Boomer Ang: Part 5

When we got home, I guess it’s actually Detective Mike’s home because I became homeless when Master Bob died. But I digress because I’m a dog after all and back to the story here. We arrive at Detective Mike’s big house and big property and he led me to my kennel with my doghouse and inside was my blanket, Master Bob’s old and torn sweater, and my toy bone and red rubber ball Master Bob always played fetch with me all the time.

Detective Mike unleashed me and closed the kennel door. True to his word, he let the other dogs out to play and mark their territory as if they were signing a contract and run free while I watched this with unhidden envy and anger.

I moped and felt the sadness begin and wondered if I was going to stay here after he caught that man who killed Master Bob or sent somewhere else. Daisy ran by and wagged her tail vigorously. I couldn’t help but snarl and bark at her to leave me alone. Her grin stayed

plastered on her face. She sniffed around the kennel and then the other three dogs bounded to where Daisy sniffed and tormented me.

Brutus was the big rottweiler. He jumped onto my kennel apparently wanting to knock it over, but I think Mistress Mary nailed it down. I snarled and bit at him, and he did the same thing, our muzzles mere inches from the kennel’s barrier. Then the other three did the same as if wanting me to fight them to establish hierarchy. Though I was the low dog, I wasn’t about to show it by backing down to them. Rufus was a lot bigger than me though. The other dogs were roughly my size, Daisy and Carmen, a Pit/Lab mix slightly smaller.

Though the other three seemed to just go with the flow, and were not as snarly and ferocious, Rufus seemed most angry and serious that I would dare inhabit his territory. He seriously wanted a fight, and I felt more than happy to oblige him by snapping and biting at his paws. The airs on my back showed to every dog there that I too am serious and won’t be messed with. I made it clear it was time for a showdown to see who is top dog here.

Suddenly water got into the mix somehow. I turn to see where this water came from and Mistress Mary, a cigarette dangling from her mouth held a garden hose and had a nozzle spraying all of us dogs. I had no choice but to cower in my doghouse while the others ran in all directions to avoid this unwelcomed invasion.

“I am the alpha here!” Mistress Mary screamed out. She scared me and I cowered more while Rufus was getting the brunt of the watering as well. He ran with his tail between his legs and his ears pointed down to his pen and hid in his doghouse too.

She then released the nozzle sprayer and set the hose down next to her on the lawn, lit her cigarette and watched all of us with a glaring stare as if daring any one of us to rebel against her

command. I watched her and then looked at the other dogs. Slowly they left their shelters and approached Mistress Mary, wagging their tails slowly. Carmen and Daisy began licking Mistress Mary’s hands and face.

“Stop!” she ordered them and they did, turning over on their backs and showing their bellies to her. She scratch their tummies and then told them, “Lay down here.”

They laid down at her feet and finally Brutus, a mixed breed even more unusual looking than I and Rufus approached with their tails wagging too. I watched it all with envy. I want to be part of the pack too! I whimper at her to let me out to get to know these other dogs too. We just got on the wrong start, that’s all. I promise to be good.

But she seemingly ignore me and I don’t know why. Did I make her that mad at me?

Maybe Detective Mike doesn’t want her to get friendly toward me because of the bigger dogs. I watched her rub the bigger dogs’ backs and ears before she stopped and went inside the house. The four dogs made their way to my kennel. They sniffed at everything. I allowed it, to a point until Rufus and Brutus raised their hind legs and marked this as theirs.

I suddenly jump from my house, snarling and barking. I was mad that they would so disrespect my property. They snarled back, looked at the house and walked calmly back to their pen, laying down in front of their doghouse and watching me.

Daisy and Carmen stayed with me for a time until they too went to their pen. They wrestled with each other, playfully nipping each other’s muzzles, tails, and ears. I laid back down too. I sniffed at my bone and chewed on it slowly, relishing the soft rubberized chew toy’s feel and resistance on my teeth and jaws.

Night fell just as suddenly as in the Gooding place and the dogs bid their times watching me, eating from their individual bowls and playing until we all closed our eyes to sleep for the night. A car came into the property which alerted Rufus and Brutus. Both bayed at the strange car and then I followed suit, barking in earnest. All four then ran after the person going into the house.

“It’s me!” I recognized the voice of Chief. They all sniffed and wagged their tails at the familiar man. Did he bring treats? I smelled food coming from his car. I stop barking when I saw him disappear inside the house.

A moment later Detective Mike comes out and opens my pen. “It’s time to go back to work, Boomer.”

I wagged my tail with an abundance of enthusiasm, running quickly to their pen and raising my hind leg. Both big dogs came out to challenge me but Detective Mike called them back and I finished. I ran back to him and into the back seat of his car. A moment later we were out on a highway heading down from the Gooding place at a high rate of speed as another set of headlights followed close behind us. I looked back but only saw the glare and I turned away. My night sight was shot now and all I see for few seconds are star bursting things.

We came to a town and slowed down until we got onto a much bigger highway. This one had two lanes going the same direction and two opposite lanes going back where we just came from. We were going even faster than before. Then I felt us turning off this highway and stopping. We turned left and went into another town. We then stop and I see many cars parked on either side of a street, completely unfamiliar to me. I sniffed the air for a familiar smell but everything came back alien and unfamiliar.

Mike opened my door and placed a leash on my collar. He pulled the leash gently and I jumped down and headed to a house. I smelled blood before we even reached the door.

Something about this made the hairs on my back stand on end and my tail pointed straight out. Is this what Detective Mike meant by work?

Boomer Ang: Part 4

“Chief, I got a witness who gave me a credible lead,” he said to a rather big man who wore suspenders over a white shirt and had a bolo tie drawn partially down to allow his top button to be opened. I sniffed his cotton trousers; he owns a poodle and a cat. He drinks coffee and just ate a donut. I was also getting hungry and so I sniffed the air for those same donuts.

“Why is he here?” Chief asked. I looked up and wagged my tail up at him. His face gave me a serious, abet curious expression. A bushy beard covered most of his face and his eyes were warm and gray. His beard was white.

“He’s our prime witness and he led me to a part of that street about four houses down. A man named Walt Jones told me an 80s or 90s model Honda came in front of his house and man came out and walked up the street. The man has a limp.”

“I see, well I guess we could deputize him and make him your partner until we get this person arrested and off the street.” He bent down to me and brushed the hair on my neck and back with long and smooth strokes. “You did good, didn’t you?” He abruptly arose. “Go and see if you can get CCTV footage of a similarly described car from the last couple days or so. Besides the limp, anything else?”

“He mentioned that he wore his pant down like gangbangers do so their boxers show.”

“I hate when they do that, except when we’re running after them in pursuit. I remember one time when that happened up in Kennewick before I got this job, a Mexican illegal gangbanger who was wanted for killing his girlfriend tried getting away on foot after we crashed into his getaway car. He didn’t get far because his trousers were so low pass his hips he tripped and fell, losing his pants in the process and me and another officer had no problem arresting his punk ass.” He laughed heartily at what he said. Detective Mike chuckle along with him. I am hungry and thirsty now.

I whine up at Detective Mike pleading with him to give me water and a donut or something. All that dog biscuit did was make me hungry for more and thirsty. “Come on Boomer, let’s do some detective work.” He tugged on my leash to get me going where he desired.

