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by Benjamin
She stood in my office, panting, all legs and neck and muzzle. She was a great dame, alright.
I’d been snoozing in my basket, not a care in the world, dreaming about squirrels. Why was it always squirrels? Those slippery bastards always seemed to get away. But then there she was, standing there in front of me, and my dreams took on a different tone.
“Are you Woofus?”
“I am,” I replied, as nonchalant as I could manage. “Private Investigator for hire and part-time puddle drinker. What can I do for you?”
She wagged. Just a little, but enough so that I could see what she was thinking. “I need your help.”
My ears pricked. A fine piece of tail and a job? The day was looking up.
Turned out that someone had been taking her food. Just a little each night, but enough that she noticed it was gone. Exactly the kind of kibble that makes me mad. That bowl was all she had in the world, and someone takes it right out from under her. What a world.
I took the job. Whether I’d let her pay, I wasn’t quite sure yet. First I needed to talk to the right people.
Owie Howie was the neighborhood hedgehog. A real spiky fella, from the wrong side of the fence. Slept all day, roamed the area at night. You had to be sharp to see him, but whenever there was trouble, he’d be there. Luckily, I knew that he’d always talk eventually. A single saucer of milk was all he needed.
Sure enough, he was snoozing under a hedgerow when I found him. I slid the milk towards him with one paw. Wordlessly.
He looked up at me, startled. “Talk,” I said.
“I haven’t done nothin’,” Howie said.
“I’d bet a boneful of kibble that you have,” I said. “But that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about. I’m here about a dame.”
“I didn’t touch her,” Howie said. “Whatever she tells you, she’s lying.”
“Touch who?”
“Lena Dachshund.”
“I’m not here about Lena Dachshund,” I barked. “But you keep your spiky paws to yourself. I’m talking about a real tall dame. Came to me this morning. Said her food was missing. Just a little bit. Sounds like the work of a professional thief, if you ask me.”
Howie looked up at me. There was fear in his eyes, clear as day, even through his milky haze. “I don’t know nothin’ about that.”
I put one paw down on the saucer of milk so hard that it flipped right out onto the lawn. “Talk, damnit. I ain’t gonna ask you again.”
“This is deep,” Howie said. “Too deep even for you, Woofus. Turn away. Turn away now while you still have the chance.”
“I ain’t never turned away from a dame,” I growled, my voice real low. “And I ain’t doing it now. Enjoy your milk, Howie.” I left him, desperately licking milk from blades of grass, out there in the open. Guys like Howie were shameless. I wasn’t about to take advice from him, particularly not now he had told me everything I needed to know.
That looks of fear could only mean one thing around here. There was only one hound sick enough to produce that kind of reaction from a guy like Howie. And I was going to schnuffle him out.
To be continued …
by Ben – First published by and reblogged (with deep admiration and thanks) from Rum & Monkey
http://rumandmonkey.com/humor/2012/05/22/the-pekingese-falcon/
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
If anyone here wants to know what happened to Bella, Max and Spotty….so here I go.We sold the farm and luckily a dog breeding family from Goulburn was eager to swap Max to a six week old Milo, these lovely people also had a farm and had been looking for kelpie from a good stock, MAX.
Bella got out of the courtyard during the fox-bait season and was killed by it. I have to stop writing about her, I’m close to tears, right now.
Spotty used to be allergic to some grasses on the farm, every summer it got worse, we spent big money trying to save her but it all failed and we had to put him down…
She is the one who used to join in singing opera when we put Pavarotti on, now I am crying and Milo looks up, What’s wrong, mum..?
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Milo now insists on two walks a day and will probably force us to take three soon. He kind of leaps up against my hands forcing them off the ticking away at the computer. As soon as I stop, he leaps down the stairs but then comes up again to make sure I haven’t lapsed back to the keyboard.
Still, he meets many other dogs, sometimes much bigger than him. He growls bravely and so far no dog has had a serious go at him. People are keeping their dog on leads. The ones not on leads just saunter along and show their age, old and on last legs. So are some of their owners.! Last year an old man and his dog were lying in the wet grass. He couldn’t get up and as I propped him up, he said he would have phoned his wife to get him. He still gets around, even now. Old men never die.
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When a problem comes along
You must whippet!
Before the cream sets out too long
You must whippet!
When something’s goin’ wrong
You must whippet!
And Benjamin; this is the real thing. Best dog story I’ve read in a long while, and I’m known for being fond of a dog yarn.
But you better let Woofus know that Inspector Matthew “Mutt” Dogley of the Yard is on this case, sniffing out a few leads, barking up a few wrong trees, finding where the bones are buried.
Dogley’s got a low down informant called “Bluie”, a reformed Shingleback lizard. He’s been through the wringer of kibble theft and addiction and knows all about this stolen food racket. He reckons that there’s a bad batch of kibble in town, cut with A2 milk can you believe it. Dogs are dropping all over.
Worse still, and don’t let on, but Mutt’s girlfriend Saluki Sal, you know that tall lithe piece he’s been getting around with, used to be a spokesmodel for the rehoming crowd. Well she’s on the Bullets now. That’s what that crowd call it, Bullets. Hard and crunchy on the outside, blow your brans out on the inside. It’s tragic and poor old Mutt doesn’t have a clue he’s so blinded by love, or maybe it’s just lust.
Howie’s right; Woofus could be in big trouble on this one.
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Waz, Ben’s case has gone pretty cold. This came from July and someone had already dropped the hint of anticipating the next ep….. to no avail. But fingers crossed, perhaps we might see Foodge tail this one – doggedly of course.
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When living on the farm, we had three dogs; Bella ( Border Collie), Max (Kelpie), Spottie (Jack Russell cross?), it was him that used to get the other two to join him in the rabbit hunting. One day he caught a little baby one . He buried it and then sat next to the ‘grave’ all day so Bella and Max could not dig it up and eat it…Meanie, not a sharer…
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Milo is looking at the Pekenische, dreaming of bones and grizzle. We get a three kilo bag from the local butcher for just one dollar. Lucky Milo, but the stench and flies in the backyard means he will go back to chicken necks.
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Dashielle Hammett would be proud!
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Go Dash ! A good name for a whippet 🙂
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