I have quite the set of balls. I have friends send me balls, Mom buys me balls, there were balls here when I got here.
I play with my balls. All sorts of different ones. But I usually have one ball that I play with above all others. I call it my yellow ball. Because it is yellow. And mine.
Last week Daddy was sitting in the glider. Grampy was over, he was sitting in the recliner. Mommy was in the kitchen talkin’ ‘bout the government. I brought my favorite yellow ball over to Daddy and dropped it at his feet.
He threw the ball while talking with Grampy. I kept running it down and bringing it back. Over and over. Then Daddy threw it. It skipped down the hall and I lost track of it. I came to the closed front bedroom door. The ball wasn’t there. I walked into the adjacent laundry room. You know what? No ball there. I went into the front bathroom. No ball there. Then I frantically looked around the kitchen. Still I was ball less. Completely without ball.
Mommy and Daddy looked for it but they couldn’t find it either. Daddy then pulled all my balls out of my pet bed and he laid them all on the floor. I walked over and sniffed my freshly lain balls. I picked both the green one and the red one to play with. But I still wondered what happened to my yellow ball.
I knew what I must do. I entered my pink, triangular kitty condo and went through my trunk. I found my houndstooth cap. It was time to unleash on the case the world famous detective Pocket Dog Private Dog. (Note” When I wear my cap I undergo a slight personality change, barely noticable, but the rest of the blog will be written by Pocket Dog Private Dog.)
A missing ball case. If I had a kibble for each of these I came across my bowl would be over flowing with kibble. I called my girl Friday Foley. She walked in, legs all the way up to her hips. When she wagged her tail men would weep. I asked her what she remember about the yellow ball.
“Daddy threw it down the hall, you somehow lost it on a one floor home with only seven rooms, and you’re trying to blame somebody else.”
Foley had a smart mouth on her but she got away with it with the wiggle in her walk. But I also couldn’t trust her. And she was in the room when the ball disappeared. I couldn’t eliminate my girl Friday Foley from being a suspect.
I walked over to Mommy’s recliner, jumped up on it, and climbed up on her chest. I stared into her brown eyes. “From what I’ve been told you were the last person who saw the yellow ball. It skipped by you in the kitchen before it disappeared. What do you remember from that day and did you have any contact with the ball?”
“I don’t know what happened to your ball, I don’t care what happened to your ball, and you need to get off my chest now.” I sensed I was close to breaking her, but sometimes you have to know when back off, which I did, snuggling next to her.
At night, in bed, after Foley was done licking Daddy, and he was lying reading, I hopped on his chest and looked down at him. Perhaps he had aimed the ball for a secret hole, or palmed to ball, or had snuck another dog in the house who ran off with the ball. I stared down at him as he answered my queries but he claimed her knew nothing, and if there is one thing I could attest to with my Daddy it’s that he knows nothing.
I turned around and sat on his face. I did my best thinking sitting on his face. There was only one suspect left. Grampy. This could be payback for stealing the Cardinals cap. (We haven’t collected from that old man on the bike yet. Every time he sees us he rides faster and rings his bell louder.) And Grampy would be over the next day. I knew if I kept the pressure on the old man I could break him, or, if he tripped him, I could break his hip.
When he was at our house on Tuesday I jumped on the recliner and gave him my best tough detective look. I asked him if he knew where my yellow ball was. He answered “What?” I told him it was no use trying to play Charlie McCarthy and dummy up, he better tell the truth. I knew I had shaken him up because he said “What?”
I had him cornered now. I jumped on to his chest. He gasped. Usually I don’t like to get physical with a subject because I’m five pounds but hey it was working. “Tell me where my yellow ball is?” I demanded.
Before I could crack the case Mommy told me to get down. And that’s when I figured it out. They were all in it. It was a conspiracy, bigger than any of them. This went up to the highest levels of government. Everyone had joined together in a conspiracy to make me look bad and I swore I would devote the rest of my life to breaking either Mommy, Daddy, Foley, or Grampy and then I will bring them all down and victory shall be mine!
Either that or it’s behind the hutch. But after I ruin ever member of my family I’ll check the hutch. Pocket Dog Dog Detective never loses a case.
Although sometimes I lose my ball.