LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~

Monday, November 07, 2005

LuLu flees across Rattlesnake Ridge in our new mystery, The Hound of the Poconos. Find story under comments~

26 Comments:

Anonymous said...: This is our new story board. Please do not post comments.; 11:32 PM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter One

"LuLu," said my guardian, "if you keep rubbing your nose up against the window like that, pretty soon you won't be able to see out of it."

I knew she was right, but there wasn't much I could do about my nose, which is the basis of my being. In fact, it's almost my entire face. I kept hoping she would lower the window so I could stick my head out and sniff the wonderful smells that I knew I was missing, but no such luck. We were traveling at a high rate of speed, so I had to put up with the acrid odor of the air conditioner.

Even with the window closed, I was fascinated with almost everything that rolled past us on the freeway. A couple of miles back we passed the nasty terrier mix we
met earlier at a restaurant you could drive through. While my guardian, whose given name is Natasha, ate lunch and chatted with the terrier's guardians, the bitch and I sat opposite one another beneath an anemic-looking Oak tree. We'd hated each other on sight and proximity did not improve the situation.

"I'm Mitzi," she told me, flashing sharp yellow teeth, "and my people are taking me up to the lake. They're very well off and spoil me outrageously. You can tell they're well off because they own a big SUV, whereas your human drives a six-year-old economy car. I'm guessing you live in the slums."

This was news to me. "We live in a beautiful area," I told her, "and although my guardian sometimes drives a Honda, she also has access to a Lexus." (This is true, by the way. Natasha's mother is the individual who actually owns the Lexus, but Natasha has access to it.)

"Stuck-up bitch!" snarled Miti and made an effort to lunge at me, but a strong leash held her back.

"She can be so aggressive at times," said her female guardian.

"I hope she didn't frighten your little dog," apologized her male counterpart.

"Oh, no, no," Natasha insisted. "Anyway, LuLu can take care of herself."

I can? Hey, I'm a lover not a fighter, Mom. But as I said, a couple of miles back we passed Mitzi's SUV. She was staring out one of the windows, and when she saw me, she just went wild. I jumped against my window and barked too. "We're beating you!" I shouted, as Mitzi turned apoplectic.

"Poor LuLu," consoled Natasha. "Do you miss your new friend? It's too bad they'll be heading north in a few minutes, while we continue east." She reached over and patted my head. "Who knows? Maybe you'll meet Mitzi again sometime."

Not if I see her coming first. Humans can be so dense.

While my guardian listened to the radio and hummed to herself, I stared out at the horde of cars, trucks, and SUVS that were packed with humans and animals -- and wondered where all of them were going.

Geography is not my strong suit, but I knew we were somewhere in the middle of the eastern half of the United States, and we were supposed to stop overnight outside a city called Pittsburgh. Beyond these slim facts I knew very little. This was my first trip away from home, which is in a glorious, unmatched area called Lincoln Park.

In Lincoln Park we have tall trees, nice condos, and pretty gardens. There's also a lake surrounded by a thick woods, and all my friends are there. As I said, I'm not great at geography, but then again, I could be wrong. "LuLu knows more about geography than you do," I recently heard Natasha tell Caitlyn, her best friend's seventeen-year-old daughter, so perhaps I'm more knowledgeable than I realized. From what I've seen of the world so far, I think Lincoln Park must be the best of it, and I imagine it's the capital of this nation.
As I said, I could be wrong.

But I don't think so.

We spent the night in a new motel which allowed pets. It smelled of mothballs and cat whiz, and I didn't like it. What I liked even less was the fact the motel was bordered by a large fenced-in field, and while Natasha was getting our luggage out of the car, a huge animal with a long neck stuck its head through the fence and nudged me. I began to bark frantically and ducked behind my guardian for protection.

"LuLu, for heaven's sake," she admonished. "It's only a llama."

Only a llama -- whatever on earth that was! And a minute later some other beast lumbered over to join it. I pawed at the car door. I'd had enough.

"LuLu, stop it," Natasha insisted. "These animals are not going to hurt you. One is a llama and the other is a cow. They're gentle creatures. Now calm down."

The llama and the cow were studying me with feigned indifference, but I knew they were faking it. These were dangerous beasts! Natasha had to be crazy.

Once we were in our room with the door closed, I chose the bed furthest from the door and scooted under it.

"Now cut it out, LuLu," said Natasha. "I'm going out for dinner in a little while, and I expect you to guard the room -- particularly my laptop -- while I'm gone."

I was appalled. My guardian was going to leave me ALONE in a dank hole in a strange town, while two behemoths might still be lingering outside, contemplating mayhem?

I began to whimper.

Natasha sat down on the bed and dragged me out from under it. "I know this is the first time you've actually been away from home," she said, "and the world can be a scary place - but you've got to grow up sometime, little LuLu."

I buried my face against her knees. Why? I wondered. I'm only a year-old beagle.

"Tell you what," she said, "I'll bring you back something nice from the restaurant, but in the meantime, you have to be good."

I spent the next hour staring accusingly at her, as she hung up some of her clothes, filled my water bowl with fresh water, took a shower, and finally began dressing to go out.

"Not bad for my age," she remarked, as she peered into a mirror and rubbed a cream that smelled like strawberries on her face, after slapping the bejesus out of her neck and throat.

I've no idea what age my guardian is in human years, but I'd guess she's pretty old. Her mother, the owner of the Lexus, has to be pushing a hundred -- and Linda, the mother of Caitlyn, was moaning only a few weeks ago about becoming a senior citizen. I can't figure humans out. My guardian is tall and slender and keeps herself looking neat and tidy. I think she's rather pretty even if she is older than the bones of a Miacis, but what do I know? I'm only a dog.; 1:51 AM
Anonymous said...: It began to rain while Natasha was out, and the rain proved a mere precursor to a very bad storm. There was a tremendous amount of thunder and lightning, and finally the lights in the motel room went out. I was so terrified that I hid under the bed again.

All at once I heard the sound of something scraping against the door. A burglar -- I guessed, unless it was something worse, like the llama and the cow, all set to rampage. My paws began to tremble, and I longed to be back in Lincoln Park with my stuffed toys, two neurotic cats, and my DVD collection of classic dog movies.

I saw a beam from a flashlight and heard Natasha's voice. "LuLu, are you all right? Where are you?"

I crept out from under the bed and scooted behind her computer case, just as she swung the flashlight in my direction. "Oh, what a good girl!" she lauded. 'Protecting my laptop, are you?"

I wagged my tail. I was a champ.

Natasha took off the short coat she was wearing, shook out her wet hair, and set what looked like a doggie bag down on a table. "That was one bad storm," she said, "and it's to rain throughout the night. I hope this bad weather won't follow us all the way to the Poconos."

I continued to wag my tail. My person was back, I was safe. Now where was my reward for being such a good dog?

Natasha dumped out my water bowl and placed a couple pieces of overcooked veal chop inside. Some reward! But beggars can't be choosers. I watched as she mixed herself a stiff alcoholic drink before turning the flashlight beam on her cellphone and calling her mother.

"No, no, LuLu and I are fine," I heard her say. "Well, yes, it did rain pretty hard, and the electricity's out, but I got the flashlight out of the car. Yes, the door is locked and I'm on the ground floor in case of fire."

Fire? I shuddered. First the llama and the cow, then the storm, and now a conflagration? What was next, maybe the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?

"I'll be sure to check the road conditions before I leave tomorrow," Natasha was saying. "Mother, try to relax and stop worrying."

She took a strong swallow of her drink. "Would you believe I found the little beagle guarding my laptop when I got back to the room?" she said, sounding far more cheerful than she had just a minute before.

Sometimes guile pays, I decided, and polished off the last of the veal.

"I'm sure we'll make it to and from the family reunion without any problems, Mother," Natasha went on, obviously trying to wrap up the conversation despite keen opposition from the other end.

"I know this isn't your side of the family, Mother, but Emma asked me to come -- and she is my first cousin."

Natasha finished her drink. "Try to get some sleep, Mother," she
said. "Frankly, I'd rather you didn't watch 'Psycho' on the Movie Channel before going to bed. How about calling Linda for me? I was going to contact her online, but that's not going to happen now."

She was finally able to ring off, find my leash, and take me out for a pit stop. It was still raining, so I quickly did what I had to do, all the while keeping an eye out for the llama and the cow, who were probably off somewhere fraternizing with violent convicts.

"There's not much to do but go to bed," said Natasha, once we were back inside. In less than half an hour, she was tucked in hers and sound asleep.

I couldn't sleep. I suffer from night terrors, and my guardian had forgotten to give me my pill.

When I was little Natasha used to let me sleep with her. Now that I'm fully grown, I'm expected to sleep in my own dog bed and act like an adult. I know my person often compares me to Gizmo, the dog she had before she adopted me. Gizmo was a Pekingese, and according to my friends, she was very sophisticated, highly civilized, and extremely regal -- all qualities I lack. And I wonder if my person loves me less because I'm not perfect the way Gizmo was.

A tree branch smacked against the window above my bed. I looked up. A cold November rain continued to fall, and the shadows outside were intimidating.

Thwack! came the sound again, and a howl of fear stuck in my throat. I hopped off my bed, jumped up on Natasha's, and snuggled against her back. Things were much, much better this way.

Still, I thought, as I closed my eyes, if this is what travel was all about, nobody was ever going to catch me volunteering for the Iditarod.

(Story to be continued.)

The Hound of the Poconos is TM by LuLu's Desperate House Dogs; 2:38 AM
Anonymous said...: The Hound of the Poconos is a TM of LuLu's Desperate House Dogs. All Rights Reserved.; 11:32 PM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter Two

It was still raining the next morning when Natasha rousted me out of bed early. "A mere drizzle," my guardian insisted, as she snapped on my leash. I tried to escape back under the covers, but she was relentless.

"Ah," she said, taking a deep breath as we stepped outside. Then she started to sneeze. I whizzed, and we went back inside, where Natasha began hunting for her allergy medicine. "I think I need some coffee," she told me, and hauled me up to a small reception area where people were munching on sweet rolls and cereal, and gulping down that grotesque human stimulant that smells like stale leaves.

Everybody was talking about the storm the night before. "At least it wasn't snow," said the receptionist at the desk, and there were grunts of agreement. "We do have electricity again," piped up someone else. "Things could be worse."

Natasha helped herself to a large cup of sour-smelling coffee, smiled at a person who said I was cute, but before I could get so much as a pat on the head from my admirer, we were back in the room, and she was packing up our belongings.

Don't get me wrong; I was as eager to get out of that hellhole as she was, but I'm a dog who likes to take my time in the morning. I like to get out of bed slowly, stretch my way into the kitchen, lap a little water, drink the cats' milk, savor my own breakfast, check the weather -- and then, when I'm feeling comfortable enough in my skin to actually face the day -- then and only then do I want to go outside. Unless, of course, I see a squirrel on the porch. But that happens rarely, and generally my pleasant morning routine is as unchangeable as a Dalmatian's spots.

"Come on, LuLu," said Natasha, dragging me out of bed again. "We're going to be on the road for a long time today, and we won't be able to make a lot of stops. You need to get some exercise, and I want you to do your business." She put her hands on her hips for emphasis. "Everything!"

Right, I thought. Push a button, why don't you? But off we went, with Natasha wearing a little pink raincoat and me on my own. The puddles outside the motel were almost as large as Lincoln Park Lake, but thankfully the llama and the cow were nowhere in sight. With any luck, I mused, as I waded through a crater filled with dark greasy water, the Ark had passed them by.

Possibly as a reward for doing Everything, Natasha took me to another drive-through restaurant for breakfast. She wolfed down a congealed mess that smelled like cardboard, but my cheeseburger was pretty good. I mean, a cheeseburger is a cheeseburger is a cheeseburger, and since I've been known to nibble tidbits left by the side of our neighborhood dumpster, I don't suppose I can be considered a truly finicky eater.

While we were having breakfast, I could have sworn that I saw a plump brown-haired woman who looked like Mitzi's female guardian walking a dog who looked like Mitzi in front of a motel across the street. That was impossible, of course. We were heading east and they had headed north on the freeway the day before. But that dog was a dead ringer for Mitzi. I growled and was about to bark, but hesitated because I didn't want to drop the mouthful of cheeseburger I was about to swallow. At that precise moment the woman happened to turn around and see us. She immediately tugged on her dog's leash and the two of them disappeared around a corner.

Very strange, I thought, but the cheeseburger was more interesting.

It wasn't long before the rain stopped and we were on the road again. Natasha turned on the radio and started listening to a psychologist who was talking about heartbreak and divorce. "Bull!" she said, and turned to another station.

