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  • Writer's picturePatty Kramer

THEFT of the YELLOW FELLOW Chapter Seven




Suspect #5 My Girl AKA Miss Scarlett

Trying to turn this two-legs into a suspect would have stumped my tail if some Sneaky doctor hadn’t already removed what would have been the most magnificent tail in the whole doggie world. My-girl is quiet most of the time and then when she talks, you better have your ears perked up tall because she runs through her words so fast I do believe her sentences could catch a police car traveling fifty-two hundred miles an hour down a slick paved road.


She’s funny with her words, too. Always making everyone laugh, some laughing even though they weren’t sure what she just rattled off because she just makes you smile when she’s wound up.

The other campers called her Miss Scarlett, and she had a long piece of material wrapped around her body. Her long hair was covered in the same stuff with only her face and hands sticking out. Maybe the costume was supposed to make her completely invisible but didn’t work too well.


When she sat down at the table she wrapped herself up like some of the bugs that stick themselves to the outside of the house and stay hidden away until I get tired of looking at them and I scratch them down and squish whatever soft is inside. Even though I wanted to scratch at her and make her show me the parts that were hiding, I knew by her scent that this was really My-girl and that she wouldn’t like to be scratched and mushed down like an insect. So I let her be and just tried to bring her out of her shell by making as much noise as I could with Banana Dog.


During eating hours I don’t tend to hang too close to Miss Scarlett because she eats mostly weird leafy stuff. Somewhere along her life’s way she must have lost her canine teeth, (I can’t get up high enough to check out her mouth), and I’m pretty sure her taste buds are deformed or dehydrated or whatever de word I should be using that says they are broken. I mean two-legs are supposed to eat meat! Dogs are supposed to eat meat! Growing My-girls are supposed to eat meat, but she doesn’t.


She wants something fresh from the garden, barely washed, tossed for about forty-three-two seconds in some warm water and placed gently on her plate. No cheese for her, no every child’s life-blood, ketchup, but she’ll take slivered onions slathered on everything. Whiny is always getting on to her for dropping onions off her hamburger inside Whiny’s car.


Miss Scarlett likes to eat these little bunches of stubby trees, and round and hollow dark things that are the most disgusting things I’ve ever put in my mouth. Plus she eats these stinking to high-Purina round hard balls that look kind of like they fell off the hind end of one of Booga-man’s bulls after its been eating Johnson grass that’s full of water.


She also eats out of flat packages of what smells like raw fish and whose containers have to be wrapped in grocery bags and stuffed way down inside the trash so I won’t dig the smelly things out and lick them one ten hundred thousand times and then try to bury the evidence under a piece of furniture.


My-girl spends more time outside than I get to. Her legs are so long I can’t see to the top of them from my short and squatty position on the floor. She can run like the wind just like I love to do but she doesn’t want me along and it makes me sad. Using the excuse for sending me back to the house that she needs to get out on the county road and I’d get run over. I’m always sad when Whiny makes me come back to her, but then glad because I know if I make Whiny yell and beat on the courtyard’s table that I’ll get a McDonalds treat if I act the part of a good dog. But its still wrong that My-girl gets to run anytime she wants to and I’m heeled to Whiny’s right leg when we are outside.


I had to really study on why My-girl would want to take my wonderful Banana Dog. She wasn’t going to operate on him like My-boy, smoke him like Dill, or eat him like Pill, so what would My-girl want with him other than to make him shut up forever. So I watched her closely for quite a few days and realized that she wanted Banana Dog for his banana peel to make compost to feed her growing vegetables in the greenhouse! She wanted his body parts for fertilizer! Oh, the horror of it all!


So here’s how she could of removed Banana Dog from the kitchen. Whiny had cut a big watermelon in two and cut out the red stuff. Now I heard My-girl call the red stuff the meat of the watermelon but that just ain’t right! That soft, squashy stuff is not meat, I can doggone guarantee you that! Anyway the scooped out halves of the melon were in the sink and My-girl is in charge of taking them either to the four-legs with the flashy tails out at the back fence, or taking the leftover vegetables and peelings out to the compost bin. My-girl could have simply grabbed the Banana Dog with one hand, stuffed him inside the hollowed out watermelon and trotted her two conniving legs right out the back door. No one would have been the wiser.


So maybe My-girl did the terrible deed. It is getting harder and harder to figure out which camper took away my best friend the Banana Dog. I feel like taking Fred and going back into our padded condo and spend the day just thinking about the suspects, their motives, and their modes of disposing of Banana Man. But Whiny would be so concerned about me that she’d probably take me back to Dr. Sneaky to have me checked out and I’d get another nail stick.


It’s best if me and Fred find the leg of some piece of furniture that I haven’t already chewed the finish off of and get to work. I need to leave my mark so the world won’t forget me when someone snatches me and Fred away. Oh, what a terrible thought!




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