Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘To Fetch A Thief’

Chetspeak on Sunday

(We’re doing beginnings. This is from TO FETCH A THIEF.)

“I smell trouble,” Bernie said.

Better stop right there. Not that I doubt Bernie. The truth is I believe everything he says. And he has a nice big nose for a human. But what’s that saying? Not much.

It’s a fact that trouble has a smell – human trouble especially, sour and penetrating – but Bernie had never smelled trouble before, or if so he hadn’t mentioned it, and Bernie mentioned all kinds of things to me. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie, Bernie’s last name being Little. I’m Chet, pure and simple.

I took a quick sniff, smelled no trouble whatsoever, just as I’d expected, but did smell lots of other stuff, including burgers cooking on a grill. I looked around: no grill in sight, and this wasn’t the time to go searching, although all at once I was a bit hungry, maybe even more than a bit. We were on the job, trailing some woman whose name I’d forgotten. She’d led us out of the Valley to a motel in a flea-bitten desert town. That was what Bernie called it – flea-bitten – but I felt no fleas at all, hadn’t been bothered by them in ages, not since I started on the drops. But the funny thing was, even though I didn’t have fleas, just the thought of them suddenly made me itchy. I started scratching, first behind my ear, soon along my side, then both at once, really digging in with my claws, faster and –

Chetspeak on Sunday

“Perro loco,” he said. He raised the gun. I saw down the barrel, a small round space, black and empty. Bernie’s voice spoke inside me at last: Run, big guy. But I couldn’t. Somehow that tiny black emptiness had me frozen in place. That thick over-sized trigger finger started to squeeze.

And at that moment came a surprise. Somehow, without making any noise, or at least not any that I heard, Peanut was on her feet, and not only on her feet but – you couldn’t call it running, maybe, more like lumbering – yes, lumbering with surprising speed, up and at ‘em but even more so than I could have dreamed, and heading right in the perp’s direction; dudes who point guns at me are perps, case closed.

– from TO FETCH A THIEF.

Chetspeak on Sunday

“How about Peanut?” Bernie said. “Does she have any enemies?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“Not really,” Bernie said. “But if she does, look out.”

“Why is that?”

“Because an elephant never forgets.”

Whoa right there. An elephant never forgets? Had I heard that before? Couldn’t quite recall. What was Bernie saying? Not that elephants are in some way better than – ? My mind dug in its heels, wouldn’t go any further in that direction.

– from TO FETCH A THIEF.

Chetspeak on Sunday

Back home, Bernie filled my water bowl and went into the bedroom. I lapped some up and followed him. “Hate sleeping in the daytime,” he said, lying on the bed, still in his clothes. He rolled over and fiddled with the alarm clock. “One hour, tops.” He lay back, closed his eyes. I wasn’t really in the mood for this, felt like a hike in the canyon out back, or a game of fetch, or even a quick walk up and down the street. But Bernie looked so tired, and that strange zigzag line was showing on his forehead again, like maybe he was in some kind of pain. I backed out of the bedroom, went into the hall, looked out the side window, and there was Iggy, in his side window. He jumped up, front paws on the glass, excited to see me – Iggy was a good pal. I got up on my hind legs, too. Iggy went yip-yip-yip, that high-pitched bark that annoyed all the neighbors, except for us, of course. I started to bark back, but then swallowed it – or most of it, or at least some of it – thinking of Bernie. Then old Mr. Parsons appeared behind Iggy, and said something that I could tell was all about knocking it off and getting away from that damned window. Iggy kept yipping and jumping up and down and wagging his stubby tail. Mr. Parsons went away, then came back with – hey! with a chew strip, a real big one. He waved it in front of Iggy’s nose and walked away. That was the end of all the yipping, jumping and wagging; Iggy turned from the window and scuttled after old Mr. Parsons. I wanted that chew strip real bad.

“Chet!” Bernie called from the bedroom. “Cool it.”

– from TO FETCH A THIEF.