I passed a little cheeseburger gas and tried to resettle myself in the uncomfortable car seat my guardian considered necessary for my safety. It occurred to me that Natasha ought to get a job on the radio talking about heartbreak and divorce. She'd been married three times: once to a lawyer, once to an actor, and once to a bigamist. Come to think of it, the bigamist had been a psychologist. I belched softly and stared out the window.

A short time later we drove past a sign which perked Natasha's interest. "The turnoff for Oil City," she said. "You know, LuLu, I think I might still have some relatives living up there. I'll have to ask my mother." She paused for a second before waxing eloquent, or whatever it is that people do when they're interested in a subject that's sure to bore everyone else within earshot half to death.

"Years ago," she related, "Northwestern Pennsylvania was absolutely awash in oil. There were seeps all over the place, and the Indians used it for medicinal purposes. Later on, the settlers christened it 'Seneca Oil,' and used it for similar purposes. It was supposed to be an excellent mosquito repellant." She patted me on the head. "I imagine it might also have been used to kill fleas."

I passed more gas and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I did not want to listen to her talk about fleas. I didn't not want to listen to anybody talk about fleas.

"More years passed and a whale-oil dealer converted some of the oil into a light fluid that could easily be burned in lamps," she recounted, "and in the 1860s people started drilling for oil all through the area. It was the first big oil boom in the country."

I began to snore.

"Just think, LuLu, the birth of the petroleum industry took place right here in Pennsylvania. Why, this commonwealth was responsible for half the world's oil production until the East Texas boom of 1901." She paused. "I once wrote a magazine article about it," she admitted. "I think maybe five or six people actually read it."

This struck me as wholly understandable, but I gave her a sympathetic nudge with the tip of my snout. Sometimes, when I showed I cared, there was a nibble of beef jerky in it for me.

As the day progressed we drove through a series of national forests, and as I'd expected, Natasha pulled off the highway several times for coffee refills, which gave me a chance to do my business. I liked the scenery and the fresh mountain air, but I hated seeing the bodies of so many dead animals sprawled along the sides of the road. Some of them looked like the small horses I'd once seen in a holiday parade. "Those are deer," explained Natasha when she saw me staring at them. "They're always getting hit by cars in this part of the country."

I wondered why and began to feel a bit nervous. Could the deer be suicidal? Once again I longed to be back in Lincoln Park where everything was safe and familiar. I thought about my best friend Lily, a chic cavalier spaniel. When her people went on vacation, the left her at a doggie spa where she was given herbal baths and daily brushings. She was probably taking a walk through the park about now with the rest of our friends. It had been warm and sunny when we'd left Lincoln Park. Here it was overcast, and chilly enough for Natasha to turn on the car heater. I put my head down on my forepaws and tried hard not to think about all the things I was missing out on back home.

I looked up as a large SUV rolled past us, and saw Mitzi's face in the window.

(Story to be continued...); 12:37 AM
Anonymous said...: The Hound of the Poconos is TM for LuLu's Desperate House Dogs. Copyright pending. All legal rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced without permission in writing from LDHD.; 10:49 PM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter Three

Natasha finally turned north, and it wasn't long before we found ourselves on a narrow two-lane road bordered by tall pine trees. A light snow began to fall and Natasha turned on her windshield wipers and headlights. She also started to curse. Twice she pulled over to look at a map, and finally she picked up her cellphone and punched in a series of numbers.

"Emma," she said, "it's me. Well, yes, I guess we're almost there. Well, of course I'm in Pennsylvania! No, I haven't the foggiest notion where I am right now, and there's no place to pull in and ask. No gas stations, no Golden Arches. How far out in the middle of nowhere are you?" She took a deep breath. With my acute hearing, I could pick up the sound of a voice on the other end, and began to relax. At least we weren't entirely cut off from civilization, not as long as the batteries in Natasha's cellphone held out.

"There are no landmarks," my guardian insisted. "Oh, wait a minute, Emma. There's a lake. It's on the driver's side. Why, I'm headed north, of course."

I craned my neck so I could see out the window on Natasha's side. There was a lake! It was larger than the one back home, but not as blue and sparkling. In fact, it looked pretty cold and foreboding. I could picture hungry wolves charging across it, in hot pursuit of a fleeing sleigh.

"You don't have to drive all the way down here," Natasha protested, although she gave me the high sign with her thumb. "Well, how far away am I?" There was a pause. "You're kidding!" she said. "Oh, all right, Emma, we'll wait. I mean, what choice do we have? Be careful, though. It is snowing. What? Oh, right. I'll be happy to see you too."

She snapped her phone shut, sighed, petted me, and turned up the car heater. "Forty-five minutes," she said. "I thought we were a lot closer than that -- and I'm out of coffee."

Less than twenty minutes later a Jeep came to a screeching halt directly behind the Honda, and a tall young man got out, followed by a bulky figure wrapped in a blanket.

The young man rapped at the window. "Cousin Natasha?"

She lowered the window. "You're not Emma," she pointed out unnecessarily.

He grinned. For a human he was a cute guy. At least I thought so. Dark hair that was curly like a spaniel's, and equally dark eyes, were complemented by a huge smile and good teeth. "I'm Jeremy Sawyer," he introduced himself, "Emma's son."

"My God!" declared Natasha. "I haven't seen you since you were four."

His grin grew wider. "My mother certainly has told me a lot about you," he said. "Married to a famous actor, and you were an investigative reporter..."

"All of that was a long time ago," she remarked tersely, "and you really are something of a surprise, Jeremy. How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-five," he replied. "I just graduated from law school. Cute beagle, by the way. Mom said you were bringing her."

The person wrapped in the blanket edged closer. I caught a glimpse of dark hair, and glasses perched on the tip of a small nose. A woman. "Jeremy, it's cold out here," she whined.

"Oh," he said, seeming surprised to find her standing next to him. But he recovered nicely, and I got the impression he was as smooth as the fish oil my guardian often drizzled over my dog food. "Cousin Natasha, this is my wife, Emily."

Natasha smiled.

"Hello," mumbled Emily, and I realized that she wasn't really wearing a blanket, but instead had on a shapeless, heavy coat which merely looked like one. There was a hood attached to the coat, and a muffler wrapped around her throat. Only part of her face was visible, but I could tell she wasn't smiling. "Cute beagle," she echoed, before backing away from the car and ramming her gloved hands into her pockets.

Jeremy continued to grin. "All you have to do is follow us back to the house," he said. "The roads are getting a bit messy, but your tires look pretty good."

Natasha nodded. "Let's get going. Frankly, Jeremy, I'm all but dying for a hot cup of coffee."

He winked. "Gotcha!" he said, and he and his wife got back into their Jeep and swung out onto the main road. Natasha followed suit, and I tried to settle back down in my car seat. But there was to be no rest for the weary.

Ahead of us was a harrowing trip.

The snow began to fall in earnest and the Honda occasionally went into a skid. Meanwhile, Jeremy kept up a killer pace with his Jeep. "Doesn't that SOB ever slow down?" grumbled Natasha. "He must be going almost sixty in this slush."

After about twenty minutes or so, we turned off the main road and wound up on what Natasha referred to as a "rutted horse trail." It was pretty bad, besides we were going almost straight uphill.

"Come on, Honda," coaxed my human. "Don't you dare get stuck and let that grinning ape of a cousin of mine show us up."

I could hear our car's wheels spinning fitfully, but the faithful Honda kept moving, and at last we came to a large iron gate with a sign posted on it. Natasha read the words aloud: "'No trespassing! Beware of rattlesnakes!' Isn't that a great welcome to a family reunion? Factual, perhaps, but not exactly warm and fuzzy."

I did my best not to shudder in terror.

Up ahead of us Jeremy halted the Jeep, got out, and pushed open the heavy gates. Evidently he wasn't afraid of rattlesnakes. He motioned Natasha forward. "Go straight on in. The homestead is only a quarter of a mile down the road. We'll be right behind you," he said.

"What's this about rattlesnakes?" she asked, and my ears perked anxiously.

"Oh, that's a crock," he replied. "A couple of workmen have been bitten, and I heard one guy died up here last summer. But it's cold outside, and you won't find any rattlesnakes around in this weather." He gave her the grin again, and I got the impression she was longing to flip him the bird. But Natasha merely smiled and pulled ahead.

Jeremy Sawyer really was cute, I thought, but there was something about him which did not seem entirely sincere. Then again, he was by his own admission, a lawyer.

Natasha looked in the rearview mirror. "I can't imagine why he's bothering to close the gates," she said. "Why in the hell anyone in their right mind would want to come up here is beyond me."

Which I guess said a lot about the two of us.

It was the middle of the afternoon, but the tall, leafless trees that lined the driveway like Doberman sentinels cast heavy shadows, and the snowfall was getting heavier, so it was hard to see what was up ahead.

But it was impossible to miss the house -- or rather, the castle.

"Ahhh," said Natasha, "it's just as I remember it from years and years ago. The steeply pitched roof, the pointed windows -- and the turrets. Pure Gothic Revival. The mansion on top of the mountain."

She pulled the Honda up to the front door, turned off the engine, and got out. She stood, staring up at the castle for a moment, and I heard her say, "How on earth can they afford to keep this white elephant looking so good? My cousins don't have that kind of money."

My stomach flipped. There was a white elephant out there? I remembered the llama and the cow, and suddenly realized that I needed to do my business...badly.

In the nick of time Natasha came around to my side of the car and opened the door. "Welcome, little beagle," she said, "to the Bradford family homestead."; 12:06 AM
Anonymous said...: The Hound of the Poconos is (c)for LuLu's Desperate House Dogs. All legal rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced without written permission from LDHD; 12:39 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter Four

Keeping both eyes open and both ears perked, I hot-pawed it into the bushes to do my business. "Where's the beagle off to?" I heard Jeremy ask Natasha, who didn't reply, but instead handed him a suitcase to take inside, while she carefully tended to the carrying case which contained her beloved laptop.

"Rattle, rattle, rattle," whispered a voice in my ear as I emerged from behind a snow-covered chokeberry bush. I looked up and came snout to snout with another beagle. A male.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't mean to catch you during an intimate moment, but I thought I might frighten you by pretending to be a rattlesnake."

I stared at him. For some strange reason, there were few other beagles in Lincoln Park, and this was the first male of my breed that I had encountered since being removed from my litter more than a year before. I can't say I was too impressed. "Why would you want to frighten me?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. You're a beagle, right? You're a beagle, I'm a beagle. You're obviously a female and I'm a male. Trying to scare you just seemed like a fun idea."

"Go away," I said, and tried to push past him.

He followed, bumping against my right flank. "Hey! Don't go all prissy on me. I was only kidding around. What's your name?"

I didn't bother to reply.

He remained glued to my side. "Mine's Sloan, and Sloan's all alone, if you get my meaning. Sloan's all alone and blue, and what he would do for a girl like you."

"No wonder you're alone and blue," I told him, "if you habitually spout such awful doggerel."

"I'll protect you from coyotes and rattlesnakes!" he called out as I fled into the house behind a pair of corduroy-covered legs which I knew belonged to Natasha. Then I scooted out of the way as Jeremy returned with more luggage, and Emily stomped past, her long coat now open wide and billowing like a sail.

I darted beneath a wide table in the hallway and looked about, trying to get my bearings.

Wow! I thought. WHAT a house!

The huge entrance hall was about the size of Natasha's entire condo, or so it seemed to me at first glance. When I stared way up at the ceiling, I could see that everything was arched and pointed, rather like the inside of the church Natasha once took me to for something called the blessing of the animals, when I was a puppy.

Dogs are colorblind, and I am no exception. When Natasha told me her raincoat was pink, I believed her, and it became THE pink raincoat. But I have no idea what shade pink is at all. The walls inside the big main hallway looked to be of a vaguely similar shade, but I was guessing. Basically, my world pretty much consists of a nice blend of blues and yellows. Instinct alone told me that the walls were probably painted in some sort of earth-tone color, and I further guessed that most of the thick carpets laid across the floor were a blend of brilliant blues and a complementary shade of red. Natasha owned one or two similar rugs; she called them orientals.

The furniture struck me as very weird. There were a couple of large chairs with pointed backs, and a massive dark cabinet with odd-looking figures carved into it. The table I was crouching under appeared to be a matching piece. Back home Natasha's furniture was very different. It was overstuffed and comfortable, with curves instead of points.

Meanwhile, Natasha had reverently placed her laptop carrying case down on another intricately carved table, and was embracing a woman who looked a lot like her.

