Beagles on the Case

My grandfather used to call a certain time “the shank of the evening.”  I was never sure exactly what that meant, but have always presumed it meant the long and meaty part. It was after our regular dinner time, except, of course, the Beagle Posse had been fed at their usual 5 o’clock.   It was one of the days when Deborah was scheduled home late, due to singing with her choir.  Waiting for her, so we could eat together, and discuss our day, I was engaged in the vital function of arguing politics with strangers on the internet.

Tommy said, “OK, tell us right now where you put her, and it’ll go easier on you.”

“What?”, I looked up from my keyboard.  “Put who?”

“The food lady. She’s supposed to be home by now.”

“The food lady?  Do you mean Deborah?  I already fed you your dinner.”

Tuppence joined, “You’re the food guy.  She’s the food lady.  We want there to always be a backup beagle feeder in the house.  Now, tell us where you hid the body.”

“What body?”

“The food lady.  She’s due home before now.  Since we haven’t seen her, we presume you’ve done something really bad.”

We need to pause the dialog to explain two things here.  One is that beagles are totally creatures of habit.  They have internal clocks that let them regulate their day, and the days of any humans around.  They know meal times, treat times, walk times, bed times, getting up times, and, of course, coming home times.  Two, ever since we named these two beagles after Agatha Christie detectives (Tommy and Tuppence Beresford), they have considered themselves master sleuths, and are always on the lookout for crimes and dastardly deeds to solve.

Picking up the string.

”Look,” I said, “on two nights every two weeks, Deborah sings with her choir and gets home a couple of hours later than usual.  She’ll be here any time.  There’s nothing for you to worry about. Plus, Deborah is my life and soul, I’d never hurt her.”

“We have sniffed every square inch of the back yard,” said Tommy.  “And we’ve looked for freshly turned dirt.  If you put her back there, you hid her well.”

“You two are skating on thin kibbles here.”

“Through the window, we see lots of fresh-turned dirt in front, we’ll need to check that.  Open the door.”

“Those are the flower gardens, and I am NOT letting you out front. Every time I do, I have to spend hours looking for you.”

Tommy said, “Tuppy, I think she’s in the car trunk.”  Turning my way, he said, “We’ll need a sniff of that.”

“NO!  I am not taking you out to sniff the car.”

“AHA!” shouted Tuppence, “NOW we know where he hid her.  Okay, buddy, were you just waiting for dark to drive her off and dump her?”

“I’ve had enough,” I said. “Deborah is fine.  She’s due home any minute.  I can’t help it if your programmed Canine Calendars can’t grasp that she’s late two days out of every two weeks.  Why do you think, just because you’re called after detectives, that you are capable of crime solving?”

“Well,” sniffed Tuppence, “some humans think just because they are called a nominee they are capable of presidenting.  Now then, can you PROVE she comes home late two out of fourteen nights?”

“How do you dogs know there’s fourteen days in two weeks?”                                                                

“Beagle wisdom,” said Tommy.  “The nose always knows.”

Right then, four beagle ears perked up, and two beagle noses began Hoovering the breeze.  Sure enough, there was the sound of the garage door opener.  Less than a minute later, Deborah walked in. I was instantly ignored as the Posse began its evening Welcome Deborah ritual—bouncing, wagging, yipping, hand licking, running back and forth up and down the hall in excitement.  “You’rehomeyou’rehomeyou’rehome.  He can’t hurt you now.  We’re on the case.”

Deborah must have been confused by the ‘can’t hurt you now’ crack, because she acted like she didn’t hear it.  She and I greeted one another, and she went to the bedroom to change.  The Posse, still barely containing their excitement, followed along.  Tuppence breathlessly explained to her, “We won’t let anything happen to you.  We have our eyes and noses on him.  We’ll know it if he puts you in the back yard.”

I yelled down the hall, “POSSE, ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE.”

Tommy yelled back, “We still need to check the car trunk.”

Deborah just began changing clothes and acted like she didn’t hear any of this exchange.  Sometimes, I think Deborah doesn’t think beagles can talk.