“When was the last time you gave him water?” Chief ask Detective Mike. “Water?” He asked as if the thought never occurred to him.

“It’s kind of important to survive. We need it, plants and trees need it and this dog most definitely looks like he needs it.”

“I’ll get right on that sir.” “You do that.”

He led me to an area that looked like a kitchen at Master Bob’s house with a sink and a white cubular thing that store cold food. Next to that was another cubular thing they put cold food in and it makes an odd noise for a minute or two before beeping and they bring the cold food out smelling hot and tasty. Master Bob had one of those too. I heard he called it a microwave but I don’t understand that means.

Detective Mike search in the cabinets and drawers for something. He found a large bowl and set it inside the sink and turned a tap the poured-out water. He then shut off the faucet and brought the bowl down to me. I sniffed it briefly, looked up at him, wagging my tail in appreciation and began drinking noisily from the bowl, lapping at the water voraciously as though I hadn’t drank in days.

Detective Mike watched me. I don’t understand why humans like watching me drink water or eat my kibbles. It must be a habit for them, as though maybe they’re envious or something. Master Bob did that too, even when I was hunched down and unloading last night’s dinner, Master Bob stopped what he was doing and watched me. Could I have some privacy please? I so wanted to tell him. If only I could talk like a human, things would be so much more simpler for me. At least I could have told Detective Mike when I was thirsty and hungry.

I finished and looked up at him, trying to tell him I was still hungry by whining up at


“No, you can’t go outside,” he said to me, totally not understanding what I wanted. He tugged me and went to another room that was cold and smelled of wires and bright shiny lights flashed off and on. There were what appeared like TV sets, but much smaller than what Master Bob has. Each TV showed cars going back and forth and a human wearing a uniform watching this screen. But he didn’t look happy at this job he had. He had thinning black hair and wore glasses.

I panted and he stopped what he was doing and turned around, giving me a surprised look. “What is this dog doing in here?”

“He’s mine, Frank,” Detective Mike said. “Lay down over there, Boomer.” He pointed at the corner of the room far away from the sad man and the TV set he was watching. “I need you to find any surveillance video of a blue Honda Civic or Accord, lates 80s or early 90s. It was after noon, closer to two yesterday.”

He gave me an indifferent expression and Detective Mike a scowl. But he got up from a chair that stunk of his farts. He went to a long box about his height which was shorter than Master Bob or Detective Mike. He opened a drawer that had numbers on it and looked inside. He then pulled out a round and shiny disc inside a clear plastic case. He handed Detective Mike the disc and said, “Good luck. Give it back when you’re done.”

“I was hoping that you could look at this,” Detective Mike protested.

“You can hope in one hand and spit in the other. See which one grows faster. I don’t got


“Thanks for nothing,” he said with anger in his voice. “Come on Boomer, let’s not take up anymore of Frank’s precious time.” I followed Detective Mike but turned around as Frank

held up a middle claw from his paw or hand. I guess these humans have hands instead of paws and fingers instead of claws. At any rate Frank seemed upset by whatever it was that Detective Mike said.

I follow him to a table and he sat on a chair. I laid down underneath his feet. I close my eyes while I sniff the environment of this work place. There were many human odors I had to distinguish as well as that of food and sneakers that were in need of replacement, a toilet that might need to be plunged, more food…I was getting more and more hungry. I sighed heavily.

It seemed like a long time passed before Detective Mike yelled out, “Chief, I found something.” Chief came over and I smelled ham and cheese and mustard and bread. He has a sandwich! I raised my head up and wagged my tail energetically, hoping he’d get the hint that all I’ve ate today was a stale old dog biscuit.

Instead, he placed the sandwich further away from me and used his other hand to scratch my ears. I wasn’t complaining but that sandwich was what I really wanted. I whine in frustration. Both men look at the screen seeing a blue colored car. It looked familiar to me too. I remember it came by sometime recently, maybe last week or last month, I don’t remember exactly, but two men were inside and one got out and walked to Master Bob’s house and rang the bell, but that day Ginny Fur took him some place and they didn’t come home until later. They left. I remember the one who drove that car got out, while the other stayed inside and waited. Were they the killers?

“Did you get a license on that car?” Chief asked.

“No, not yet, but I’m hoping maybe when he drives back out by Ridleys we’ll catch it


“Use the camera at the highway intersections of US 26 and Main Street,” Chief commanded.

I saw him pressing his fingers over this thing with multiple buttons that he also used something that looked something like a giant mouse attached to a cord that he clicked. I noticed the next image came up and sometime later that same car drove through. “There he is. Okay, I’ll stop it here and see if I can zoom in on that license plate.” He kept clicking the mouse thing until he stopped. “That’s as good as it gets.”

“Send out a bolo for that car to the State Police. He came in from the south so he might be from Wendall or Jerome.”

“You got it Chief,” Detective Mike told him.

I’m still hungry and Chief laid the sandwich down on the desk next to Detective Mike’s cup of cold and stale coffee he must’ve had yesterday. I help myself to the sandwich, swallowing it whole while they continue finding out about that car.

“Hey!” Chief yells. I sheepishly look at him, wagging my tail, feeling it hit the desk leg repeatedly. “Maybe you should feed your dog. He just ate my sandwich,” Chief told Detective Mike.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he apologized. “Bad dog! Go lay down.” I felt sad he called me a bad dog twice in one day. Master Bob never did that. I laid on the floor underneath the desk. It felt cool on my belly. I lick my paws to give me something to do while they continue looking at that car, frozen on that TV screen.

I heard him punching on that board thing some more. “It’s registered to a Julio Rodriguez. It’s in Jerome alright,” Detective Mike said. “I can call the sheriff there and see if we can go to his house.”

“That’s what the BOLO is for. Knowing a lot of those kinds of people, he’ll screw up somehow and get pulled over for some traffic infraction and we got him.”

“Right, Chief. I do see two men inside. But the image gets blurry as I try to zoom in on


“Use the filtering. Better yet, Hey Frank, come over here a sec.”

I heard foot falls from heavy boots approach, and then stop just inches from my right flank. “What is it?”

“We want to sharpen this image,” Chief said.

“Excuse me,” Frank said and I heard the chair Detective Mike sat on, retreat and Frank took his spot, just inches away from my back paws. I felt nervous and growled a warning. I heard Frank rapidly punch those buttons, I guess that’s what they’re called and grabbed the mouse, clicking, clicking, clicking until he stopped. “There you go. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment, thanks for your help,” Chief told him. I farted a ripe one.

“Oh my god!” Frank states because he was closest to me. He bent his head down and saw me. I barked and he jumped. “What is this dog doing here?”

Doesn’t he remember? “Woof, woof.” I reminded him.

“He’s mine and helping in this investigation,” Detective Mike said.

“I got allergies and don’t like big dogs anyway. They’re nasty, disgusting creatures.” He scowled at me then abruptly left.

“I could say the same thing about you, Frank,” Detective Mike called back.

“Don’t worry about him, Mike, he’s always been like that. That is a lot better image. You said the passenger was the suspect?”

“That’s according to Walter Jones.” “That’s the old man you talked to?”

“That’s right. It’s the house across the street from that one that got busted a year or so ago just after you came on board. It’s still shut down.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it. The homeowner was using it as a rental and lives out of state. He didn’t know a thing about this. That it was a gang house and a drug house,” Chief informed him. “Is it up for sale?”