Now, my guardian dyes her hair. Rather, she goes off to a grooming parlor at least once a month and has it tinted with a golden-blonde rinse. Then she gets it cut in a sort of Afghan-hound chop. I believe I've already mentioned that she is tall and slender. The woman who looked like her was also tall and slender -- but she had shorter, darker hair which was streaked with gray. Both women were dressed in similar outfits: silk blouses, tailored jackets, and slacks. They looked very much like sisters.

"Emma, it's been way too long," Natasha gushed. "Cousins should get together more often."

"Oh, I agree." Emma's voice was slightly higher pitched than my guardian's. "But I realize asking you to drop everything and drive up here in the middle of November was a genuine imposition."

Natasha hugged her again. "I'll admit it is an odd time to hold a family reunion, right before Thanksiving and all, but I'm awfully glad to see you just the same."

Jeremy, who had carted Natasha's luggage off (I presumed) to the second floor, returned in time to take part in another bout of the hugging ritual. We dogs are so much more basic and sensible when it comes to reunions. We have a to-the-point sniffing ritual, and I've yet to understand why humans haven't adopted it.

"I'm so glad you finally had a chance to meet Jeremy," Emma told Natasha, while smiling at her son. She obviously doted on him.

"Ah, yes," said Natasha, suddenly losing some of her enthusiasm for the merry reunion -- enthusiasm, I thought, which had been faked from the start. "He looks like his father."

Evidently that was the wrong thing to say, because I saw Emma bite her lip. But maybe it was the exact right time for an apparition clad in black to step out of the shadows at the top of the stairs, and scare everybody half to death.

"How nice to see you again, Miss Bradford," said the apparition in a sepulchral voice which neatly matched her appearance. "Somehow your luggage wound up in the wrong room -- " Jeremy looked slightly uncomfortable -- "but I set matters right. I felt certain a woman of your prominence would at least want a room with a connecting bath while you were here."

The trio at the bottom of the stairs seemed to have been momentarily struck dumb. Natasha was the first to recover. "Who on earth are you?" she asked, and the apparition finally drifted out of the shadows.

To be honest, she didn't look much better when she was standing in the light. She had an odd, pointed face, thin lips, and eyes that reminded me of the hard little pebbles which often wash up on the shore of the lake back home.

"I'm Hesper Leffler," she said, "and I'm the housekeeper. My husband Warren is the man of all work, and my daughter is the cook. I'm also your distant cousin," she continued in a voice filled with resentment, "but I doubt you remember me. We last met when I was ten and you were eight."

"Well," said Natasha, "it has been a while between conversations."

Hesper Leffler didn't smile, and I thought she was about as hospitable as a wolf with a toothache. "There will be a brief cocktail hour in the parlor at five p.m.," she informed Natasha, "and dinner will be served at six sharp. We have a house intercom system which is accessible from your room, but please keep in mind, it's for emergency use only. We do not offer room service here."

"Now excuse me," said the lady in black, marching smartly down the stairs and vanishing through a doorway into another part of the house. I smelled the combined aromas of wintergreen and wax as she passed by me.

Natasha burst out laughing. "My God! That woman ought to be cast as Mrs. Danvers in a remake of 'Rebecca.' Is she really a relative?"

"I'm afraid so," Jeremy affirmed, "but I'm not quite sure exactly where she fits in."

"Don't be too hard on her," said Emma. "She's had a rough life, and working all these years as a servant for a relative like Aunt Olivia can't have been any picnic."

Natasha pulled a face. "Mommah certainly remembers Aunt Olivia well enough. She told me she could never stand her, and I imagine great Auntie feels the exact same way about her. I'm amazed Auntie O. is still alive."

"She's a healthy ninety-eight," said Emma. "Remember, she was much younger than both Granddad and his brother Robert, and she's taken good care of herself."

"A pity she's so nutty," stated Natasha.

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. He looked intrigued. "Do tell?"

"Well, Emma," said my guardian, "you're the one who told me she was still going on about the Marie Antoinette thing."

Jeremy looked disappointed. "Oh," he said, "that."

I wondered where his wife was. Emily had stormed into the house and immediately vanished, giving me the strong impression she was not the least bit happy about our being there.

And who on earth was Marie Antoinette?

I felt a cold nose nudge my hip. "Want a quick tour of the house, jiggle beagle?"

"Please go away, Sloan," I told him, "and don't call me silly names like 'jiggle beagle.'"

"Then tell me what your real name is," he cajoled. "I have to call you something if you're going to live here."

I turned on him. "Live here! What are you talking about? My guardian and I are visiting. Visiting! We live in a beautiful area called Lincoln Park, and we certainly would never dream of moving up here and living in this monstrosity."

Sloan looked a little hurt. "This house is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. It's not an edifice to be sniffed at, jiggle beagle. Besides, it's haunted."

I felt my stomach flip, then flop. After meeting the housekeeper, I was hardly surprised, but I was still frightened. "Haunted?" I echoed.

"To the hilt. Just wait until you hear the hound."

I swallowed hard. "What are you talking about?" I asked him.

He wagged his tail and walked away.
"You'll find out," he said, and with a flippant toss of his head, he pranced back outside into the ghost-white snow.

(Story to be continued...); 2:08 AM
Anonymous said...: The Hound of the Poconos is (c) for LuLu's Desperate House Dogs. All legal rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced without written permission from LDHD; 11:59 PM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS (C)

Chapter Five

"Help me, Dog," I prayed softly, although I do not necessarily ascribe to the Great Dog Theory. He may be watching over us, and then again, He may not be a bit interested in our insipid struggles. Still, whenever I'm face to face with martyrdom, I always do my best to postpone it.

"I can't live another minute without a cup of hot black coffee!" Natasha insisted, and Jeremy instantly volunteered to go out to the kitchen to get one for her.

"Jeremy," said his mother, "why don't you show your cousin to her room first?" But he was already off and running. "Back in a minute, Cousin Nat!" he called out as he disappeared down a corridor.

"Peachy!" chirped Natasha, balling her hands into fists. She hates to be called Nat. "Gnats are nasty little insects," I once heard her tell her friend Linda. "Besides, that was my second husband's pet name for me."

"Let's get you up to your room," said Emma, forcing a smile. "I'm sure you'd like to sit down and relax."

My cue! I crept out from under the table and charged after my guardian. There was no way she was going to leave me downstairs -- not when there were ghosts roaming about. Ghosts, devilish hounds, AND white elephants!

The staircase was long and spooky, and the hallway above it even longer and spookier. The house was absolutely huge, and I imagined an entire pack of beagles living there -- each in its own little beagle room. My imagination runs away with me whenever I get nervous. It's how I manage to sort things out.

"Right in here," said Emma, opening a large door with a frame as pointed as a mountain peak.

"Oh, this is very nice," commented Natasha, sounding surprised.

I wasn't so sure. Again, everything was arched or pointed, including the head and foot boards of the bed. If you got up in the middle of the night and tripped, you could wind up getting impaled. But the room did have a few good points along with the bad. There was a gracefully arched window at one end, and the ceiling above it was painted a brilliant shade of sky blue. There was a thick yellow carpet on the floor, with oriental rugs laid on top of it. Aside from the bed, the furniture consisted of a large dresser, a desk for my guardian's laptop, a small yellow sofa, a couple of tables, and a plump armchair covered in a silky material that was almost the exact same color as the ceiling. I hopped up on the sofa and stretched out. I smelled the faint aroma of dog, and guessed that Sloan had recently been in the room.

Meanwhile, Natasha placed her beloved laptop down on the desk with the carefulness of an antiquarian handling a rare and precious find.

"The bathroom is over here," said Emma, who crossed the room, opened another door, and flicked on a light switch. Natasha followed her.

"My God!" declared my guardian. "There's even a bidet! And the tub looks like something out of Architectural Digest."

"My room, or suite actually, is almost an exact copy," Emma told her.

Natasha tossed the heavy jacket she had been wearing on top of me, then shook out her hair. "What gives, Emma?" she asked. "I know it's been decades since I was last here, but I seem to remember pictures, mostly ancestral portraits, lining the wall next to the staircase. They're all gone, but this room is as well appointed as one at a five-star hotel."

Emma sat down on the bright blue armchair. "All of the paintings were sold back in the 1970s," she said. "A couple of them were by John Singer Sargent, so they brought in a nice chunk of change. Ditto the sale of some of Great-Grandma's imported furniture."

Natasha looked skeptical. "So the sale of family heirlooms is what's keeping the place going? I guess a Sargent, even one of his lesser works, would easily sell for at least a half a million to a million dollars these days, although I've no idea what one might have gone for back in the seventies. Was the money invested?"

"I honestly don't know," replied Emma. "I'm a retired librarian not an accountant, and the homestead legally belongs to Cousin Roper. Jeremy and I used to come up here in the summers, though, and things certainly have changed."

Natasha sat down on the bed. "Changed how?" she asked.

"Here's your coffee!" announced Jeremy, bursting into the room with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, and a wider-than-ever grin on his face.

"Jeremy," said his mother, rising from her chair, "is that blood on your cheek?"

"Where?" He handed Natasha the coffee and rushed over to study his reflection in the dresser mirror. "Oh, it's lipstick." He laughed. "Emily gave me a kiss downstairs in the kitchen."

Emma bit her lip and said nothing, and for once Jeremy actually stopped grinning.

"Well," he said, "I'll just get out of everybody's way. I'm sure you two girls have a lot to talk about."

"I'm sure we GIRLS will think of something," Natasha responded with a tight smile. I could tell she wasn't the least bit fond of Jeremy, and from the veiled look he shot in her direction before he scampered out the door, I got the impression the feeling was mutual.

"Now," she said, turning back to Emma after taking a hearty swig of coffee, "where were we?"

"The sale of family heirlooms," her cousin replied somewhat brusquely.

Natasha stood up, set her coffee mug on a side table, and took her cousin's hand. "Em, I'm sorry I made that stupid remark earlier about Jeremy looking like his father."

Emma sighed. "It's all right. The fact of the matter is, he does look a lot like Mitchell. I just hope..." she paused. "I just hope he won't turn out to BE like Mitchell."

"I'll never understand how you put up with him for so long," Natasha sympathized.

"Well, you haven't had much luck in the marriage department yourself," Emma was quick to point out. Getting her own back, I thought. Humans!

"You'll get no argument from me there," Natasha conceded, "and my involvement with the bigamist certainly wasn't one of my proudest moments. My mother will never let me live that one down."

"But it wasn't your fault," soothed her cousin, graciously pulling out the needle. "The truth is, I always knew Mitchell was more than a little bit eccentric. I mean, not many men would insist on running with the bulls at Pamplona while they were on their honeymoon."

Natasha sipped her coffee and ran her tongue across her lips. "This really is a pretty decent Costa Rican," she said. "You know, it's still a shame your ex had to go the way he did."

Emma sat back down and nodded. "Yes, getting trampled in a buffalo stampede was rather awful, and the female rodeo star he ran off with managed to get her hands on most of his money. Natasha, if the family hadn't been there to help us out..." her voice trailed off and she stared down at her hands. Like my guardian, she had long, tapered fingers. Unlike my guardian, Emma bit her nails.

Natasha finished her coffee. "Delicious," she said. "I feel much better. All right, Emma, a few minutes ago you said some things had changed up here. Exactly what were you talking about?"

Emma frowned and small worry lines appeared on her forehead. "I'm not really sure. For one thing, there does seem to be a lot more money available. Back in the seventies, before they sold those paintings and heirlooms, Cousin Roper and Cousin Will were still trying to farm up here. I know the house needed a lot of repairs and there were even delinquent taxes to pay."

Natasha nodded. "But the sale of a couple John Singer Sargents would certainly keep them going for a while, Emma. I'm only guessing, but the combined sale of two paintings like that, plus Great-granny's antiques, ought to have netted them well over a million dollars. And a million dollars should go a long way in this part of the country, even by today's standards."

Emma picked at some lint on her slacks. "Maybe. But, Natasha, keep a few facts in mind. The main line of the Bradford family has always lived at the homestead and always taken care of their relatives. We have an awful lot of fourth and fifth cousins scattered throughout the New York and Pennsylvania border area."

Natasha looked confused. "But surely these cousins have jobs?"

"Doing what?" Emma's voice took on a slight edge. "There's nothing available up here. Most people are out of work. The odd thing is, most of our relatives seem to be doing quite well."

"I'm not sure I understand," said Natasha.

