Ladd, come. Ladd, sit. Phooey, Ladd!

By Alfred Goodale

"Ladd, come. Ladd, sit. Phooey, Ladd!" The wonder wasn't that I obeyed at a walk but that I obeyed at all. We animals talked together, solving the mystery at Mystery Cabin. Who had penned the anonymous warnings? Not Jonquil, because she couldn't read or write. Not the great owl, because he didn't have the brainpower. But an owl could hold a quill in his feathered talons and take dictation. The cat and the owl together were the culprits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred Goodale
• Release date: Jul 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301085811

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Ladd, come. Ladd, sit. Phooey, Ladd!

A talking dog adventure

Published by Alfred Goodale at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Alfred Goodale

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Chapter 1

It happened late one night. As was my custom, I was wearing Robert’s dark glasses, investigating. Crickets, bugs, beetles. Earthworms, of which there was no shortage under an old Maine farmhouse. That’s where I was when a car came fast, followed by a siren. There was a crash at the end of the driveway, then the car and the siren died away.

I’m scared of cars and generally stick close to home, but this was an emergency. Out beside the highway was a plastic bag stuffed with money. Stolen money, I assumed. What to do?

Theo was too big to get through the cat door and the cat was too small to help. So with my teeth, I dragged the money all the way into the house. It was Jonquil, the yellow cat, who with her dainty paws very carefully stepped on 9-1-1. I cocked my head and lowered my voice, imitating Robert, and within minutes we were surrounded by police cars and blue lights.

Robert came downstairs, wondering what all the fuss was about. He does pretty well inside the house and Sergeant Jarvis, the officer-in-charge, didn’t realize he was blind until he saw his unshaded, empty eyes. He shook hands with Robert and Robert shook hands with him, and they sat down at the table.

The sergeant took out his stub of a pencil and jotted down my account of what had happened at the end of the driveway. Putting down the pencil, he asked if I was interested in police work and when I said yes he recommended the Maine Police Academy in Waterville. I studied hard and in due course received the diploma that now hangs in my office next to President Lincoln’s letter to Mrs. Bixby. Finally I received a special police tag to hang with my rabies tag and my Town of Liberty tag, and that was everything.

Celebrating with friends, I learned that a girl from the next town lay in Eastern Maine Medical Center in Bangor. Dear Maria Osborne, I wrote. After hearing of your four bare walls, no flowers or visitors, no message from your father in Afghanistan, I come to offer my professional services. Any trouble in the hospital, missing towels or pillowcases, chewed slippers or bomb threats, you let me know. Just get word to my master, Robert, or dial his number and ask for me, Ladd. Resumé and references enclosed. No fee schedule is included at this time.

The silence from 14-year-old Maria only convinced me, a dog of four, that she was actually doing pretty well in Bangor, with floor privileges, a stack of mail, and perhaps a visit from her distant mother. So I wrote and told her everything she needed to know about Theo the guide dog and how all German shepherds are alike. See one and you’ve seen them all. Big, toothy, and loud. Theo especially. In an elevator, he doesn’t know up from down, he’s never heard of an eating disorder, and he certainly can’t spell anorexia. He might have his diploma from the Harvard and Yale of dog training schools, but when it comes to cesspools and back alleys, I’m afraid I’m still the one with the sharp eyes and the steady gaze.

An example will help. Out on the back porch there was a broken-down old recliner waiting to go to the dump. Supposedly it was Theo’s, but one morning I needed a comfortable place in which to think. So I ran onto the front deck and started barking as if I’d seen Her Yellowness, Jonquil, or some other