“No, I think the bank foreclosed on it. The house is all boarded up.” I finished licking my front paws and gravitated to the rear area. “That’s too sad.”

Funny, he didn’t say that with sadness in his voice. He sounded rather happy about that. Was he being funny? Humans are a funny animal. They say things they don’t mean and expect who they’re talking to get the part that’s supposed to be funny. I watched both men above me, giving them curious expressions. Detective Mike didn’t give him a reply. Perhaps it wasn’t

funny. He was tapping on those buttons again and then asked, “Does that look like a gangbanger to you?”

“Not unless he’s the founding member from 60 years ago.”

That elicits a chuckle from Detective Mike. I sniff the TV screen and see with unfocused eyes a long-faced man with brown skin and white hair. I wag my tail at Chief to acknowledge yes that is funny. “I don’t believe that is our unsub.”

“No, but it might be a possible relative like his grandson. Those families that come here, stay together through generations, pool their money they earn to survive and well, I’m envious we forgot how to do that. There were families from other countries that do the same thing. I bet they don’t have half the issues we have when it comes to caring for the elderly.”

Boomer Ang: Part 3

During the night I roamed the bigger house. I was in a room Detective Mike called a pantry where cans of food were stored, and a blanket was set on the tiled floor. It was hard and reminded me of the doghouse I slept in at Master Bob’s house. I sniff everything. Her scent is everywhere on everything in the kitchen, the living room, and their bedroom. I went back into the living room and found an extremely comfortable couch I could sleep on that was much superior to the bare floor I was sleeping on. I curled up and closed my eyes.

“Oh my God! Mike get this dog off my couch!” I awaken rudely to her squeals.

Apparently she has domain on the couch and I immediately jump down and run back to the pantry. “You better go back where you came from!”

“What is it Mary?”

“That dog you rescued was sleeping on my couch,” she told Detective Mike. “Does he have a doghouse and kennel?”

“Yes, and this afternoon I will get that and bring it back here,” he replied.

“Good, because dogs belong outside don’t they?” She was talking to me. I nervously wagged my tail back in reply. Her hair is a blonde color. Her eyes show anger toward me. They are hard and blue color. Though being color blind it’s hard for me to tell for sure. I feel sad that I’m so disappointing to these people. I so miss Master Bob now. “Oh, it’s okay. Boomer right? You just can’t be on the furniture. You shed on the fabric.” Her voice is soft and apologetic. “When Mike brings your doghouse and kennel you can make friends with the other dogs he has

adopted. I wasn’t aware you wanted to have your own dog rescue as a side business, Mike.” She bent down and scratched my ears gently. “You are a pretty dog. What breed are you anyway,


“He looks like a shepherd and lab mix,” Detective Mike volunteered. I wagged my tail to inform him he’s half right.

“I take it the other dogs got introduced to him last night?”

“Yeah, I didn’t let him out though. The last thing I needed was a dogfight on my hands and a possible vet bill on top of that. I’ll get him integrated slowly so they get used to each other first.”

She moved her hand down to my back and rubbed it more aggressively, which I adore. Miss Mary is getting on my good side now. I smile up at her and close my eyes and stretch out and moan appreciatively.

She abruptly stops and raises herself up. “I need to get breakfast started. What do you prefer Mike?”

I’m not sure what this breakfast means, but I figure food must be involved. So, I raise myself up off the floor and wag my tail in anticipation. I was always outside in the mornings when Master Bob did this breakfast ritual and he usually added what he didn’t finish with my kibbles later. Sometimes it was tasty bacon or eggs, other times it was pancakes with sweet sticky stuff and sometimes it was cereal with milk. That was least appetizing of all though. The cereal was always soggy and the milk had a bitter flavor to it.

“Scramble eggs and hashbrowns works for me.” He then put me on a leash and opened the back door. “Come on Boomer. You will have to go outside while she makes breakfast.” I am reluctant but obey him, nonetheless. He secures the end of the leash to a fence post and goes back inside his house.

“Woof, woof, woof,” I protest to him and her. It was nice and warm inside the house. It’s early morning and cool with frost on the ground. I watch the sun rise above the distant hills. I see the other four dogs barking at me, telling me to shut up and behave myself or I won’t get any treats later.

I smell other animals on this territory. Cats! I smell many cats, mostly feral who are hiding where I can’t see them. I see the big cows chewing on grass in the field and in another fenced field are two horses. They stare at me with curiosity. They snort at me as if they are displeased by my presence. I bark back at them. I show them my displeasure by walking around the fence post and getting my leash wrap tightly so that Detective Mike or Miss Mary will come out and must untie me. I thought he was going to let me run. This isn’t running in my book.

I will show them though.

A while later, after I bathed myself and ignored the other four dogs in the pack Detective Mike comes outside and looks at me with a disappointment on his face. “Why you do that for?”

Why? You figure it out, human. You are supposed to be the dominant species after all. I wagged my tail and grinned with my tongue hanging out and slaver dripping off my tongue.

Detective Mike shrugged his shoulders and then went about untying me from the leash. I ran and ran and ran from him to the other side of the house and back again. Now this is running, Detective Mike!

“Stop! Come back here, now!” He yelled after me. The other four dogs, locked in their kennel, bark encouraging me to keep running. Obviously, I wasn’t realizing that they wanted me to get into trouble. I’m sure it made their day. “BOOMER!” His voice had changed and I knew it meant I had gone too far. I stopped and sat down in front of him.

He grabbed me by the back of my neck with one hand and slapped my nose with the other. I yelped in pain. The other dogs stopped as if in shock that he would do such a thing, but I suspect they knew all along what was going to happen by my disobedience. “You are a bad dog Boomer. When I bring that kennel and doghouse back, it will be where you will stay for two whole days while the other dogs are allowed to be free. That is your punishment. Stay put.” He commanded and I had no choice but to obey. He made me fear him. Something I didn’t like at all.

Master Bob was never like that. He was kind and gentle. He never raised his voice or so much as slap me for being bad. He never told me I was bad. He always said I was a good dog. I felt him place the leash back on my collar and then I was taken back to his car.

We drove back to this town called Gooding and back on the Main street where we turned up and then he stopped at a very unfamiliar place. It was a building made from a kind of square stone and painted a subdued tone that my eyes didn’t recognize. If I had to guess it was a lighter shade of brown. I sniffed the air to get an idea of what this building was, but nothing tangible came to mind.

Detective Mike parked the car and walked inside. He was there a long time There were other scents in the air, mostly food, so we were near a grocery store or restaurant. I smelled motor oil and gasoline. So, there was a store that pumped gas nearby too. I smelled a heavy odor

of rubber. A place that sells tires? I smelled those same places but from another direction from here, closer to where the sun comes up was where I lived.

Finally, he came out and he got back in the car, staring it up and going to a place I know all too well; the nice man who removed my pair of gonads I whined in protest. What is he going to take from me next? Detective Mike stopped the car and opened the back door. He tugged the leash and I reluctantly got out.

“Oh, so you know this place, do you?” He sounded happy at the expense of my misery.

We walked in together and the nice lady with white dress greeted us with, a smile.

“Boomer, what are you doing here? You aren’t due for your shots for another three months. Detective?”

I looked at her and wagged my tail submissively. Her teeth looked stained and her hair was white. Like the nice man, she also had an abundance of wrinkles with brown spots on her hands. I think she was an old human, but with very nice eyes.