Emma got up and began to pace. "Neither do I. For example, this place has really blossomed in the past ten years. Old furniture has been redone, and lots of new furniture purchased. Eight years ago Cousin Roper installed all new plumbing, and that has to have cost him a fortune! Then he hired the Lefflers. He and Cousin Will pretend to be farmers, but I can't for the life of me imagine what they sell. Still, they've hired a bunch of people, mostly relatives, to take care of the property." She paused for breath.

Emma shrugged. "So they made a lot of money, invested it, and now the investments have started to pay off. It makes perfect sense to me."

Emma didn't seem to hear her. She stared out the arched window and toyed nervously with a bracelet she was wearing. "The real reason I asked you up here, Natasha, is because I don't know what to do," she said.

"Do about what?" asked my guardian.

Emma sat back down and began to gnaw at her lip again. "A man who was working here supposedly died from a rattlesnake bite last summer."

"Yes," said Natasha. "Jeremy mentioned it."

Emma leaned forward, and lowered her voice. "I don't think he was bitten by a snake." She took a deep breath. "Natasha, I believe that man was murdered."; 2:21 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter Six (c) LDHD

"Murder," said Natasha. "Oh, come on, Emma. That's a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it?"

Emma, who struck me as more restless than a puppy with worms, got up and went back to the window. "It's not an exaggeration, Natasha. Jeremy was here when it happened. I drove up the very next day. He was extremely unsettled."

"I can imagine," said my guardian, "but who was this man and why would anyone want to kill him?"

Emma bit down on her lower lip again. If she's not careful, I thought, she's going to gnaw straight through the thing.

"That's the problem -- not a single person seemed to know. Evidently he was carrying no identification, not so much as a driver's license; he had no wallet and wasn't wearing a watch or a wedding ring. He was just....this body. Jeremy told me that Cousin Roper insisted he'd died from a snake bite, but there were no visible marks on the corpse."

"What did the coroner say?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't know if anybody bothered to inform the county coroner -- or even the local police. I've no idea what they did with the body and neither does Jeremy. Oh, Natasha, you have no idea how...how truly atavistic society is around here. The Bradfords are still treated almost like feudal lords. What Cousin Roper and Cousin Will say goes. I think they could get away with anything."

"Including murder?" Natasha got up and went over to comfort her cousin. "Emma, try to calm down. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for what happened. There usually is."

"Really?" There were deep lines showing on Emma's face. "Then how do you explain the hound?"

I crept further beneath my guardian's jacket. The strong scent of her perfume, a nice blend of roses and lilies of the valley, worked on me like aromatherapy, and kept me from jumping out of my skin. The hound again! This was all I needed to hear.

I stuck my long, graceful snout into one of the jacket sleeves and took deep breaths.

"What hound?" asked Natasha. "Surely you don't mean LuLu?"

"Of course not!" Emma sounded exasperated. "It's...oh, I don't know how to explain it."

I removed my well-shaped snout from the sleeve and peeped out at the cousins. Natasha was looking concerned and sympathetic. Emma was looking wary and upset.

"Listen, Emma, is there possibly something else going on?"

Emma blinked. "Something else? Like what?"

Natasha shrugged. "For starters, is everything all right with Jeremy, and with his marriage?"

Emma immediately went on the defensive. "Jeremy is a fine man and a wonderful son! Why would you bring him into this?"

Natasha held up her hands. "Emma, I'm sorry. I didn't' mean to imply anything -- but how long has Jeremy been married?"

My guardian meant to imply plenty, I thought.

"Almost a year now." Emma's expression was guarded. "She's much younger, still in college, but a nice enough girl. She's studying to become a librarian, like I was. He met her in Pittsburgh, but she has family connections up here."

"Really?" Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me she's yet another cousin."

I caught sight of a faint tic under Emma's right eye, and she began to toy with her bracelet again. "Nothing like that. Her father was a professor at the local college before he died, and her sister also used to work there. Natasha, my son and his wife have nothing to do with anything strange that's been going on up here."

I didn't believe her for a moment, but hadn't a clue if my guardian felt the same way.

"Tell me about the hound," she said. "This isn't a Conan Doyle replay, is it?"

Emma managed a nervous little laugh. "I suppose there are similarities to the Hound of the Baskervilles. Ever since that unidentified man died, there have been these occasional awful howls coming from somewhere up on Rattlesnake Ridge." She nodded toward the window. "Cousin Will insists it's a hound of some sort, but I think it sounds human."

I ducked back under the jacket again and put both paws over my eyes.

"It's probably a coyote," said Natasha. "Coyotes can sound pretty eerie when they start to wail, Emma."

All at once a tinny version of "I Shot the Sheriff" filled the room.
Emma made a mousy, squeaking sound, and even my stalwart guardian flinched.

She recovered quickly. "It's my cell phone," she explained, looking around for her purse. "I imagine it's my mother. I promised her I'd call when I got in, then didn't."

Being a helpful dog, I hopped off the sofa, ran over to a pile of suitcases stacked in a corner, and knocked over her purse. The cell phone rolled out just before her open change purse did.

"Thank you, LuLu," said Natasha, as Emma headed for the door.

"We can talk later," she said. "I'm right across the hall if you need me. Oh, and tell your mom I said hello." The door clicked shut behind her.

"Yes, Mother, I'm right here," said my guardian. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, but Emma and I were talking. No, Mother, I did not watch America's Most Wanted last night, but I never pick up hitchhikers..."

While Natasha's stress level climbed, I went over to the window and gazed out at the snowy landscape. In the near distance I could make out hills which blended into tall mountains. The woods looked wild and unwelcoming, a vast difference from our friendly
woods back home in Lincoln Park.

A few minutes later my guardian snapped her phone shut, uttered a few well-chosen expletives, and started taking her clothes off.

"I need a hot bath!" she declared, and dug out the toiletry case which contained her favorite soap and bubble bath.

I have never understood what humans find so comforting about getting into a tub filled with hot water and soaking in strong-smelling salts and oils. A nice roll in well-seasoned leaves is far more fun and probably more efficacious.

But Natasha wanted her bath, so while she soaked, I seized the moment, hopped up on her bed -- which smelled of sage, lavender, and Tide laundry soap, and took a much deserved nap.

As luck would have it, I began to dream. Sadly, my dreams are rarely the stuff of bedtime stories. Instead, they are generally filled with dark omens and portents -- and this one proved no different than most.

I dreamed about my predecessor, Gizmo, the civilized Pekingese. She looked just like the pictures I'd seen of her -- very serene and lovely, with a tail like strands of silk -- and dark, intelligent eyes.

"LuLu," she said in a soft, melodious voice. "LuLu, stay close to Natasha and be cautious. You are surrounded by danger, and she is unaware of it."

I woke up when my guardian came back into the bedroom and tossed her bath towel at me. "LuLu, get off the bed!" She stared at the pile of suitcases.

"Now, what am I going to wear?" she debated aloud, while slipping into fresh underwear. "I'd better find out if dinner tonight is formal. The Bradfords are an atavistic clan, at least according to Emma."

Natasha fiddled with the buttons on the intercom, while I stayed where I was, but hid myself under the bath towel.

"How does this damn thing work?" said Natasha. "Hello? HELLO?"

She finally gave up. "Where's my robe? Emma's right across the hall. I'll pop over and ask her."

"Stay close to Natasha," Gizmo had cautioned, so I jumped down off the bed just as my guardian gave up the search for her robe.

She opened the bedroom door and peered out into the dimly lighted hallway -- without putting in her contact lenses or slipping on her glasses; then she stepped outside, wearing only her uplift bra and silk underpants.

"You must be Cousin Natasha," said a tall man who looked something like a sheep dog, although the dog standing next to him was Sloan the beagle. The man winked suggestively at Natasha. "'So rare is the union of beauty and purity,'" he uttered. "Juvenal."

Natasha's face was heavily flushed, but she didn't miss a beat. "'I'm as pure as the driven slush,'" she countered. "Tallulah Bankhead."

Then she stepped back inside our room and slammed the door.

"See you downstairs later, jiggle beagle," Sloan barked. At the same time, I heard the man laughing.

"Don't hold your dog breath!" I barked back.

A minute later there was a knock on the door. "Natasha, it's Emma. Is everything all right?"

My guardian opened the door. "What happened to the guy with the dog?" she asked, grinning in spite of herself.

Emma stepped inside. She did not seem to be amused.

"I wondered what was going on. Evidently you've had your first encounter with Cousin Will."

"That was Will, Cousin Roper's younger brother -- the one who never married? I thought he was gay."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Gay! Cousin Will? He's about as gay as a male mink on steroids. Watch out for him, Natasha, and don't let him back you into a corner. The man is dangerous."

My ears perked, and I wondered how dangerous Cousin Will might truly be.; 2:26 AM
Anonymous said...: Story to be continued....

The Hound of the Poconos is (c)to LuLu's Desperate House Dogs. All Rights Reserved.; 2:55 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS (cp)

Chapter Seven

It took my guardian a while to get rid of Emma, who spent a good fifteen minutes defaming Cousin Will's character, and who was still spouting off when Natasha closed the door behind her.

"Whew!" said my guardian, then slipped on her glasses, glanced at her watch, and made a beeline for her laptop. "I've GOT to e-mail Linda," she told me.

Of course I already knew that. I'd caught her sneaking furtive glances at her laptop while her cousin was in the room. The symptoms of withdrawal are pretty hard to hide.

Natasha dragged a long chord across the room and fitted it into the phone jack. I heard a lot of clicks and beeping sounds, and knew something was wrong.

"I can't raise a dial tone," said Natasha. "What's going on around here? The intercom won't work. Ther's something wrong with the phone." She sat down on the bed and I jumped up next to her and licked her ear.

"LuLu to the rescue?"

I wagged my tail and barked. "I'm here for you," I assured her, "if not to protect you, then to at least provide emotional support."

Looking downcast, Natasha packed up the laptop again and took another look at her watch. Then she sniffed the air.

"LuLu, you stink," she said, and for the next half-hour she used the time and energy she generally spent on the computer to make my life miserable.

Specifically, she brushed my teeth and rubbed me down with a scented towel that made me smell like a rose garden after a chemical spill.

I gagged a few times while she was scrubbing my teeth, and sneezed frantically while she was busy killing off nature's sweet aromas with the towel.

Once she was satisfied with my scent and appearance, I watched while she sprayed herself with so much perfume, I thought she might be trying to fumigate the room. I ran to the window and laid my head on the sill, and began to pant.

"LuLu, stop being such a drama queen," chided my guardian, who really does know me very well.

Forty-five minutes later, Natasha was ready for the cocktail party. She had put in her tinted contact lenses and curled her hair until it licked her cheek bones. She as dressed in a pretty gold suit I once heard her say she'd had since she was married to Husband Number Two. The suit had big gold buttons like giant dog tags on the front, and Natasha put on a pair of large gold earrings to match. She also shoved her feet into a pair of high-heeled, brown suede boots that were fairly new and had cost her a bundle. Finally, she slipped on an expensive bracelet her mother had given her, and a large garnet dinner ring, compliments of the bigamist -- also known as Husband Number Three.

After a brief tussle, she persuaded me to wear a cloth collar and a matching yellow leash. Both were embellished with dainty paw prints and would have been perfect for a tiny poodle like my friend Millie back in Lincoln Park. But I am a beagle!

"Gizmo would have been happy to wear an ensemble like this," said Natasha, and I relented. Whenever my guardian mentions the unmatched Pekingese, I'm willing to do almost anything to prove I'm as worthy of love as her former pet.

Reeking like the inside of a grooming parlor, we ventured out into the dark hallway and almost collided with a short troll of a man who looked like Natasha's friend Linda's pet goldfish. He had widly set eyes, a tiny twitching mouth, and he even smelled fishy.

"Pardon me," Natasha apologized. "They really ought to put stronger lights in this hallway. It's as dark as a cave."

"Them light sconces was made special back in the twenties," the fish man informed her. "Big bulbs don't work."

"Exactly who are you?" Natasha asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Warren Leffler," he said, fixing her with his fish eyes. "I do most of the real work around here -- well, me and my wife. Our daughter's the cook. Mr. Will, he thought as you'd need your beagle here walked." He nodded curtly in my direction.

I dodged behind Natasha's boots. I didn't like Warren Leffler and did not want to go anywhere with him.

Natasha tightened her grip on my leash. "Oh, I think LuLu's all right for the moment, but thank you just the same."

"More snow comin' in," Leffler persisted. "You won't want to walk her later, specially not in fancy boots like yours." He reached out and all but tore my leash out of her hand.

"Hold on!" said my guardian. "Where do you think you're taking my dog?"

