Rory here, doing a blog takeover for Tucker. I'm a new hound, and a news hound, so my first post is perfect for this Halloween edition.
Time: Last week, an ordinary day.
Setting: I'm about to make my usual stop at the Driveway Diner. It's a pleasant spot. Two bowls, one medium, the other teeny, are filled with clean water. Cheery flags advertise each season.
Best of all is the treat bin. It's always stuffed with fabulous treats, and it's always a mystery (to my folks at least, because their noses are not nearly as large as mine) what's inside.
But on this day, that's not the only mystery.
Picture this: I pick up my pace, ready for my mid-morning snack, ears perked, belly growling. I come to a screeching halt at the treat bin.
But no. The treat bin isn't there.
I sniff each blade of grass. I sniff again.
Still no bin.
My belly growls again. I howl.
My newsy nose tells me something is seriously awry: The bin is not just gone, but stolen!
I make this case my top priority.
I gather the facts:
Scene: Side street, quiet neighborhood (except for my howling)
Time of the crime: I'd guess between midnight and 4 a.m.
Crime: Thievery of the highest order; to wit, a threat to the very life of each dog in our neighborhood who must survive, snackless, during their walks.
Suspects: Unknown, but I'll sniff them out.
I begin tracking. First, I inspect the skeleton, pumpkins, and stuffed toys found at the scene to isolate the thieves' scent.
Down the street, I check out the trash can. I get to the bottom of it. Nothing but a hotdog wrapper.
Mom and I canvass the neighborhood. Mom uses her eyes; I use my nose--of course.
At the field, I grab a fleece someone left behind. I want to save it as evidence, but Mom says no.
The search turns up...nothing. The trail has gone cold. For now.
The next day, Mom and I interview the treat people. They have no clues.
The next week, a new treat bin appears.
Happy Halloween!