“So, you are a regular then?” He asked me but looked at the nice woman. “Oh, yes, he is one of our star patients here. What is this about?”

“Mr. Bob Ang was murdered last night.”

“Oh, that is awful,” she told him. I decided to sit down and watched the back and forth of this uniquely human mode of communicating.

“Yes, the fact that Boomer is being taken care of is one less thing I needed to worry


“Oh, yes Mr. Ang was a very caring man when it came to his pets.”

“He had more than one?”

“He had a border collie mix for many years until we had to put her to sleep almost four years now, and a lovely calico cat named Frisky, who passed from a car accident three years ago. Boomer came just a month or two after that unfortunate incident. He refused to buy another car after he lost her,” she prattled. I didn’t understand what the words she spoke meant, I could tell by its inflection she was emotionally somber and sad by this Frisky and the border collie. I remember him mention Jasper a time or two when I was a puppy.

“Well, thank you for helping me with this. Come on Boomer, let’s get that kennel and your doghouse.”

“You’re going to care for him?”

“Yup, I feel I have to. I think he may know who killed Mr. Ang. He’s going to be my partner until we find the person responsible.”

“Well, Boomer is an exceptionally smart dog. If anyone could find his killer, he certainly can. Oh, before you leave, here’s a doggy snack for you.” She went to her desk and took from a can where pencils and pens were normally stored and pulled a dog biscuit. “Here you go Boomer. You be a good dog to the detective.”

I stood up and wagged my tail with enthusiasm. Obviously, our visit was over because that’s when the treat comes. I gently grasp the biscuit with my teeth and began crunching it with my back molars. It tasted like liver and had a staleness about it, but I ate it anyway. I wagged my tail back and forth faster, thanking her for the treat.

We leave and go back inside his car. He is talking to his wife on that phone contraption he has. “I need you to get the truck and meet me at that guy’s house. His name is Bob Ang. Use the navigator to get his address. I’ll see you in a few. Love you, bye.”

He looks at me and then turns around and starts the car. He drives up a familiar street because that’s the street master Bob takes me all the time for our walks and such. We go by the park and then up another familiar street to my house. He lets me out and he looks at the door and the walkway going from the street to the house and back again. It appears he lost something and is looking to find it. I sniff the ground and hope maybe I’ll find whatever he’s looking for. I still smell the man who killed Master Bob. I follow that odor out the yard and down the street.

“Boomer! Come back here,” Detective Mike calls out to me. I wag my tail and bark in reply, hoping he understands I’m following that killer’s trail he left yesterday. “No, Boomer.” He stares at me and his mind is thinking, thinking, thinking. He then comes up to me, grabs my leash by that leather handle and allows me to go forward.

“Woof,” I reply and put my nose to the ground and continue where I left off. We go down several houses and then suddenly the scent is gone. I turn back and then go left and then right.

It’s gone The killer must have left in a car, here at this place. I look up and down the street. I look across the street to a house there that has boards attached to where windows and doors are supposed to be and something written on the door but I don’t know what it says. “Woof, woof.” I tell Detective Mike in an apologetic tone. I then wail a long and mournful howl. A person, an older man wearing shorts and white t-shirt comes out.

“You keep that dog off my property, you hear?” He has a white beard and no hair on top of his head. His face is wrinkly.

“I’m Detective Mike Flowers, investigating a murder that happened down the street yesterday. Did you notice a car parked here?”

The old man gives him a questioning look, as if he doesn’t understand the question. “Now that you mention it, I was out here watering my lawn when I saw two men in a car pull up. One got out and went down the street while the other stayed inside the car.”

“Can you give a description of who they looked like?”

“Well, I think they were both white, but dressed shabbily. The one who got out and headed down that way had his pants down pass his boxers like them stupid gangbangers you see on TV all the time. I’ve seen that dog before, but you aren’t its owner are you?”

“No, the owner was shot yesterday. Do you remember about what time it was when that car came by?”

“I just finished lunch, so most likely it was around one or two.” He crooked his head to one side as he answered that question. “I think that car was one of them older Hondas, either late eighties or early nineties.”

“You didn’t notice a license plate, did you?”

“I didn’t pay that close attention. After that one guy left, my phone rang and I had to go back inside the house to answer it. I don’t have those fancy cell phones like most everyone else does. The next time I come outside, the car was gone, maybe a half hour later.”

“Thanks, Mister…”

“Walt Jones is my name. I did notice something else about that man who went down the


“What was that?”

“He had a very pronounced limp, like we was in car accident some time ago and it never quite healed right.”

“You have been more than helpful. Was there anything else? Like tattoos or piercings?” “Not that I can recall.”

“I’ll probably be calling on you further. So far you are the only witness.”

“Yeah well, I’m glad to help. I had hoped after that place over there got busted, these things would stop happening, but apparently not.” He seemed to look at Detective Mike a long time, apparently waiting for an answer.

“I’ll be in touch,” Detective Mike replied, and tugged on my leash for me to come. I went back to Master Bob’s house with him. When we got there a big blue truck was parked just up from where he parked his car. One of the dogs was inside with Mary the Mistress. She was smoking those white things, smoke blowing from her mouth just like Master Bob used to. It smelled different than what my master smoked; minty smell as best as I can describe it.

She got out and told Daisy the red Irish setter, “You got to stay put until we get that kennel doghouse in the back.” She opens the door, got out and closes the door quickly. “How you want to do this?”

Detective Mike appears preoccupied by the conversation he had with that Walt person. He didn’t answer right away and she looks impatiently at him. I sat down next to him. “Did you bring tools to break it down?” He asked.

“There are some wrenches and screwdrivers in the truck in case she breaks down. What do we need?”

“Either 7/16 or 9/16 wrenches, preferably sockets and a ratchet.” His voice sounded distant and I was afraid she was going to get mad because her face took on a red color and her eyes got hard again. I whimpered.

“What is going on? I thought you wanted to do this!”

“I’m sorry, but something’s come up. I just got a lead on who might have killed Bob Ang. It’s important.”

“Fine, I’ll call Carol and get her to help me with this. I doubt I got any ratchet or sockets in that tool box anyway. I’ll have to go home and grab the other tool box. Go ahead and do your job.” She threw her cigarette—I think that’s what they’re called—on the ground and stomped on it, opens the truck’s door and got inside. She grabs her phone gadget out and began talking to someone. “It’s me I need your muscles to get a kennel and dog house brought up to the property. Yes, he’s more like a headache than a dog right now.” She started the truck and drove away. I heard the engine rev up and then it seemingly went into another gear or something, but then it went a bit faster and revved up some more. The truck took a right at the intersection at the end of the street and disappeared. I almost wanted to go with her and hang out with Daisy but then I remember that Detective Mike needs me to help him find Master Bob’s killer.

I didn’t understand what Walt said to Detective Mike, but when I was sniffing the sidewalk in front of me I notice the man who made those tracks had something wrong with his left leg. He was limping on it and in great pain. That would make him an extremely dangerous animal.

That’s what my father and mother warned me about all animals who are suffering. They are hurting which means they don’t care about the consequences of what they do.

We got into Detective Mike’s car and drove back to that place we went to first. I wonder if that’s the place he goes every day to do what they call work. I’m still at a loss as to what that word truly means because Master Bob stayed home all the time since he had that accident that one summer after I was adopted.