"Outside the backdoor, ma'am," he replied, giving my leash a good yank. "I'll bring her to you downstairs. Now don't worry. I won't let the coyotes eat her." And he allowed himself a mean twiddle of a laugh.

Before Natasha could protest further, the fish man and I were on our way down a back stairway, and out through a small mud room. "Git out there," said Leffler, applying his boot to my delicate derriere. I was seriously frightened.

"What are you up to, jiggle beagle?" asked Sloan, who was standing directly outside the backdoor with his leg lifted.

"Help me!" I barked. "I'm being kidnapped!"

Sloan cocked his head. "No, you're not. My person told Leffler to take you for a walk and that's what he's doing. Leffler is mean and stupid, but he wouldn't dare hurt you."

"Git outta here, you mutt!" shouted the fish man, kicking snow in Sloan's direction.

"Oh, that's reassuring," I barked. "So your person is Cousin Will?"

"My person is indeed Cousin Will," Sloan replied. "Do you have to do your business, jiggle beagle?"

"Sort of."

"Then do it and I'll wait for you," he said. "That ought to reassure you."

"Hurry up, dog," said the fish man, as I scurried into the bushes and relieved myself. "I ain't got all night."

The minute I was done, the fish man hauled me back into the house, with Sloan trailing behind. "Here's your little beagle," he said, and to my great relief, I looked up and saw Natasha.

She was standing at the bottom of the main staircase, looking very pretty and very concerned.

"LuLu!" She knelt down and I leaped into her arms, trembling from cheek to hock.

"She done what she was 'sposed to," the fish man told Natasha, and his mouth twitched into the ghastly semblance of a smile.

My guardian wasn't buying. "Thank you very much, Mr. Leffler, but from now on I'll walk my dog myself."

If looks could kill, she would have been flat out on the floor with her toes curled.

The fish man walked off; Sloan came over and nudged my ear. "Everything okay now, jiggle beagle?"

"That man is scary," I said. "I think he may be psychotic."

"You might be right," Sloan conceded. "He's an unhappy person who's completely overshadowed by his wife and daughter. They're both Bradfords, you see. He's not."

I didn't see, and rubbed up against Natasha's soft boots for comfort. Sloan bent his head for a pat and she complied.

"Looks like you've found yourself a nice new friend, LuLu."

I wasn't so sure.

Natasha led me into a large room where a small group of people were doing what most mammals do on social occasions -- they were mingling, drinking, and yapping at one another.

The man we had encountered in the hallway was standing up against the fireplace, holding a glass in his hand. Cousin Will was dressed in what I believe is called "upscale casual" clothes. In his case, a lived-in looking ski sweater and a pair of baggy pants.

Seated in a wing chair next to him was another man who looked a lot like him, except that he was thinner and had a lot less hair.

He hopped to his feet the moment my guardian and I entered the room.

"Good lord, Cousin Natasha," he said. "I believe we met years and years and years ago, when we were both children." The hugging ritual got underway again.

"It's been a long time, Roper," said my guardian, finally disengaging herself. "The old place looks great, though. You've really done a wonderful job of taking care of it."

I heard a low chuckle.

"From the looks of you, Cousin Natasha, you've done a pretty good job of taking care of yourself."

My guardian smiled politely; I could tell she was grinding her teeth.

While she was getting to know her family, I had a chance to look over the litter.

Emma, ensconced in another wing chair, finally looked relaxed. She kept taking small sips from a tall glass she was holding, and her cheeks were turning as rosy as apples. She was wearing a long white dress with a fake fur trim, and a pair of sparkling earrings. I thought she looked nice.

Seated next to her, on a bench, was Emily, Jeremy's wife. She was decked out in a light blue dress that didn't quite make it to the tops of her bony knees. Her neckline plunged deeply, showing a glowing sternum and little else.
Still, I thought she was a pretty enough young woman. She had long, dark hair and fine dark eyes that resembled her husband's -- or Sloan's, for that matter. I figured if she would smile once in a while, it would really add to her overall appearance.

Jeremy was there in form, dancing aroung the room, getting drinks for people. He reminded me of a Jack Russell terrier I know. Very eager to please and way too energetic about it. His clothes were new and bright, his shoes were highly polished, and his teeth were so white, they sparkled like his mother's earrings.

"And this is my son Matt," I heard Cousin Roper tell Natasha.

I looked up and saw a skinny young man who was a study in bland.

"Nice guy," said Sloan, evidently reading my thoughts. "He's going to be a vet."

"He looks harmless," I barked. "After the Lefflers, that's a relief."

"Oh, but you haven't met all the Lefflers," said Sloan. "You haven't met Rachel."

"The cook? What's she like?" I asked.

He jumped up and grabbed a cracker off a tray. "You'll have to decide that for yourself," he said. "It will be interesting to hear your opinion."

"Cousin Roper," I heard Natasha say, "I can't get my computer to work, or the phone, or the intercom."

"Oh, my!" Emily jumped up. She had just dropped her glass of wine, and there was a large, dark stain spreading across the hem of her mother-in-law's white dress.

(Story to be continued...); 2:02 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS (CR)

Chapter Eight

For a few seconds after Emily dropped her cup of cheer, nobody moved or said a word, but I saw a fleeting expression of anger cross Jeremy's face. Cousin Will looked mildly amused.

Hesper Leffler, who scared me almost as much as her fishy husband, materialized from the shadows again, with a damp cloth in her hand; and Emily, acting liked she'd just dropped a pooper bag into a soup tureen, put her hands over her face and fled the room.

"I think it's the bad weather that's giving your computer fits, Cousin Natasha," drawled Cousin Will, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.

His brother nodded. "Seems likely," he agreed. "Doesn't explain the intercom, though. Then again, we've always had problems with the damn system."

"This stain isn't going to come out without a lot of work, Mrs. Sawyer," said the housekeeper. "If you'll go upstairs and change, I'll see what I can do with a dab of Spot Away, but wine can be as difficult to get out as blood."

Emma shook her head. "I'm afraid the dress will have to be dry cleaned, Hesper, but thank you just the same."

"Silly to waste the money," argued the housekeeper who was, after all, a relative. "Silly, especially when you don't have much."

"I said no," Emma spoke sharply.
"Excuse me." And with an apologetic nod at Cousin Roper, she left the room.

Her cousin didn't notice. He seemed a lot more interested in refilling his drink and checking his watch.

"A perfect waste of good money," muttered Hesper Leffler before once again vanishing into the shadows.

"Tell me she isn't an evil spirit," I said to Sloan, who barked a laugh.

"Jiggle beagle, you are the nervous type, aren't you? But stop worrying. Hesper Leffler is nothing more than an unfulfilled woman who likes to think she runs the house."

"And doesn't she?"

He wagged his tail. "About as much as I do."

"Say, that's a pretty stiff drink you're pouring there, Roper," remarked Jeremy for no apparent reason, especially since I noticed he was holding one that looked a whole lot darker.

"Time?" Cousin Will asked his brother.

"Time," replied Cousin Roper, slamming his glass down on a side table. He straightened his jacket and carefully smoothed the top of his thinning hairline.

"Have I told you that you smell like a rose garden tonight?" Sloan asked me, his nose twitching with seductive menace.

"It's not my fault if my guardian likes me to smell like a bag of potpourri," I told him.

He grinned. "I find your scent rather titillating. All at once he saw his chance, and grabbed another hors d'oeuvre off a tray.
"Want an oyster?"

"Are you being obscene?"

"Well, roll me over and tickle my tummy," he said. "I like the way your mind works, jiggle beagle."

Suddenly the atmosphere changed, and the situation had nothing to do with Sloan's dogged attempts at seduction. All creatures have an aura that surrounds them, but usually it doesn't roll ahead of them like an avalanche or a runaway truck. This person's aura did. I sensed her presence even before I sniffed her strong, acrid perfume; or before I looked up and saw her standing in the doorway on Roper's arm.

Aunt Olivia looked like pictures I've seen of Queen Victoria, although I believe Victoria was petite. Elderly as she was, Aunt Olivia stood almost six feet, and her robust figure could still be classified as "statuesque."

She wore her snow white hair piled high atop her head, and this added even more height, giving her a good couple of inches over her nephew.

Obviously, Aunt Olivia was not a woman given to hiding her assets. She wore a long blue dress of a shade so deep it was almost black, an elegant necklace of what I was sure were genuine diamonds, a series of sparkling rings, and a tiara to match the necklace.

White elephants aside, this was one impressive creature.

Aunt Olivia pointed the long stick she was carrying directly at Sloan.
"Will, curb that damn dog of yours!" she commanded, and Cousin Will snapped his fingers and motioned Sloan to his side.

The old woman peered nearsightedly into the room until she located Natasha. "Aha! You're Jack's daughter, aren't you?"

"I am, Auntie Olivia," said Natasha, stepping forward with a broad smile on her face, and her hand extended. Her aunt did not take it.

"You look like your mother," she observed. "A pity."

The smile froze on Natasha's face, but only for a second. "My mother has only good things to say about you, too, Auntie dear," she lied sweetly. "I believe you got along a little better with my father?"

The old woman snorted. "A nice young man, Jack. A bit bookish and full of himself, but nice. A shame he didn't marry that lovely girl he met in college. At least your mother has no insanity in her family. Naturally, I vetted her antecedents the minute she and your father got engaged."

"Oh, naturally," responded Natasha,
"and I imagine my mother made a similar study of the Bradford clan."

Sloan sidled up to me again. "As Thackary said: 'Nothing like blood, sir, in hosses, dawgs, and men.'" He quickly dodged behind Cousin Will when Aunt Olivia once again pointed her stick in his direction.

"Will, I won't have a mouthy hound in my house while I am entertaining." Suddenly the old woman turned her evil eye on me, and I cringed. "Who's that with him?"

"Only LuLu," Natasha spoke up. "She's my little beagle, Auntie, and she's a very good dog." She picked up my leash and gave it a little tug in order to drive home her point.

"Two beagles?" Aunt Olivia shook her head and smacked her stick against the floor. "Ridiculous. Years ago I had a Doberman. He was quiet, respectful, and trained to attack. A Doberman is a dog that makes sense. Beagles chase rabbits, steal whatever they can, and never shut up."

Obviously, it was time for a defensive maneuver. I rolled over on my back and spread my legs.

Sloan's eyes bulged, and Aunt Olivia actually spat out a chuckle. "I hope she's spayed," she remarked. "Now, get up, show-off," she said to me, "before I send you out to the barn."

I got up.

Cousin Roper assisted his aunt over to one of the wing chairs, and lowered her into it with the kind of care Natasha takes with her laptop. Frankly, I can't imagine why she required his help; she looked perfectly fit to me.

"Bourbon straight," she ordered; and Jeremy, all but dancing on his toes, ran to get it.

"Where is your mother, young man?" Aunt Olivia asked him. "Roper, will you stop fussing over me?" She swung her stick at him.

"I'm right here," said Emma, coming back into the room while her cousin tried to avoid getting a cracked head. Emma had changed into a pair of velvet slacks and a wrinkled silk blouse. She looked a lot worse for the wear. "How are you feeling tonight, dear?" she asked her aunt, as she bent to kiss her on the cheek.

"Evidently a lot better than you. What happened? Were you attacked by wild dogs?"

"We had a little accident," Emma explained. "Emily spilled some wine on my dress..."

"Emily?" Aunt Olivia cut in. "Oh, yes, your son's hopeless wife." She glanced over at Jeremy. "Well, what happened to her -- did she evaporate?"

Before he could gather his wits to reply, Hesper Leffler rematerialized with a fresh tray of hors d'oeuvres and made an obsequious effort to get Aunt Olivia's attention, but the old woman ignored her.

"The oyster rolls are especially good," Hesper pointed out. "Rachel made them special."

Aunt Olivia finally took notice of her. "Where are the plates, Hesper? Don't tell me you're still using those damn saucers? Don't you ever learn?"

"They're good china," Mrs. Leffler insisted, shakily holding her ground.

Aunt Olivia raised her stick. "Go out into the kitchen and tell Rachel that I want plates! Real plates!"

"But..."

"No buts!" declared the outraged matriarch. "Go!"

"I'll get the plates," piped up Matt, Roper's son. I had forgotten his existence, and from the stare he received from Aunt Olivia, I gathered that she had too.

Hesper Leffler set down the tray. "I'll get fresh napkins," she said, and darted out of the room like a chastised puppy with its tail between its legs.

Unfortunately, Emily chose that highly inauspicious moment to creep back into the room. Her face was blotched and her eyes were red from crying.

