Pudgy

It was a Tuesday when the treats went missing. I found out at ten o'clock exactly, because ten o'clock is snack time and I have never once been late for it. I was in position on the kitchen rug, sitting squarely, ears up. Deploy Maximum Cuteness! The Tall One reached into the jar and came out… with nothing.

He didn't say a word about it. He never says words. He's an actions person. He has big boots, gentle hands, smells of coffee and hay. He held the jar upside down over my bowl and shook it. Nothing fell out. Then he tilted it all the way down to my level so I could inspect the inside myself. It was empty. Wiped clean. There was not one crumb of goodness inside, and I am a certified expert in crumbs. He patted my head twice and, I noticed, left the kitchen a little faster than usual. It was, for lack of a better word, suspicious!

So. An empty jar, a clean getaway, and a household full of suspects I adore. Some dogs would call that a bad morning. I called it a case worth investigating. Some dogs train for this for years. But for me, sleuthing is a natural talent.

"CHIARA! CHIARA! CHIARA!" Vlad came around the corner sideways, skidded into the dishwasher, and popped back up like toast. Vlad is an Affenpinscher, which means he's nine pounds of beard and crime. "We heard the jar! Was it the jar? Is it snacks? ARE THERE SNACKS?"

"There are zero snacks," I told him. "The treats are gone, and now I have to figure out where they went."

Pepita arrived by bouncing off the dog bed. Twice. "We'll help! We're helpers! Tag, you're it!"

"This is a serious investigation. Nobody is IT."

"You're it," Vlad whispered.

* * *

We started with Magda, because when your dearest friend is seventy pounds of majesty with a direct line of sight to the counter, you interview her first. She is the most likely suspect. Magda is a Giant Schnauzer, and she holds the northeast corner of the porch like a queen holds a throne.

"Magda! Hi! You look stunning as always. I have an Official question for you. Where were you Monday night?"

"Sleeping, I guess."

"Love that for you. Any witnesses?"

"The moon."

"Great reference. Very punctual. Follow-up question…" and that is exactly when Pepita climbed onto my back. All four feet. Standing on me like I was a parade float.

"Pepita!” I snarled. “I am conducting a very serious interview."

"I can see EVERYTHING from up here! I see the barn! I see a chicken! Ask Magda if she wants to play!"

"Magda, do you want to…"

"No." Magda’s expression didn’t change in the slightest.

"She's thinking about it," Pepita reported from my spine. “I can tell she’s thinking about it.”

Magda opened both eyes, which she saves for important announcements. "Little one. If I had taken the treats, the jar would be gone as well. I do not do half measures. Also, I would have shared." She paused. "But I did hear him… the Tall One. It was late Monday night. I heard the Cabinet hinges, and the sound of food in a box. It was up in the high cupboard over the cold food box. He stood there a long while."

"The FORBIDDEN CUPBOARD," Vlad gasped, and did three vertical jumps in a row, which is how Affenpinschers process news.

The high cupboard. I had never seen what the Tall One keeps in there. It’s a very nebulous space. But I learn new facts about my own kitchen every single day. Like, if you paw underneath the oven long enough you can find crumbs. I like crumbs.

* * *

My associates were also suspects, so I interviewed them on the walk to the barn, which is challenging, because Affenpinschers conduct all conversations at a full gallop.

"Okay, you two. Official question. Where were you Monday night?"

"Sleeping!" said Vlad.

"Stealing!" said Pepita, at the same time.

They looked at each other. "Both," they decided together.

"You sleep-steal?"

"It's a lifestyle," said Pepita, and did a play bow at a passing leaf.

"Did you steal the treats?"

"Chiara…" Vlad stopped galloping, which he does maybe twice a year. "We only take what we can reach. The treats are kept too high up. We're athletes, not aviators."

"Fair. Do you know anything about them?"

"THE PAPER," they said together, and started trading the story back and forth at top speed. "The white paper!" "From the needle-man!"

"The vet?" I offered.

"The needle-man," Vlad repeated. Affenpinschers had a unique way of naming things, especially humans.

"The Tall One read it at the table!" Pepita exclaimed. "And then he looked at you!"

"TWICE!" Vlad emphasized.

"Then he put it in the office!"

"In the squeaky drawer!"

