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  • Writer's picturePatty Kramer

Theft of the Yellow Fellow Chapter Five



Suspect #3 Dill AKA Colonel Mustard


Dill is a twin to Pill. No, silly, they are not identical as one is a boy and one is a girl! Their momma was just lucky when she ordered curbside pickup at the grocery store and they gave her two for the price of one. Or, at least that’s how Whiny got a free package of doggie treats just the other day.

I like Dill! He’s perfect to hide behind when the rowdiness of the pack of campers gets out of control. I can flatten myself up beside one of his sturdy legs and no one can accidentally step on me. He’s my go-to buddy when times get wild.

Once upon a time he had a different name than Dill but I can’t remember what it was. Whiny dubbed them the pickle twins after a hamburger supper we had in the kitchen one night. He thought it would be funny to offer me a dill pickle chip because I wouldn’t go away and kept begging for food.

Dumb me took the pickle chip as if I was accepting a bite of meat patty with cheese on the top from McDonalds. Boy was I ever surprised when my taste buds got a coating of dill pickle juice! I spit that terrible, terrible thing out faster than I did when I tried to gobble down a June bug that had landed atop a bull nettle leaf. Never, ever, will I try either one again.

Dill is an okay companion. Always smiling and joking and having a good time. He likes everyone and participates even in the macaroni art although we all know he’s way too old and manly to be creating flowers from pasta. Whiny tells me often that I should try to be even keeled like Dill but I’ve not quite figured out how to keep my emotions settled. Besides, I see the real, wild side of Dill that comes out when the campers are chasing each other with the laser guns. That boy can get aggressive like a big dog after a mangy cat!

The day of Banana Dog’s disappearance, Dill was dressed as the Colonel Mustard suspect in the game called Clue. He had on a black shirt, sporting a straw hat upon his head. He brought a lit pipe into the dining room where Whiny asked him to extinguish it at the same time she insisted that Professor Plum extinguish his cigar. The reason I point this out is that when lunch was over, Dill asked to be excused so he could puff once again on his pipe. When he left the room it would have been easy for him to have already secured Banana Dog under the brim of his straw hat and then he could have walked right out with no one the wiser.

His motive could have been the same as the other five suspects, the noise I was making with the Banana Dog was annoying. But I’ve given it a real good thinking over with my giant of a brain and I think Colonel Mustard might have had an ulterior motive, my hunch stemming from overhearing a comment he made to Professor Plum when they were stoking up their smokes.

He said, and I quote, “I’ve heard that banana peels make fabulous smokes!”

I just wonder if maybe the old Colonel had every intention of stealing, peeling and then smoking the yellow skin off of the Banana Dog. And if so, then the blame all goes straight back to Whiny for the BD to go missing. She should have left him dirty, dirty so his shiny yellow skin wouldn’t have been so tempting!

It is my opinion, and I hope someone will quote me one day, that clean is way overrated! And in this instance, and probably many others, dirt would have kept the thieves at bay!

Tonight when I catch Whiny being still for a few short minutes while seated on the loveseat in front of that terribly loud black box with all the two-legs shooting at each other, I’ll nip her right elbow. That is a sign between the two of us that I need immediate attention. There is no need in yapping at her since she has ear plugs stuffed in tight because the Booga-man is practically deaf and turns the volume to the black box so loud the traffic a mile up on the highway can hear Matt Dillon shoot at the outlaws.

I’m thinking that the two of us should search the front courtyard where the Colonel went to tap in more tobacco and light his pipe. I remember clearly that he blocked my exit, shooing me back inside, hurting my puppy feelings because it was the first time he’d ever turned me away. I was sad for eternity, or for at least three seconds, before I remembered there were probably crumbs underneath the table and I hurried back to see. But those three seconds left a terrible brand on my heart that I shall never be shed of. (Can you tell I’m studying for the dramatic scene in the two-legs next skit?)

Anyway, I’ll nip Whiny’s elbow and then pull on her pants leg until I get her to come with me to see if we can find Banana Dog’s remains where the conniving, smoking, Colonel Mustard puffed away my sweet Banana Dog. (Oh, please no.)


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