Aunt Olivia pointed her stick. "Is your sex life that bad, girl, or are your pregnant?" she asked.

Emily swallowed hard and shot a desperate glance in her husband's direction.

He turned back toward the bar.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Aunt Olivia. "Sit down, girl, and stop playing with the pleats in your skirt. You look about as cheerful as rain on a mausoleum."

Emily sat.

Matt returned with the plates, and a few tense minutes slipped by while Aunt Olivia polished off her drink and wolfed down two heaping platefuls of food.

I searched for Sloan and found him hiding behind the fireplace, trying to look inconspicuous. Natasha let go of my leash, and I scooted over.

"My Dog! What a bitch!" I said.

"Shhh! Don't be a mouthy beagle. She meant what she said about the barn."

"Why is everybody so afraid of her?" I wanted to know.

Sloan stared at me. "Why? Well, for starters, she's built like Paul Bunyan and rules her family with an iron hand."

"Who is Paul Bunyan?" I asked.

"Dinner is served," Hesper Leffler announced.

"You've never heard about the famous lumberjack called Paul Bunyan or Babe his blue ox?" asked Sloan.

"The guy has a blue ox?"

I sincerely hoped that Sloan was just trying to frighten me. So far, I'd encountered a cow and a llama, been cautioned about rattlesnakes, had to keep an eye out for a while elephant, not to mention a ghostly hound. Now there was a blue ox in the picture?

I was not finding travel pleasant and broadening. In fact, I was finding it pretty awful.

I stepped behind a large potted philodendron and threw up.; 2:07 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS (CR)

Chapter Nine

I waited for the tug on my leash, for Warren Leffler to haul me off to the barn, for the blue ox to appear and snuff out my all-too-brief existence.

"Come on, jiggle beagle," said Sloan. "Nobody knows you just lost your beef jerky but me. The Bradford clan is headed into the dining room. We need to follow -- tout de suite."

"Philondendron, tell no tale," I murmured, and trotted after him.

Cousin Roper, with the autocratic Aunt Olivia sparkling like a Christmas tree on his arm, was leading the pack. Next came Cousin Will, escorting my somewhat apprehensive looking guardian. Jeremy played usher for his mother, while Matt the bland brought up the rear with Emily, who continued to look about as cheerful as a beagle in heat trying to run with a mixed pack at a field trial.

The dining room was reached via a small passageway that jutted off from the central foyer. It was quite ornate and lined with a series of slender columns with tops like inverted umbrellas. The dining room itself was mammoth, and I could almost picture a medieval castle, with knights running here and there, and great war dogs lying under the table, waiting for scraps in the form of wild boar meat -- or perhaps the bones of a white elephant?

There was a huge window carved in the shape of a flower on one side of the room, and a smaller window of stained glass above a large buffet -- one even larger than the highly polished buffet owned by my guardian's mother. (Natasha, I'm sorry to admit, doesn't even own a buffet, and anything made of stained glass is out of the question.)

A long table, covered with a heavily starched white cloth, stretched almost the entire length of the room, and the chairs that lined both sides of it all had pointed backs like church steeples. Directly above the table was an enormous chandelier about the size of Natasha's Honda. Four silver candelabrums, each containing six lighted candles, had been placed in the center of the table.

"This is not the way we eat at home," I admitted to Sloan. "The cats and I have our bowls in the kitchen, and Natasha usually eats in front of the TV."

"Don't expect to get fed in here," he said. "We'll eat in the kitchen later. This is people-watching time, jiggle beagle. Keep your ears perked, your eyes open, and learn."

I crawled under the table, found Natasha's feet, and snuggled up against her boots. Since Cousin Will was seated next to her, Sloan huddled up against me. "Get off me!" I barked.

"Shhh! If you keep singing like that, we'll be in the barn before the salad course is served," he warned.

I sighed and sniffed the aroma of shoe leather, as well-shod feet began showing up beneath the table. Natasha quickly removed her own from the high-heeled boots she was wearing. I figured they had to be killing her, and the fact she began rubbing her feet on the nap of the soft carpet beneath them proved my point. At the same time, Cousin Will slipped one sock-clad foot out of its loafer, and inched it in my direction. I leaned forward and began to lick it. The foot was quickly withdrawn.

Sloan nudged me. "Good going," he said.

"Why?" I asked. "Now I have sock lint on my tongue."

Aunt Olivia's feet were firmly planted at one end of the great table and Cousin Roper's were at the other, with family members seated on either side. Hardly a cozy arrangement for such a small group of people, although Cousin Will had managed to squeeze his chair fairly close to Natasha's.

"Considering the size of that chandelier and all those candles," I said to Sloan, "it's surprisingly dark in here. Maybe the sparkle from Aunt Olivia's diamonds will have to light the room?"

He yawned. "I doubt it. They're mostly paste. I think a few of the rings might be genuine, but the real necklace-and-tiara set was sold years ago." He winked. "I doubt anybody bothered to inform Aunt Olivia."

I was surprised. Aunt Olivia didn't seem like the type to be easily duped. Speak of the devil, I thought, as the old woman addressed my guardian.

"Exactly why did you decide to come up to the homestead, Natasha?"

"Well, my father died not long ago," my guardian replied guardedly, "and I thought it might be time to reacquaint myself with my roots."

"How interesting," commented Aunt Olivia, "and how entertaining. Your father died twelve years ago, Natasha; I still have the newspaper clippings. Surely you're long past the grieving stage by now?"

"I invited Natasha up here, Auntie," Emma admitted in a quavering voice. "It's been a while since we last had a chance to get together. I thought it might be nice for the entire family to...well, to bond."

The old woman laughed. "And you invited her to bond without first asking me? How inappropriate. As for that word, is it one of those psycho-babble words that are used today? Are you here to bond, Natasha?"

"No." My guardian spoke up clearly.
"I came up here to meet my father's family. That's it. End of story."

For a moment there was silence. Hesper Leffler began making her way around the table, serving the salad course. I crept closer to Sloan so I wouldn't come into contact with her heavy, slightly pointed shoes.

"I would imagine, Natasha," said Aunt Olivia, "that your father told you we are descended from royalty?"

"Baloney," muttered Mrs. Leffler. "The Bradfords were never anything more than a bunch of lumberjacks who got lucky."

"I heard that, Hesper," said Aunt Olivia, "and I do not appreciate being disparaged. The fact is, we are directly descended from Queen Marie Antoinette of France...and this salad dressing is dreadful."

Cousin Will's foot inched its way across the carpet again, and finally came into contact with Natasha's right ankle. I could feel her tense, then she shifted her position, and the foot was again withdrawn. At the same time I felt Sloan's forepaw on my haunch.

"Remove it now," I told him, "or I will bite you."

"Auntie, Marie Antoinette was beheaded in 1793 after being condemned to death by the canaille of Paris," said Emma. "History records..."

Aunt Olivia interrupted her. "Due to the efforts of Count Axel von Fersen, Marie Antoinette was smuggled out of prison. An insane former prostitute who no longer knew her own name took her place in the tumbrel. It was she who was beheaded."

Aunt Olivia smacked on the table with her fist for emphasis. "Marie Antoinette escaped to French Azilam, which isn't far from here. She married her faithful retainer, Jacques Denis in 1798, and died in childbirth in 1799.

"I have her letters," Aunt Olivia went on dogmatically. "Nobody knows where they are but me, and instead of passing them on, I may burn them. This generation doesn't deserve their royal heritage."

Mrs. Leffler almost made a clean getaway, but not quite.

"The dressing, Hesper," Aunt Olivia reminded her. "The raspberry vinaigrette is inedible. Did Rachel make it or did you?"

"Rachel did. She always does the dressing. She's the cook, I'm not," the housekeeper defended herself.

"Get her out here then!" the old woman snapped. "Don't stand there looking stupid. Do what I tell you!"

Cousin Will's foot inched across the carpet like a persistent spider and gently nudged the toes of Natasha's right foot. At the same time, Sloan allowed his forepaw to stroke a part of my anatomy I have always considered intimate. I spun about and bit him. Only I missed and got his guardian instead.

"Yeeouch!" shouted Cousin Will, leaping to his feet. Sloan fast trotted it for the dining room door, and I scooted behind Natasha's chair. All heads swerved in Cousin Will's direction.

At that very moment Rachel Leffler made her entrance, and nobody paid any further attention to Cousin Will.

"An excellent vinaigrette, my dear," praised Aunt Olivia, and all of the men at the table heartily agreed.

"Quite tasty," complimented Cousin Roper.

"Scrumptious," concurred his brother, while rubbing his aching foot.

"Incredible!" burst out Jeremy Sawyer, with a look so smoldering it almost set fire to the tablecloth.

Even bland Matt showed some animation. "Very, very good, Rachel," he said. "I mean, very, very good."

Hesper Leffler vanished into the shadows.

"Thank you," said her daughter with a bright smile, while Jeremy's wife Emily picked up her butter knife, clutching it like a dagger.; 1:26 AM
Anonymous said...: Story to be continued....

The Hound of the Poconos is CP by LuLu's Desperate House Dogs. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form unless by permission of the author.; 1:27 AM
Anonymous said...: By the way, we know that philondendron is really spelled "philodendron." We regret the error as well as any other typos we may have made.; 1:31 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS (CR, 2005)

Chapter Ten

Two thoughts came to mind when I first saw Rachel Leffler: She smelled good and she was sexy.

Since Rachel was the Bradford family cook, it made sense that she would be surrounded by delicious kitchen aromas; as for the sexy part -- all I had to do was sneak a peek at the Bradford men, who were acting as loopy as puppies in a leaf pile, simply because she was in the room.

Like most of the Bradfords, Rachel was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. When she removed the hairnet she'd been wearing, her rich curly mane tumbled down to her shoulders, reminding me of the glistening coat of a Portuguese water dog. She had a straight little nose, and a wide mouth set in a well-shaped oval face. She was what humans call "curvaceous." I suppose she was beautiful. The men all thought she was, and so did she. I don't mean to suggest Rachel was vain; it was just obvious to me from the way she spoke and handled herself that she realized how striking she was and used it to her best advantage.

Glancing over at Emily Sawyer, who was still clutching her butter knife in an exceedingly hostile manner, it wasn't hard to figure out why she always looked unhappy. She could not compete with Rachel. Yet, I thought, cocking my head and studying her, if her hair were a few shades darker, if she put on weight, and if she occasionally smiled -- she might be able to give the stunning cook a dash for the rabbits, as we beagles like to say. She and Rachel even shared a few features in common, in particular the same dark eyes. Odd, I thought, considering the two women were related only through marriage.

Rachel noticed me and knelt down. "What a sweet little dog," she complimented in a warm, melodious voice.

"Ignore the beast!" grumbled Aunt Olivia, whose own voice was anything but warm and melodious. "You'll have her pawing at the kitchen door, Rachel, and I won't have it."

The pretty cook just smiled, rose, and patted the old woman's hand. "Don't worry, little dog," she said. "I'll save a nice bone for you."

I rolled over on my back, exposing my dappled stomach -- one of my best features, if I do say so myself. Rachel laughed, then gasped with surprise as Sloan came galloping back into the room and threw himself against her knees. "Don't forget about me!" he barked.

"Get out of here!" roared Aunt Olivia, reaching for her stick. Fortunately, Rachel managed to forestall her hand.

"It's all right," she said. "Now, Sloan, get down. You know I plan to feed you later, sweet boy."

Aunt Olivia snorted. "Two beagles in the same house. It's ridiculous! By the way, the woman in the colorful suit is LuLu's owner. She's poor Jack's daughter."

Rachel blinked. Obviously she had no idea who "poor Jack" might be; and either the glow from the candles was reflecting off Natasha's contacts, or there was a furious glint in my guardian's eye. But her hostility wasn't directed at Rachel.

"You're Warren Leffler's daughter?" she asked, sounding surprised, which was highly understandable.

Rachel smiled, exposing a set of pretty white teeth any carnivore could be proud of. "Everybody says I take strongly after the Bradfords," she admitted.

She certainly did. Fortunately for her, she didn't look a thing like the fish-faced Warren Leffler. Granted, the room was not well lighted, but it was hard to imagine Warren and Rachel Leffler as members of the same species, let alone father and daughter.

"Our Rachel is a wonderful cook," went on Aunt Olivia, pretending never to have said anything nasty about the raspberry vinaigrette. "Will sent her to Paris for a year to study the culinary arts, and she can hold her own with the finest cooks in the commonwealth."

"Really?" Natasha fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. "Did you study at Le Cordon Bleu, Rachel?"