Detective Mike got out of the car and headed into the building. He suddenly stopped in his tracks. I see he’s thinking again because he turned around and stared back at the car. He did that for the longest time as if deciding. Then it seems he made up his mind and came back, opened my door and grabbed my leash. It was starting to get warm inside and maybe feels I was getting thirsty, which I was. “Come on. I don’t want you my number one witness to get heat stroke and die on me,” he tells me. I obey his command and jump out, wagging my big tail back and forth, grinning from ear to ear. I get to go inside this building.

Boomer Ang: 2

I awoke at darkness time. Master Bob’s dark form laid there as it had since I fell asleep. My sadness deepened. I licked his face. It was cold and stiff. I felt hungry and thirsty. I walked around the darkened house, my night sight seeing everything in a grayish tone. I went by his bedroom across the hall from the bathroom and saw the curtain moving from a breeze. Well, that is interesting.

I went inside to investigate further. I guess because of warmer days he has opened the window to let in the fresh air. I must keep that in mind. I go into the kitchen at the back of the house. Master Bob sometimes forgets to put away his food from when he eats. I look up on the counter and sniff. Nothing. I look at the table where he sometimes leaves food, but again nothing. He would pick this day to be a clean freak! I have my kibbles and water inside the kennel. I remember he left the gate open. Maybe I can still eat by going out through his bedroom window. Then I’ll go back inside later to be with Master Bob and protect him from danger.

What am I thinking? It’s because I didn’t protect him earlier is why he is dead now! But would it have even mattered? “Woo,” I moan. I walked back to his bedroom and raise the curtain and see the window is opened alright, but not to where I could easily climb outside and back inside. I try using my muzzle and pry it up further. It is an effort but after a bit, it moves up just enough for me to get most of me outside. I see though that I wouldn’t be able to climb back inside because the window is too far down to the ground. I don’t think I could jump that high as big as I am.

I am undecided. What should I do? If I stay inside I will go hungry and starve before someone shows up. Master Bob doesn’t have many people who come over except those who wanted money or drugs. I need to eat. Master Bob won’t go nowhere. I will leave you my friend and find that man who killed you.

Just as I was about to jump out the window Master Bob’s phone made a ringing noise. I sniff it. It has a picture of his woman friend; her name is Ginny Fur. It’s a funny name for a funny girl. She has missing teeth that her ex-boyfriend hit out. She laughs about that now but I remember when I was a puppy and she wasn’t laughing when it happened. She cried and Master Bob held her in his arms and they kissed and then, well you can imagine what they did after that. I think her ex-boyfriend went to jail because they talked about him being arrested. Whatever that means.

I lick the thing to make it stop but I somehow pushed too hard and her voice came out from his phone.


“Woof, woof, woof!”

“Boomer! Did you answer the phone? Oh, you are such a smart dog. Go get Bob, Boomer. I need to talk to him.”


“Boomer? What is it? Is Bob okay?” She sounded worried. “Stay there Boomer. I’ll be right there, okay?”


The phone went quiet those human words appeared. I don’t know what it says. She told me to stay. I will stay then. I walk past him and wait by the door. I remember she always had a key to unlock it. I sit and wait. I whimper and cry because I already miss his tummy rubs and ear scratches and back massages and chasing the red rubber ball in the back yard. I felt the tears roll down my cheeks.

I heard the car come to the front of the street. It sounds familiar and my tail wags in anticipation. I hear the footsteps run up to the house and I smell her. It’s Ginny! She knocks on the door, and I bark telling her to come in. A minute later the door opens and she turned on the light and she cries out, “Bob!”

She cries and lowers herself to him, covering him and hugging him close. There is blood on her blouse now. She wears blue pants, or maybe it’s green, or perhaps purple, and her hair is chocolate lab color like mine. I knelt down beside her and lick her hands to tell her I’m sad too.

Humans are funny creatures. She suddenly realized I was out from the kennel. She stares at me for the longest time. “You need to go into the kennel. We are going to have a lot of strange people here and you’ll just be in the way. She smiled at me, showing her missing teeth. I looked up at her, wagging my tail back and forth like a boomerang.

She got up and went to the opened door. “Come Boomer! Let’s get into your kennel. Then I can call the police.” I follow her outside mostly because I’m hungry and thirsty, and the kennel is where all that stuff is. But first I beeline to my tree and release my bladder. It felt good.

“Boomer! Come, now!” She looks for me. I can see her by the kennel, but apparently she can’t see me. Humans are blind to the night! That is so interesting. She keeps calling for me, getting more and more agitated. I am done and I run to her and into the kennel, she’s closing the gate and securing the latch. I never paid much attention to that latch, how it works and if I can use my nose to push it open. I will have to keep that in mind.

But first, food. The kibbles are especially tasty this evening. I overhear her talking to someone. It must be those police she was talking about earlier.

It wasn’t no sooner that she called then I hear sirens wailing in the distance, coming nearer and nearer. Then four cars appear with flashing lights over their hoods. I count four in all and they scramble from their cars and run onto my property.

“Woof, woof, woof,” I announced to get their attention. All four of them stop in their tracks. They are thinking. But then they rush inside the house. I hear Ginny Fur talking, crying, and carrying on to a point where I think she is losing her composure or something.

Then more cars come and they don’t have flashing lights on their car hoods. Finally, a black van pulls up and two big men come out. They open the back and a long bed with rollers appear and is placed on the cement sidewalk. It is then rolled up to the house.

I watch this all from my kennel I have since stopped barking long enough to get my drink of fresh water that Master Bob put out to me before. When was that? Afternoon? It was before dark I guarantee you that, by golly.

A man approaches my kennel. I bark and growl with menacing malice at him because he is invading my domain. He smells hesitant and uncertain. He looks about Master Bob’s age, maybe younger with smile full of straight teeth. He is also taller than my master. “How are you doing Boomer?”

He knows my name? Ginny Fur must have told him. I too am uncertain. I wag my tail with caution and I growl nervously telling him to go away.

“I’m Detective Mike. I’m going to take you to my house, okay?”

No, it’s not okay. “Woof, woof, woof!” I warned him to get away. My fur stands straight up and I bared my fangs menacingly. I wanted to find my dead master’s killer, not go someplace with him. His house? Unless this killer is there too, I’m not interested.

“Miss Davenport, will you get him out and then we can take him.”

“Certainly,” Ginny Fur said to him and then she smiled at me. “It’s okay, Boomer. He will take good care of you. You want to go walkies?”

Walkies? Now? Master Bob is dead, and this human wants to go walkies! What is wrong with these people? “Woof, woof, woof,” I answered negatively. She opened my kennel and I cowered back into my doghouse, my last safe place. I had my other red rubber ball a rubber bone and a rawhide bone I chew on when Master Bob was in the house and didn’t have time for me.

She came in and hooked the leash to my collar. “He will take good care of you, I promise,” Ginny Fur told me. “Come!”

She’s left me no choice and I felt my tail curl submissively between my legs. I looked at the other people. Many wore dark colored uniforms with hats with black brims and shiny metal disks on their chests. She led me out from my dog house, and I looked back at the toys I’ll surely miss and whimpered.

