made me feel like I was being pulled out of the airplane.
Irrational fear compelled me to grip the steel-tube fuselage rail as if my life depended on it. So, of course, my demented husband insisted I fly inverted straight and level and hold my hands over my head “to overcome my fear.” I did it, but instead of conquering my fear, it gave me extreme tunnel vision.
He said, “Keep the ridge line on your left and the valley on your right.”
I said, “All I can see is a dark tunnel with the nose of the aircraft at the end. No freaking ridge! No freaking valley! My eyes feel like they’re about to pop out. Screw this! I’m rolling right side up.”
“You need a distraction,” he said, as I rolled the airplane upright.
He was seated directly behind me in the tandem-seat biplane and reached into the narrow space on either side of my seat to pull my belts extra tight. Whenever he did that, something scary always followed.
That time it was an extreme stunt called a Lomcovák, invented by an insane Czech with a death wish. A violent snap roll flowed into an end-over-end forward tumble that ended in an inverted spin. I was confident the wings and tail would remain attached to the German-engineered biplane. I was not so sure about me.