"The drawer that defeated us!"

"Twice!"

"Three times!"

"We don't discuss the third time." Vlad grimaced.

A paper. About me. Filed in a secret-keeping drawer the same week my treats disappeared. We proceeded to the barn, me at a dignified trot, my associates orbiting me like small bearded moons moving at top speed.

* * *

Oswald was on the tack shelf doing his mysterious loaf pose. Oswald is the barn cat. He pretends we aren't friends, which is one of my favorite games we play.

"Oswald! You look so judgmental today. I mean that as a compliment."

"Chiara." He said my name with a flavor I chose to ignore. "You smell agitated. And hungry. Though you always smell hungry."

"Thank you! The treats are gone and I'm trying to find them."

His tail flicked once. "I know what he did."

I sat down so fast my whole back end bounced. Behind me, Vlad and Pepita discovered a moth and began an operation of their own. "Tell me everything."

"Payment first. Your window spot in the truck on market days for one month."

"Done! Oh my gosh, we can share it. You're going to love the window, Oswald. There's a corgi at the feed store who…"

"Stop. Never tell anyone I shared." He groomed one shoulder, taking his time, because cats bill by the hour. "Monday night. I was on the kitchen sill, minding the moths. The Tall One emptied your jar into a bag and put the bag in the high cupboard, over the cold-box. Then he stood with his hand on the door,” Oswald's whiskers winced, as though honesty cost extra. "Sorry. He looked sorry."

"Sorry! Interesting. Anything else?"

"The paper from the needle-man. He read it to himself at the table. One word in it concerns you." The tail drew a slow question mark. "Would you like the word?"

"Obviously."

"'Pudgy.'"

Somewhere behind me, a bucket fell over, and two Affenpinschers declared victory over a moth. Pudgy. What nonsense. I am not pudgy.

* * *

Pudgy. I carried that word all the way across the yard back to the house. I won't lie to you – it stung. Then I remembered that words only have the power you give them. Pudgy. Please.

The office door was open. The Tall One sat at his desk with the white paper in front of him, as if he'd been waiting for me to close the case. I put my paws on his knee and looked him right in the eye.

"I know what you did," I said. “Where did my treats go?”

He leaned down and scratched me behind the ear. “You’re the prettiest girl on this farm, Chiara.”

Which is TRUE. I am by far the prettiest. But he still offered no alibi.

“What were you doing on Monday night, Tall One?” I asked him. “What were you doing in the cabinent?”

“You’re so smart. You’re the smartest and most prettiest girl I know.”

I mean. Obviously I am. But he was still completely off topic.

“You have the best beard. It’s my favorite beard.” He scratched my chin.

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, SIR!” I pulled away from the chin scratches.

He lifted me into his lap to pet me. I used the opportunity to inspect the white paper from the needle-man. Holding it down with a paw, I could smell every word from the needle-man's letterhead, a number… one that used to be smaller… and then the word itself. Pudgy, and the needle-man’s diagnosis. Recommend reduced treats and increased exercise.

The Tall One slid out of the chair and lowered himself down to the office floor. He only does this on special occasions. He pressed his forehead to my forehead and stayed there a long time. Some confessions don't have any words in them at all.

And here's where the detective is supposed to feel betrayed and stare out a rainy window. But I checked my feelings very carefully. Twice in fact. All I found was my person looking at me, loving me, and silently calculating how many more years we would have together.

* * *

I delivered my full report on the porch.

"The perpetrator acted alone," I announced. "His motive was love, and I have been sentenced to vegetables as treats and two walks a day, which means double the smells of nature. And those smells are free. So, I have no complaints.”

"Adequate work," said Magda, which from Magda is a celebration.

"We'll steal the cupboard DOOR," Vlad offered, bouncing off my shoulder mid-sentence. "The whole door! We’ll just tear it off and free the treats!"

"Save it for my birthday, Vlad."

"Is it your birthday?" Pepita gasped. "IS IT? Oh my god, it is, isn’t it!?!?!"

Every case teaches you one true lesson. Mine was that, on this farm, I am so loved that somebody hid snacks from me on purpose, and sat on the floor to show me he loves me. It was, by all measures, the best mystery ever. I can't wait for my next one.

Also, I know exactly where his blue sock went. But a girl needs a sequel.