The smiling man who called himself Detective Mike takes the leash and bends down to my level he smells like coffee and a faint anti-perspirant odor from when he applied it over ten hours earlier. Now his regular body odor came out as a musky scent. He allowed me to sniff his hand and then he petted my muzzle and scratched behind my ears. I think I like you Detective Mike! My tail slowly came back out and began wagging as he continued rubbing my left ear and then my right.

“We’ll get along just fine,” he assures me. He took me to his car and opened the back door and I jump in. Master Bob didn’t own a car. We always walked to the park and into downtown. It’s not a big town. He told me one time we live in a place called Gooding, but I didn’t understand what that meant. I know what good means because Master Bob always told me I’m a good dog. Maybe we live in a good place then.

I jumped into the back seat and sat on my hunches as he closed the car door. It smelled like him. I realized I began liking Detective Mike more. He went back inside Master Bob’s house, and I watched everything that happened for the longest time.

Then those two big men who came in the van earlier came out pushing something long and thin, covered by a blanket onto the walkway and down to the van. I smelled what it was. It was Master Bob. I whimpered and howled mournfully. Those two men stopped and looked at me. They appeared sad that I was sad but pushed my master inside the van, closed the gate and drove away.

I laid down in the back seat and waited until Detective Mike came back. I closed my eyes and drift into a nap, dreaming of running with Master Bob. I sense someone nearby and I open my eyes and look up at the back window and see Detective Mike opening the door and gets inside.

“How are you doing Boomer? We’re going home now. I got a nice big place with lots of land for you to run, and you’ll have other dogs to play with too. Won’t that be nice?”

I wagged my tail in reply. I don’t understand what he says to me, but his voice sounds nice and reassuring. He says something about other dogs. I hope they understand I’m a big dog who gets his way all the time. He starts the car and I sit up watching the street I live on for so long—three years to be exact; twenty-one in dog years. I see the park we always go to and then the store and the main street and then we are out in the country. It smells of growing corn and potatoes and cow manure. After a time, the car slows and stops at a closed gate.

Detective Mike gets out and opens the gate and is greeted by at least four dogs who are as big as me. This is not going to be fun. I might have to fight for my dominance. One is a female. I don’t know what breed she is though because her ears are straight up, and her fur is thick. I don’t know how she manages in the hot times when I have to sleep inside my doghouse during the hottest part of the day.

She apparently smells me and jumps up to investigate. She snarls and snaps at me, warning me to watch myself if I intend to become a pack member here. She doesn’t smell like she ever had litters before. Did they make her barren? Master Bob had a smiling man with nice eyes take me one day and when I awoke, was missing those things between my legs. I hurt for the longest time, but I didn’t miss them and wasn’t the least bit interested in girl dogs after that.

The other three dogs now have jumped up and are seeing me. They too bark, snarl and growl at me, as a way of showing who is and isn’t in charge here. I bark, snarl and growl back with every intent to get out and show them who’s boss here.

Detective Mike though has other ideas because he calls the dogs away and he puts them in their kennel. He then comes back for me. I’m calm now as I realized he wanted to establish that he was the alpha male in this pack, not them, or me for that matter. “You will stay in the house tonight, and we’ll bring your doghouse and kennel tomorrow for you. I don’t want any dogfights between you and Brutus, or Daisy or Carman or Ralph. Boomer, I am the alpha here. I will punish you or the others if you don’t mind this one rule.”

He leads me into his big house, much bigger than Master Bob’s. I want to mark myself for everyone to know this is mine now, but Detective Mike has other plans as he makes me go outside in the back of the house.

While I was marking my scent in the back yard I overheard Detective Mike talk to the human female. She was a plump but short woman near Ginny Fur’s age, maybe older. She didn’t smile when she saw me and I moved cautiously by her. Detective Mike may be the alpha of the pack, but I sensed she was actually in charge of everything else.

“His master was murdered earlier. He needs a good home,” he tells her.

“I wish you had asked me first Mike.” She sounded upset. I felt a sadness deep inside. I felt that I don’t belong here either. Even from way out here, I could smell the man who killed my master. Does he live near here? I sniff the air. The breeze comes from the town Master Bob called Gooding. No, he lives down there. I will find you soon enough. That is certain.

Boomer Ang

Boomer, Boomer Ang, Boomer, Boomerang. I love that name I love that name because it is my name because I love to wag my furry tail back and forth like a boomerang! Or is that a yo-yo? It’s okay because I am a happy dog with not a care in the world.

My master, he’s also my best friend gives me treats and feeds me and gives me bowls of fresh water every day. He smiles at me and says nice things to me though I really don’t know what is said. I don’t quite understand human talk. They of course haven’t advanced to my level of intelligence yet. They don’t even know how to sniff the air, for crying out loud!

But I digress. I was talking about Bob my master, who is so loving and caring to me. He’s the one who named me Boomer Ang. It has such a lovely ring to it, don’t you think? I smell something, Excuse me a moment. “Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff…Woof, Woof! Woof, Woof, Woof!” I sounded my alarm of impending danger.

A man approaches and enters my territory where Master Bob has a lovely house that he lets me come in and visit once in a while. Did I mention I’m a mutt, a Heinz-57 variety of everything from a long and distinguished line of mutts starting with my great-great- grand father Custer? He was an Airedale who fell head over heels in love with a German shepherd named Molly. Eventually they had my granddaddy who impregnated a Collie named Lassie and then my dad came into the world and got Mom pregos. She was a Chocolate Lab named Daisy. Now you know my pedigree.

“Woof, woof, woof,” I barked at the man from behind my dog kennel. If I could get out, I would bite his heels to let him know he’s trespassing on my territory. He makes me so angry! He’s purposefully ignoring me! I jump up on my hind legs and growl and snarl at this intruder.

He goes up to the door and rings the bell that makes that ding dong sound. Master Bob opens it and he talks to this intruder. I sensed he’s not a good person, but I’m locked up inside this kennel and can’t defend my master or my territory like I would prefer. Don’t let him in! Oh, Bob you let him in, how disappointing.

I stopped barking for a while and wait for that strange man to come back outside so I can tell him off really good. An itch, I got an itch. I squat on my butt and scratch behind my ear. I don’t know if it’s a flea or other parasite that is gnawing on that sensitive part of my anatomy but, oh yeah, that’s the spot. Master Bob is a master at hitting that spot. He is such a good man.

I hear the two talking inside. What does Master Bob do? I don’t know to be perfectly honest because he hardly goes anywhere, yet people like that man just now, pop by and then they leave a little bit later. Master Bob seems happier after they leave and then we go and play fetch the round red rubber ball. That and fetch the Frisbee at the nearby doggy park are my favorite games.

My ears perk up as I listen to the strange man speak in a loud and angry voice. “You got my money for my dope I fronted you?”

“Yeah, but I’m a bit short, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay, but I’ll take what you got!”

Why is that stranger so angry at Master Bob?

“I’ll have the rest tonight, I promise,” Master Bob tells stranger man.

“You better,” he tells Master Bob. I heard the front door open and close and the stranger leaves, stuffing those green things Bob calls bills into his pocket and gets in a truck, then leaves quickly down our street. Master Bob says the street name all the time when he is on the phone and then a short time later a strange man or woman appear in their small car and deliver something Bob calls pizza but I call delicious. He gives me the leftovers but I don’t care, he still loves me and cares for me.