The pretty cook nodded. "Yes, and it was a wonderful experience. I loved Paris." She laughed. "Well, I suppose everybody says that."

Unexpectedly, Emily Sawyer spoke up. "I can't say it. I've never been there. I've never been anywhere, really. Nobody's bothered to send me to Paris, or London, or even New York. Of course, I'm not drop-dead gorgeous. Too bad for me, I guess."

Jeremy, who had been eyeing Rachel with the intensity of a retriever clocking in on a Frisbee, forced himself to switch his attention to his wife.

"Emily," he said, "maybe you need to lay off the wine?"

"I'm not drinking any," she pointed out. "Of course you didn't notice, did you?"

"I think you need to apologize, young woman!" fired off Aunt Olivia, as ferocious as a female tiger defending her young. Meanwhile, Rachel beat a hasty retreat back into the kitchen.

Emily glared defiantly at the old woman, tossed her linen napkin on the table, got up and left the room.

"The audacity!" declared Aunt Olivia.

Emma made a strangled little choking sound and gnawed on her lower lip.

Cousin Will chuckled, and I felt like biting him all over again.

"What is with this guy?" I asked Sloan. "Is he a sadist as well as a lecher?"

"He enjoys life's little ironies," he replied, staring with longing at the kitchen door, "although I doubt he enjoyed the nip you gave him."

I raised my leg and delicately sniffed at my genitals. "This is what I think of your guardian," I said.

Sloan waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "And what do you think of me, jiggle beagle? Wait, before ou answer that -- first of all, what do you think of Rachel?"

"I think you're obviously smitten with her, just like every other Bradford male."

"She always gives me extra food," he explained a tad sheepishly, "and she pets me and scratches my ears. Nobody else bothers."

"Poor you. Does she do the same thing for Jeremy Sawyer?"

"Jeremy is madly in love with her," he admitted.

"But Jeremy is married to Emily."

Sloan sighed. "I guess things are pretty much of a mess."

"It's also obvious Aunt Olivia dotes on the girl."

"Rachel is the only person who can keep the old darling under control," explained Sloan, "and you have to love her for that."

He dodged out of the way as the door flew open and Hesper Leffler came back into the room carrying a silver platter heaped with what smelled like deliciously prepared duck.

My mouth began to water.

"Is Rachel all right?" Aunt Olivia asked the housekeeper.

"She's fine," Mrs. Leffler replied tartly. "Just fine."

Aunt Olivia frowned and gave the housekeeper a piercing look. "Hesper, take those damn dogs back into the kitchen with you. They're mouthy and annoying, and I've had quite enough of both of them."

Natasha spoke up. "Mrs. Leffler," she said, "LuLu may go out into the kitchen with you, but I want it understood that I am the only person who is allowed to walk her. I'll come out and get her as soon as dinner is over."

Hesper Leffler casted a hurried, questioning glance at Aunt Olivia, who waved one "maybe" diamond-encrusted paw in the air. "Oh, listen to Natasha, Hesper," she said airily. "She is our guest, after all, and evidently her dog means the world to her."

"Thank you for understanding, Auntie Olivia," said Natasha through clenched teeth.

Emma laid down her salad fork and opened her mouth to speak. Evidently she thought the better of it. Instead she reached for her water glass, and I noticed her hand was shaking.

"Come on then, dogs," called out Mrs. Leffler, and the three of us padded down a short hallway and into the bright, well-lighted kitchen.

Warren Leffler was standing by the backdoor, smoking a cigarette. I ducked behind Sloan when I saw him.

Rachel looked up and smiled. "Time for treats, beagles?" she asked. Sloan wagged his tail. I sat down and kept a careful eye on Mr. Piscatorial.

He opened the door and spat a glob of mucus out into the snow. "Dad, I wish you'd take your smelly cigarette outside," Rachel complained.

"Oh, sure. Go outside, Dad, and freeze your ass off. Don't try pullin' any stuck up crap with me, girl. You think you're better'n' I am 'cause you got Mr. Fancy Pants Bradford to send you to Paris? Well, I'll smoke where and when I damn well please."

"Listen to Rachel," snapped his wife. "We still need our jobs here, don't we? This would be a fine time for us to get fired, now wouldn't it, Warren?"

His lip curled. "What? You worried one of them Bradfords is gonna come out here and check on us?"

His wife wiped her hands on a damp cloth, and finished filling a tray with steaming bowls piled high with food. "You never learn," she said, and vanished through the door leading to the dining room.

Rachel backed away from the enormous stove which was obviously the command post in her domain. "Come on Sloan and LuLu," she said. "Let's get you guys something good to eat."

"Sprinkle some rat poison on it, why doncha?" suggested Leffler with his mean twiddle of a laugh.

His daughter pretended not to hear him -- but I'd heard him. Dog! The fish man gave me the creeps.

Rachel set two large bowls on the floor, and Sloan began to sing. "It's last night's beef stew! Oh, I am in Hound Heaven!"

A minute later, so was I.

"I don't think I've tasted anything so good EVER," I told him, and it was the truth. When my guardian served me "stew," it was generally a mishmash of leftovers, usually including some odd bits of pizza and maybe even a crumpled fortune cookie from the Chinese restaurant around the corner. Rachel's stew was filled with thick, delicious chunks of meat, and at the very bottom of the bowl was a nice beef bone.

"What do you think of Rachel now?" Sloan asked me, as he licked his chops.

"Do you think she'd be willing to adopt me?" I replied, only halfway joking.

Mrs. Leffler came back into the kitchen, and trailing right behind her was Matt the bland. "Hell," muttered the fish man. "I'm goin' out." And he left, slamming the door behind him.

Rachel looked perplexed. "What are you doing out here, Matt? You can't just get up from the table in the middle of one of Aunt Olivia's dinners."

Her mother shook her head and shrugged.

Matt rubbed his head and fiddled with his left ear. "Uh," he began.

I gnawed on my bone, and for the next five minutes I waited, along with everybody else, for Matt for form a coherent sentence.

It took a while.

"I...well...you know...Emily...she...I feel sorry...it doesn't have to...Aunt olivia...are you...I mean..." He swallowed hard. "Are you all right, Ray?"

Rachel smiled. "I'm fine, Matt. Honest. Now go back into the dining room and finish your dinner before you catch hell."

"I...well...I said...I told them...I...you know...that I had to hit the head."

Rachel laughed, and so did her mother, which amazed me. Spooky Hesper Leffler could actually laugh? Frankly, under the bright kitchen lights, she didn't look all that spooky -- merely old and tired. And I could see faint traces of Rachel in her features, a ghostly reminder of the attractive woman she must have been a long, long time ago.; 3:27 PM
Anonymous said...: Story to be continued....

The Hound of the Poconos is CR to LuLu's Desperate House Dogs. All legal rights reserved.

LDHD: 1/07/2006; 3:40 PM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter Eleven (CR 2005LDHD)

"The name suits you, you know?" said Sloan, as we stretched out and gnawed away at our beef bones shortly after Matt left the kitchen.

I raised a questioning eyebrow while noting that his bone was a teeny bit larger than my own.

"LuLu," he explained. "It sounds very French."

I savored a sliver of delicious marrow. "Like Marie Antoinette? But I'm not French; I'm an English beagle, and so are you."

"Not like Marie Antoinette, and I'm an American beagle, descended from English beagles." Sloan raised an eyebrow back at me, and tightened his grip on his bone.

"The beagle," he informed me with mock pomposity, "became popular in England during the reign of Henry VIII, who preferred them to his wives."

"No, he didn't," I said, "but he loved his hunting dogs and took good care of them."

Sloan shot me an "as-if-you-would-know" look. After all, no beagle likes to be trumped. "Well, did you know the word beagle probably comes from the Celtic word 'beag,' which means 'small,' or the French word 'bgueule,' which means gape throat'?" he went on.

"No," I replied, spying a tiny piece of meat on the end of his bone, "but my real name is Talulah, which comes from the Choctaw, and means 'leaping water.'"

Sloan soon discovered the piece of meat himself and went after it. "I was named for my guardian's former accountant," he said. "I believe my name means something people generally scrape off their shoes."

"I gather your guardian's never been married?" I asked him, checking out my own bone for overlooked bits of beef; there weren't any.

"He's not the type. He's never been neutered either, but I guess you're aware of that."

"Hmmm," I replied noncommitally. "Quite the ladies' man it would seem. Is Cousin Roper the same way?"

Sloan dropped his bone. "Good Dog, no! Roper is Matt's father."

I shrugged and eyed the bone he'd dropped. "So?"

"So he was married to one woman for years," said Sloan. "I believe humans often mate for life, unless they're actors or politicians."

I made a sudden lunge for his bone, but he was too quick for me.

"Sorry, Leaping Water! But I saw that one coming five minutes ago."

I sat back down and made a show of relishing my own bone. "So what happened to Roper's wife?" I asked him.

"Oh, she left him years ago, way before I was born. Aside from Matt, there's a daughter. She lives with her mother, or used to.
She's a few years older than her brother."

"Well, what about Aunt Olivia? What's her history?"

"You are a curious little beagle, aren't you?" he asked. "Let me see, I once heard a story about a lover who got killed in one of the wars that were rife back in the twentieth century. It was probably a lucky thing for him. Can you imagine being tethered for life to a person like Aunt Olivia?"

I laid aside my bone. "Sloan, tell me the truth about the white elephant, the rattlesnakes, the blue ox, the hound...all of it.
The stories are made up, aren't they?"

He dropped his own bone, but kept a paw on top of it. "LuLu, do you swallow whole everything you hear?"

"So none of it's true?"

"The hound isn't made up," he said, making a dive for my bone and snatching it away.

"Walk into my parlor said the spider to the fly," I barked merrily, and grabbed his bone out from under his snout.

"Hey!" cried Rachel, who was busy getting a dessert tray together. "You two dogs play nice!"

Her mother came in from the dining room carrying a tray piled high with dirty dishes and almost tripped over Sloan.

"Rachel, do something about these dogs. I just about fell!"

"OK," the pretty cook agreed, and a few minutes later Sloan and I found ourselves in a dim, sweet- smelling pantry, with a bowl of fresh water and the bones we had stolen from one another.

Eventually we fell asleep, and I didn't stir until I heard Natasha's voice. "That roast duck with green olives and tomatoes was absolutely delicious," I heard her say. "And your apple tart with cinnamon really hit the spot. You're a wonderful cook, Rachel."

"Thank you, Miss Bradford." The tone of her voice was very matter of fact. She knew she was good at her job and accepted the compliment as her due.

"Oh, call me Natasha," said my guardian, who sounded like she was having trouble hitting the fire hydrant -- which is a dog's way of saying she was three sheets to the wind. "We are cousins, after all, and it seems awkward having you and your mother address me so formally, as if you were servants."

For a moment I heard nothing but Sloan's soft snores, then Rachel said: "But we are servants, Miss Bradford. I am the cook and my mother is the housekeeper. We're very distant relatives, but I will call you by your first name if you want me to."

Despite the fact she was slightly crocked, Natasha did not belabor the point. The next thing I knew, an overhead light came on and my guardian was tugging at my leash.
"Come on, LuLu. It's time to take you out for a quickie," she said.

"Jiggle beagle," barked out Sloan as we left the room, "can I tell all the outside dogs I've slept with you?"

"You can tell them I took your bone," I barked back, and marched off with the prize held firmly between my jaws.

It had been cozy and pleasant in the pantry; outside it was as dark as midnight, although I noticed it was no longer snowing and seemed to be warming up. All the same, Natasha stuck close by the front door while I dashed off into the nearby bushes to do my business.
The door opened and Cousin Will came out to join us -- or rather, to join Natasha. He handed her a glass.

"Oh, Will, no thanks," she protested. "I've had more than enough to drink this evening."

"Nonsense. The brandy will help you to sleep."

"Believe me," she said, "I won't need any help."

Abruptly, he changed the subject. "Why did you come up here?" he asked. "Now don't get mad at me. I'm merely curious."

"Emma asked me to come," said my guardian. "Honestly, Will, there is nothing dark or mysterious about my motives."

"But you haven't been here since you were a kid."

I looked up and yelped in terror. Something huge and menacing was standing directly in front of me --and what big teeth it had! I dropped my purloined bone in the snow.

"LuLu!" cried Natasha, realizing she had let go of my leash.

"Here -- you!" Cousin Will whistled, then laughed. "It's only Buck, one of the outside dogs," he said. "Your little beagle is pretty much of a nervous wreck, isn't she?"

Natasha found my leash and dragged me out of the bushes. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Nothing. Oh, come on, Nat. Don't get mad."

