~ Who needs writer’s block when I have this…. ~
I knew she was trying to hide. On the floor. On Mom’s side of the bed. She didn’t want me to know she was there. I couldn’t figure out how she got there, when a moment ago she was behind me in the kitchen.
At this stage of her life, Hazel seems to only move fast if there is something to bark at, or a tennis ball goes past her nose during its flight.
I had only hesitated a second to see whether Dad or Mom was going to follow me to the bedroom and help me with my first solo column. When Mom and Dad noticed the query on my face, they looked blankly at each other. I padded on alone while they debated who was to help me.
I didn’t let on to Hazel that I knew she was there. It was comforting in a way to have her there, listening to a conference she used to take a direct part in.
Tucker appeared at the bedroom door.
“Mom is missing a shoe and she wants to work in the garden,” he stated in an official tone.
At the moment, I didn’t really want to get involved with what Keira (Tuck’s supposed Deputy) probably did. I know I shouldn’t have done this to him, but I was bored waiting to get my work done, and I took advantage of Tucker’s sense of duty… and exactness.
“Which shoe Tucker?” I replied, while yawning—feigning an urge to nap.
Without answering, Tuck spun on his back paws to find an answer to my question. A moment later, he returned.
“In your question, were you referring to the style of shoe, or which foot the shoe belonged to?”
I suppressed an urge to chuckle, and wondered what the secretive Hazel was thinking at the moment.
“Well, that’s a good question, Tuck. Let’s find out what kind of shoe is missing first.”
I yawned again as Tuck headed back down the hallway.
I began thinking a nap would be good idea and was tempted to peek over the edge of the bed to see if Hazel had the same thing in mind. Tuck reappeared just as I was about to creep across the bed.
“Keira said it was one of Mom’s sandals, with flowers on the strap.” For all of Tuck’s exactness in his investigations, he always delays coming to an obvious conclusion. “I wonder if Mom is missing the right side or left side shoe. Do you know, Tuck?”
Again, Tuck turned back down the hallway, and I swear I heard the faintest whisper, “Oh… for pity’s sake”, coming from Mom’s side of the bed.
On my end, I was getting tired of waiting for Dad and the laptop (since Mom was talking of working outside), when our beloved pack sheriff came into the bedroom, this time with the hottest tip.
“Keira said that the missing shoe is worn on the passenger side.” Tuck sat abruptly to emphasize his thoroughness in sussing out details of a serious matter.
Keira can never remember the left or right side of things; she prefers two-legged or driver’s side and four-legged or passenger side since it’s indelible in her mind how the pack gets in and out of vehicles.
I pretended to take this new information in with great solemnity and tilted my head as though a puzzle was being pondered.
Tucker stood back up on all fours, anxious to see if I would come up with a solution.
I tilted my head to the other side and added slight affirmative nods as though I was sifting through dross to find the real gold. When I decided I had probably dragged this out long enough, I stood to all fours and was about to declare my hypothesis when Hazel stood up and barked, “Oh, for pity’s sake, Tucker! Ask Keira where the stupid shoe is!”
Tucker, unfazed by Hazel’s disembodied outburst, took in this suggestion while blinking numerous times. Then….
“Is a “stupid” shoe also missing along with the Mom’s sandal?” Tuck asked, concerned that this might be the beginning of a crime wave.
Hazel came out from her hiding spot without answering Tucker, but gently nudged her pack brother’s side as if to say, “Follow me, old chum, and we’ll set things straight.”
Tucker, happy to gain a helpful partner, turned to follow her out the door and said to me, “Sorry you couldn’t help, but thanks for trying.”
I drifted for a short bit after being left alone and opened my eyes to see Dad warming up the old laptop.
“Well, what do you want to write about this time, Pru?”
“Can I just recount a typical day around here? I didn’t come up with anything super-creative this time Dad.”
Dad gave me an understanding pat on my haunches, wiggled his fingers over the keyboard and said, “Let ‘er rip, little bear.”
~ Promise Prudence Pepper ~