Master Bob isn’t his usual happy self now, after the stranger man left. I can sense his mood a mile away. He is thinking and it shows in his face. It is bearded with a reddish color that goes down to his chest. He wears a cap outside, but inside the house he takes it off and reveals no hair on top of his head. He has kind and gentle blue eyes. He never yells at me but rubs my ears and belly with affection.

He comes out to greet me and though he smiles at me with his reassuring way, something is bothering him and I whine to him that I understand, though I honestly don’t totally understand. He lets me out and I run with abandon for my reprieve from that kennel. I immediately go to my tree, a Maple and hike up my leg, and release a copious amount of pee over its bark. Then I run to the center of the back yard where I squat and unload last night’s dinner of kibbles. It’s quite stinky.

Oh, he has the red rubber ball! I go after it after he tossed it into the air and lands near the end of the front yard. I give chase and dive onto it and bring it back to him, my slobber all over the ball. He seems to have relaxed and is more like his old self as we play this wonderful game together.

“I need to give you a bath and good brushing, Boomer,” he tells me as he throws the red rubber ball back to the same spot as before. I don’t particularly care for baths as a general rule, except in summer when it’s so hot I’m panting just to keep somewhat cool. Last year, or maybe it was longer before, because dog years and human years are so different; I was shaved nearly as bald as Master Bob. It was an exceptionally hot summer that year and I enjoyed not having all that fur on me for a change.

This is the time of year after the snow melts and the leaves on the maple have returned. It is the best time, though I get hay fever and sneeze constantly after sniffing the pretty flowers in the neighbor’s flower beds. If he intends to bathe me, then it will be inside the house because he doesn’t like getting me wet outside when it’s not very warm. Today, the clouds hide the sun and a breeze blows just enough to cause my fur to blow about. I’m not cold but I sense that Master Bob is because he is wearing his favorite black jacket.

The game of fetch is over and he calls me inside the house. He keeps the blinds drawn down and it smells of many pleasant and unpleasant odors. I sniff and sniff and sniff the air: cooked food, stale smoke from his cigarettes and dope he likes; the floor’s rug: his scent, my scent, stranger’s scent. I follow the scent on the floor to the place he calls bathroom. It has another unpleasant smell, the same as when I squat and do my duty outside. Does he do that inside? How disgusting!

He slides a plastic curtain to a side and reveals a tub. There are two metal faucets that he turns and runs his hand over the pouring water, filling up the tub. I smell soapy odor coming from a bottle he is pouring into the tub. I laid on the tiled floor. It smells of bleach and pine cleaner.

“Okay, Boomer, it’s time!”

He seems so happy at my misery. I whined in protest as he grabs me and lifts me into the tub. It is wet and slippery beneath my feet. I slide and feel helpless as he pours water over my coat and begins scrubbing me all over, including behind my ears on my belly. He has me in a perplexing situation, while I enjoy the attention, I don’t like the water, the smelly soapy stuff he pours so liberally over me and then rinses it off with that picture of cool water. I shiver and whine in protest.

I’ve had enough of this and attempt to jump out, but he holds me fast and his strength is quite impressive considering how thin he looks. I sit and endure this torture a while longer. He then pulls me out of the tub. I hear the water draining while he throws a white cotton towel over me and vigorously dries me. My instinct tells me to shake the water off, but he doesn’t allow me this option. The more he dries me the more I protest to him to let me be a dog and shake off the water. I smell different now. I smell, what is it that I smell? It’s awful!

He finally lets me out from the bathroom and I run down the hallway and into the living room where I promptly roll on the rug that has mine and Master Bob’s scent all over it.

“Boomer! God, you drive me crazy sometimes,” Master Bob yells at me. I smile at him with mischief as I continue to roll on the rug. I tell him through my mind to be thankful I wasn’t outside or I would roll on that fresh pile of manure I just made, just so I could smell like a dog again. But humans, like I mentioned earlier are not as advanced as us dogs are in communicating.

I’m done and go over to the couch where he is sitting, placing plastic tube to his mouth and lighting a flame over a brass-like chamber. Smoke suddenly appears and he inhales it into himself. I don’t agree with this thing he does to himself just so he is happier. He coughs out the smoke it smells odd: pleasant yet unpleasant at the same time.

I placed my muzzle onto his lap and look up at him, begging him to stop doing that, but once again he doesn’t understand what I’m saying to him. He places the tube thing back on the end table where a lamp is, it’s light casting a glow on the otherwise dark room. He lights a cigarette. That too is offensive smelling but I love my Master Bob and only wish that one day he will stop killing himself this way.

He absently scratched my head and ears. I thump my tail on the floor telling him that it makes me feel good. I smelled someone outside and heard odd-sounding footsteps of a stranger approach. Master Bob looked distracted. I arose and went to the door. “Woof, woof, woof,” I announce to Master Bob. I turn my head to him and wag my tail warning  him of the danger on the other side of the door.

“It’s okay Boomer.” He tells me as he get up from the couch and answers the door just after the bell ding dongs from a box inside this house. “I got this.”

A strange man is standing at the door. Master Bob pushes me away. The stranger pull something out. I cower away from the long dark object and a flash of fire and loud boom come out from its end. Master Bob looks sad and frightened and surprised all at once. “Woof, woof, woof.” I bark at the stranger who closes the door abruptly just as I leap up at him. I heard him run down the cement walk to the sidewalk and down the street. I smell his scent fading quickly.

Master Bob closed his eyes as if he fell asleep. I smell his blood. I bark and howl and whine and whimper. I lost my friend. I sense he has left me and his spirit has gone to the other world. I howl mournful and sorrowful into the air.

Nonetheless I lick his still face. The blood that pours from a hole in his shirt. I don’t hear his breath. I don’t see his chest move. I don’t smell his life force. I am sad and lonely. I go to the door and scratch at it. It is closed and I don’t understand the mechanism of this door Master Bob calls a knob. Try as I might, I can’t turn it the way I see Master Bob does with his hand. I place my teeth firmly into the knob and twist with all my strength. It won’t budge. Is it locked? I don’t know.

I looked down at Master Bob. I wish this was all a dream and that he’s just playing with me, pretending he’s dead. I lay my muzzle on his still belly, hoping, hoping he isn’t dead, though I know he is. Tears wetted his shirt. I closed my eyes and hoped this was all a bad dream.

About Life Generally

I’m working on this blog and looking at the email notices that pops up showing me what I’m missing if I just stop what I’m doing and read them.

Roxie just stopped by to say hi. She’s a Blue Healer, well trained and well behaved. Elsa is in her cage looking relaxed while the other three birds perched in their cages looking hungry and bored. Sounds of alarm clocks alerting the other children it’s time to get up is echoing down the hallway.

I’m at work now and a dear friend of mine’s picture of her is encased in a plexiglass cover and an article tells us that her spiritual journey began Monday. It was very sudden, and she was young relatively speaking. Her name was Red Autumn Eagle-Bear. She was a very vivacious woman with long raven colored hair, and she was going to be a grandma for the first time.

Life is generally fickle.  It is how you live your life that matters most.

Death is always sudden and final, though all believe that somehow our spirit will continue long after our earthly body has decomposed and gone.

I was four when I first saw death. A dog was run over by a car. The driver was remorseful, pouring out apologies to the father while the mother openly wept and the young boy who I guessed was at least five years older than me had a determined face and a shovel. He walked across the vacant field across the street from the house where they lived and began digging a grave for the black lab that laid dead on the street.

