The Ruby Rose Report: The Busted Buggy

 

Ruby has filed her weekly report. Here is your copy.

Last week I was accused of something that was not my doing: The destruction of the pack's buggy.

It has been passed down since Foley. I realized that I made it an antique, but it also met that it was old, maybe too old for service.

Every dog, including me, has grown bored in the buggy and wanted freedom. We pressed our heads against the front screen as souls who attack things head-on. We didn't expect this to have any effect, but over time, I maintained the zipper became worn, so two weeks ago, when bored, a little hot, and wanting a head scratch, I placed my noggin against the screen and suddenly it gave way. My head was out, but I was not happy. I knew the buggy was broken beyond repair.

Now, you may have several suggestions on how to fix the zipper. Still, given the people I had to work with and their limited mechanical abilities, the buggy was as totaled as a race car with a flat tire whose pit crew was entirely composed of badgers.

I could not get out of the buggy because I was tethered to it by a short strap, but my Mom did not want to put her faith in the thin, two-inch piece of fabric. So, the buggy was still functional and was even better because it was now a convertible, but it did not pass the mom inspection and was sent to the junkyard.

I was excited when a new buggy was ordered. It would be solely mine. I planned on decorating it in my style. My happiness ended as soon as I went to sleep.

I usually entered sweet dreamland, but I found myself in Judge Foley's courtroom, where I stood accused of destroying the family carriage.

I was disadvantaged since Foley was both the judge and the prosecuting attorney.

She began to speak. She called me careless. She called me reckless. She called me guilty and said I should be sentenced to be her dream butler for six months. It is the greatest penalty a soul can pay.

I was so gobsmacked I couldn't mount a defense. Then my savior appeared: Pocket Dog. First, she used the indisputable law of physics to state that my tiny head and tinier brain could not devise a way to break the buggy. Then she asked for a sidebar and approached Foley with a picture of her pressing her bulbous head against the zipper.

Pocket approached Judge Foley and showed her the picture. She turned red, then declared a mistrial. She did not want evidence of her guilt to be disclosed.

I enjoyed my new ride in the yard while my parents sweated in the gardens. It is a little unsteady because it has only one wheel in front, and when no one was looking, something tipped me over.

Then I saw the ghost of Foley snickering.

She had her revenge.

Still, it's better to be sideways than a butler.