I have seen it many times after that: when my own dog Herman was poisoned, another neighbor’s young pup many years later was run over by a cement truck, seeing my mother after her fatal car accident and little Bobby the cockatiel that we lost last year.

I actually liked the way this person described how Red Autumn left us; a journey as if leaving for a trip far, far away. There was no mention of a destination. The concept of heaven or hell was not mentioned. She just began her spiritual journey where me and everyone else will eventually join her on our own spiritual journey.

Any New Ideas?

I received an email from a literary agent asking me how my book A Man’s Passion is going. I’m sure she’s talking about sales, which I haven’t heard about from my publisher. The last report was so abysmal I didn’t even receive a royalty check. I’m hoping it turns itself around soon. I have three different marketing companies doing their due diligence to make the book a success. I just haven’t seen it yet.

I reckon it’s a crap shoot, like anything else one invests their heart and soul into. I have worked hard to get this book into the hands of loyal readers than anything else I’ve done before. Maybe this literary agent is the godsend I’ve been looking for and everything will finally be fruitful for myself and future books yet to be published.

Splitting Hairs

Someday this will be a best seller. My wife arrived with the camper at the new property we just bought. For the last two months she had her own idea of what she wanted done on the place, starting with the cargo containers she wanted and where she wanted them for her own designs, which as I mentioned in an earlier blog was neither realistic nor legal since it would require a special permit to do what she wanted.

The first thing she noticed was me getting out of my car to push the gate open all the way. The gusty winds that day had blown it mostly closed. That was when her mother, Lillie, who come up here with her noticed that most of the barb wire fencing had fallen in front part of the property that she pointed out to me later.

I kept an open mind, but her mind was made up; Stephanie wanted nothing to do with this. She saw firsthand that she did not like where I placed the fifth wheel trailer, how it looked and the fact it was not even set up yet. The garage was locked where my son in law’s shop was, and she wanted to look inside.

I had warned her that I did not possess the keys to the shop, nor for that matter the other parts of the house. I did have the house key, but that was it. Unlike her I respected his privacy and considered it off limits.

She then saw the one container that had come. We had gone to the business I bought the two containers from, she was steaming mad I bought twenty feet used, when she wanted forty footers instead. She gone there to cancel the one order of the remaining container going there and procur a forty-foot used container. She cancelled that order too when she stated how rusted they were. Needless to say, she did not like that container either citing the same rust issue. I will not bore you my loyal readers with the rest of this sad tale. Suffice to say we were heading toward a breakdown of epic proportions.

The next day I took Stephanie and Lillie back to Gooding, Idaho, arriving close to midnight. I spend the next day walking on eggshells waiting for someone to tell me what an idiot I am for allowing this mess to occur. But nothing of a sort occurred. I read over my latest proof of my manuscript, just to get a feel of the pacing, ignoring the glaring punctuation and spelling errors for now.

I then watched my wife pack for the return trip back. She already informed her son he would have to stay behind with the birds but promised they were going to get their own place instead of the house I bought…

I feel like an invalid, as she tells him how his sister is being so cruel and unsporting, and I am allowing this to occur. It is not that I do not want to tell everyone that this is not the case, yet she has it in her mind that her words ring true. I allow her side of the story only because whatever I say will fall on mute ears because her brother only believes what Stephanie told him.

I learned long ago that there are two sides to a story, even more than two. I also know it is pointless to argue facts to someone unwilling to listen when her mind is already made up. Which was where I was at and left it at that.

I spent the evening talking to Lillie and allowing her to remembrance about the same stories she shared with me last year when I lived here. We talked though half of what I told her fell on ears that do not hear so well.

I left the next morning bidding everyone farewell and kissing Steph goodbye. I drove home to my new house conflicted over everything that happened over the past 48 hours. I listened to Lynyrd Skynyrd and tried to justify my feelings and knowing what the right thing to do was.

It was not until Tuesday morning that I got the answer.

A Night at the Concert

I am sipping on my coffee looking for something to write about when the thought struck me to write on last night’s concert at Northern Quest where I work. It was Lynyrd Skynyrd, a southern rock band from the early to mid-seventies until a plane crash in 1977 took out a majority of the original members.

I always admired the songs that played out on FM radio in the days of my youth such as “Tuesdays Gone,” “Whiskey Rock and Roller,” “Give me Back My Bullets,” and my favorite, “Free Bird.” So, for me it was a no brainer to volunteer so I could listen to their classic hits along with their newer songs from their latest album, Last of a Dying Breed.

My responsibility was to look after the port-a-potty area where over thirty were in placed, along with the six different hand washing stations that needed tidying up. So, as I went about dumping trash, sweeping up paper towels or their remnants as I got to reminisced to a less complicated time in my life where my only concerns were graduating from high school.

The performers who remained, along with the newer members, had grayer hair, longer beards, and weathered faces but they played as if they too were still that younger version of their selves. They belted out “Simple Man,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” and of course, “Free Bird,” with all the vigor and enthusiasm of over forty, fifty years ago.

I hope other older bands come to our outdoor concert venue next year so I can volunteer and work and listen to those older songs I grew up on.

My Writing This Week

My loyal readers, I have no real history breaking news or antidotes of world leaders to share this week, just my craft which, as many of you know is a passion I will most likely continue to my last breath.

My step daughter and her husband gave me a birthday dinner last night and one of the topics of course was my writing and what I was doing at the present time. The son in law, I’ll call him Nic, asked if I ever saw the Johnny Depp movie Rear Window. I told him I had and the book that I was working on was loosely based upon the plot of that very story in which a writer has witnessed a murder and decides to write a similar story.

After I explained to him and my step daughter how the plot twists and turns in which the poor writer is in serious jeopardy with the antagonist, he tells me that that sounds like a good story.

As I have mentioned on A number of my past blogs, my technique is to just freely write the story without the benefit of a structured outline showing character developme4nt and drafting it out to its minute detail before putting the story together. I’m a proud pantser and am not about to change. After all, my fiction writers group’s coordinator made it clear that the first draft for a pantser like me, is the outline. After that it is edited, revised, and sometimes completely rewritten before it becomes the final product.

It is how I started the first book I wrote, This Life: My Life After My Stroke,  as well as the Marteau series, my second published book, A Man’s Passion, and I Albert Peabody.  Plotting out a story outline to me is a tedious endeavor that reminds me of when I had to do term papers in college; boring and unimaginative.

I like to think that when I’m writing it’s an enjoyable effort, not something akin to work. Even when I’m working, I make it seem enjoyable and not a drudgery or chore. So, without further ado I present my latest effort called Mobley’s  Dick. It is full of action, suspense, romance, and drama, with antidotes of humor to keep it lively. Richard Mobley is an unpublished writer who thinks he will make the best seller’s list if he can just get out that one book that will open day make him a household name.

He then witnesses a car accident on a street he lives on and the scene escalates into a murder when the driver of one car shoots the other driver. It is later reveal the victim was a news reporter for one of the local television stations. Dick thinks he has seen his opportunity and decides to write this book. What he is unaware of is that no one wants that story written including a certain city government official who wants the mayor to win reelection at any cost, including murder.

That is the elevator pitch I’m revealing to you, my loyal readers. Hopefully later down the line, it will become a best seller as well.