"Don't call me NAT."

"You're pretty when you're angry."

"Of all the dumb-assed lines!"

While Natasha and her cousin argued, I glanced up at Buck, who appeared to be some sort of Rottweiler mix. "I'm LuLu," I said, praying he wouldn't go for my throat. "You can have my bone."

He stared at me. "You need to go away," he said, sounding just like Arnold Schwarzenegger in one of those old "Terminator" movies. "This is no place for a pretty city dog like you."

And he lumbered off into the night.

Natasha tugged at my leash again and we went inside. Cousin Will remained out by the door; I could hear him laughing.

"That man infuriates me!" exploded Natasha, who gulped down the brandy he'd given her while dragging me up the stairs behind her.

When we reached the landing I paused for a second to look out the window. The moon was a swollen chunk of ice in the dark sky, but I sensed a furtive movement amid the trees on the mountain, and I shivered.

Once we were in our room Natasha started looking for her cell phone. "I have got to call Linda," she muttered. "I can't use my computer, so I'll phone her. She'll never believe any of this. Aunt Olivia is a virtual despot, but she certainly adores that drop-dead-gorgeous cook who looks like Catherine Zeta-Jones at twenty, Cousin Will is an unrepentant sex maniac, while his brother seems to be a nonenity. Jeremy is an arrogant kid who wants to dump his new wife for Rachel. And Emma -- what gives with Emma?"

She hiccupped. "Where is my damn cell phone?"

There was a knock at the door. "If it's Cousin Will, we're out of here," my guardian assured me. But it was only Emma.

"Are you all right, Natasha? You disappeared so suddenly after dinner."

"My cell phone is missing."

"Surely not. Have you done a thorough search?"

Natasha swung open the door. "Come on in, Emma, and take a look for yourself. First my computer won't work. Now my cell phone is gone. And frankly, my dear, I've had about enough of you, Aunt Olivia, Cousin Will, and the entire Bradford family!"

Emma gnawed at her lower lip. "Please, Natasha, don't take that attitude. I apologize for Auntie Olivia. She was awful to you, but she's awful to everybody."

"Except for darling Rachel." Natasha swayed where she stood.

"Natasha," said Emma, glancing at the brandy snifter on the bureau, "you've had a lot to drink. Frankly, you look ready to pass out. I'm certain nobody took your cell phone. You need to go to bed and look for it in the morning."

"Don't patronize me, Emma."

"I'm not! But who would want to steal your cell phone?"

Natasha sat down on the bed and reached for the phone next to it. "No dial tone," she said, "and the intercom line won't work. What the hell gives around here, Emma? What is going on?"

Emma sank her teeth into her lower lip again. "I told you earlier -- I don't know what's happening. I thought you might be able to help me find out, but now I wish I'd never asked you to get involved.

Natasha tried to get to her feet, but she didn't make it. Instead, she collapsed back onto the bed -- out like a light.

Emma picked up the empty brandy snifter, raised it to her nose, and made a face. She then bent down and removed Natasha's boots, and finally pulled a comforter up over her knees. "You be a good girl, LuLu," she told me, "and look after your mistress." She picked up the brandy snifter, snapped off the lamps, and left the room, lightly closing the door behind her.

I hopped up onto the bed next to my guardian, who was snoring loudly. I was genuinely perplexed. Usually Natasha could handle her liquor, but she was out like a customer service representative. I sniffed at her face and picked up an odd scent mingled with that of the alcohol. Great Dog! I thought. Could my guardian have been poisoned?

But as the hours ticked by, she continued to snore away -- meaning that she was breathing. Not poisoned then, but possibly drugged? I kept a close eye on the door. It wasn't locked, so anyone could walk in.

It was very late -- the wee small hours, when I opened my eyes and realized I'd falled asleep. I heard a strange sound and sensed something was very wrong. Natasha was still out cold, so I swung my nervous glance to the door, but the sound was coming from somewhere else. I hopped off the bed, went to the window, and peered out into the darkness.

By the light of the moon I saw a dark shadow moving through the trees, and then I heard the unearthly howl. It was the ghost dog...the hound from hell.

I ran back to the bed, leaped up on it, and squeezed myself into a tight ball.

A minute later I heard the scream. It was loud, it was terrifying, and it was definitely a human scream.

I jumped down off the bed and ran to the door, where I began to scratch frantically. At last I started to howl. A few minutes later the door opened and a person stepped inside.

"Well, LuLu," said Hesper Leffler, "I think it's time my husband took you out to the barn, where you so obviously belong."

(Story to be continued...); 2:36 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS (CR 2005 LDHD)

Chapter Twelve

A burst of adrenalin shot through my system, and I turned to run away, but the housekeeper grasped hold of the leash my guardian had forgotten to remove, and brought me to an abrupt stop. I began to jerk and pull, but to no avail.

"Cut that out!" she commanded. "Now don't make me mad, dog, or I will spank you!"

Spank me? Instinctively I relaxed. My guardian occasionally threatened to spank me, but she never did. Well, once or twice perhaps, but it was with a rolled-up newspaper and it didn't hurt a bit. Beat, club, or kick were fighting words, but spank didn't mean much of anything to me.

Still, I didn't want to leave Natasha, and I certainly didn't want to be handed over to Warren Leffler and put in the barn. I allowed the housekeeper to walk me out into the hallway, but when she turned to close the door, I broke free and ran down the stairs.

"Come back here!" she shouted; I kept on going.

"Hold on there, pup," said a male voice, and a man I'd never seen before reached down and scooped up all twenty-three pounds of me as if I weighed no more than a Yorkie.

"Cute little fella," he opined, as Mrs. Leffler came panting down the stairs.

Little fella? I barked my outrage -- and was answered by another bark.

Sloan was sitting under the very table where I'd sought shelter earlier in the day.

"Get help!" I told him. "She's going to give me to her horrid husband, and he's going to put me in the barn and beat or kill me."

Sloan yawned. And I realized I had badly misplaced my trust.

The housekeeper grasped hold of the leash again. "Thank you for your help," she told the man who couldn't tell a pretty, enticing bitch from a male dog. "But what, may I ask, are you doing in here?"

"Only looking for the bathroom, ma'am," he replied. "The boys and I are almost ready to roll, but I've been drinkin' coffee."

She inclined her head toward the hallway behind her. "Third door on the left." She did not look pleased. "Generally you people use the toilet in the barn."

"Well, excuse me. I believe I mistook your ladyship for my mama's cousin Hesper," he said with mild scorn, gave me a gentle scratch behind the ear, and walked off.

Mrs. Leffler flushed and shook a finger at me. "Bad dog!" she said. "Don't you do that again."

I looked around desperately for Sloan, but he was long gone.

The housekeeper dragged me out of the house and onto the snow-covered lawn. There were lights all over the place. In fact, it was almost as bright as day outside, and there were at least a half-dozen trucks parked in front of the Bradford homestead. Cousin Will saw us and waved in our direction.

"Well, if it isn't LuLu the beagle," he said, and raised his eyes to meet those of Hesper Leffler. "What's the dog doing out here, and where the hell is your worthless husband?"

She raised her chin, indicating me. "The beagle was carrying on something awful, barking and howling. I was afraid Natasha might wake up."

Cousin Will threw back his head and laughed. "My amusing but unwelcome cousin couldn't be roused by a bomb blast, Hesper. She ingested enough knock-out drops to floor a moose."

She looked disturbed. "I hope you didn't overdo it."

"She'll be fine in the morning," he said. "Trust me."

"I've heard that before."

His eyes narrowed. "So where is Warren?"

"He's not helping you?"

Cousin Will made a show of glancing over his shoulder, then looking around as if he had dropped something. "Not here, not there. Where, oh, where might Warren be?"

"Did you hear the hound?" the housekeeper asked him, lowering her voice, although I couldn't imagine why. The men loading boxes onto the trucks looked eager to be on their way.

"We all heard the hound," said Cousin Will, proving my guess correct. "We heard the hound and the bloodcurdling scream a few seconds later. Why do you think the boys are rushing the job?"

"That scream -- do you think it might have been Warren?" She looked genuinely worried.

Cousin Will leaned over and chucked her under the chin. "Hesper, sweetheart, we couldn't possibly get that lucky."

"Is everybody else accounted for?" she asked nervously. "Rachel, Matt, the others?"

"Yes, yes. Evidently only old Warren is nowhere to be found. Not that I'm surprised."

"Will, you are very unkind to my husband," she complained. "After all, if it weren't for him..."

He interrupted her. "In the words of the poet Juvenal, Hesper: 'No one ever suddenly became depraved.' Warren Leffler has been an ill-disposed little worm since the day he first drew breath. The only reason Roper and I put up with him is because of you and Rachel."

I tugged at the leash.

"What should I do with the dog?" the housekeeper asked, changing the subject.

Cousin Will knelt down and attempted to stroke me; I snarled at him. "Uh-ho," he said, "and she's already had a taste of my blood." He stood up. "Denny," he called out. "Denny, come over here for a minute, will you?"

The man who had captured me in the hallway loped across the lawn.

"Take this ferocious little beagle down to the barn and stick her in one of the pens," Cousin Will told him. "But be careful. She's a terror."

Both men laughed as Denny picked me up with one hand, and pressed my snout against his shoulder. I couldn't breathe and could scarcely wiggle. But Denny smelled nice, I thought -- like sweet, dried leaves of some sort, and I momentarily lost some of my fear.

He crossed the lawn, holding me close, and I smelled the barn before I saw it. It reeked of a strong mixture of dog, cat, and other animal scents. In other words, it smelled pretty good. The building was dimly lighted, but I saw a blur of canine faces just before Denny set me down in a tiny cubicle filled with straw. "Now you be good, you hear?" he said, and tickled me behind my ear again. "Aw, you're a sweet pup," he remarked just before leaving. But when I looked up, I saw that I was behind bars.

"Don't leave me here," I barked in fright. "I'm claustrophobic! I get panic attacks and have night terrors!" In absolute despair, I started to howl.

"For Dog's sake, jiggle beagle! Calm down."

I whipped about. Sloan was standing directly behind me, a wide grin on his face. "Bet you thought I'd abandoned you."

If dogs could blush, I would have. Instead I asked, "How did you get in here?"

"There's a hole in the wall right behind that pile of straw in the corner," he said. "When you barked about being taken to the barn, I came down here and waited for you."

"You mean we can get out?" I asked excitedly.

Sloan sat down. "Sure, if you want to, but I'd think about it, LuLu. There's what you might call a bad feel in the air tonight."

He had a good point. "I heard the hound and the scream," I said.

"Admit it then, this might be as good a place as any to stay put, right?"

"Better than most," barked a large bitch across the barn who looked a lot like Buck. "Every dog on the property came running as soon as we heard the hound. I herded my two pups inside pronto."

I shuddered. "But can't he get in here?" I asked Sloan.

"It's a possibility, but so far he hasn't tried to break into the house or barn." Sloan looked contemplative. "At least, I don't think he has."

"Where did all those trucks I saw outside come from?" I asked him.

"They're here to collect our produce and take it to market," he replied.

"There's more to it than that," I contended. "Your guardian admitted to the housekeeper that he drugged Natasha, and I'm worried about her. Why would he do such a thing?"

"LuLu," said Sloan, "I don't know what my guardian has up his sleeve, but I'm sure none of the Bradfords will hurt Natasha. She's a member of their family, and they are very big on family. Further, I promise nothing bad will happen to you if I can help it."

I wasn't convinced, but Sloan seemed sincere. I relaxed enough to sit down and stretch my paws. "I hate being penned up," I admitted. "You see, in a past life I was Queen Elizabeth I of England; that's how I know all about Henry VIII. I spent a lot of time as a prisoner, and I'm still working through the trauma in this lifetime."

Sloan studied me closely. "You really do have issues, don't you, Leaping Water?"

"I guess you don't believe me."

He cocked his head. "Oh, I don't know. You say you were Queen Elizabeth; Aunt Olivia believes she's a direct descendant of Queen Marie Antoinette. It all kind of fits somehow."

"I really was Queen Elizabeth, Sloan," I insisted. "Are you sure you weren't somebody else in another life?"

"Hopefully not a human," he said, "but since he wrote 'Howl and Other Poems,' I might have been Allen Ginsberg."

I looked at him. "Are you poking fun at me, Sloan?"

He grinned again. "Would I do that, jiggle beagle?"

I batted my eyelashes at him. (Flirt when you get the chance is my motto.) "Do you like poetry, Sloan?"

"Not particularly. My guardian is always quoting the Roman poets, especially Juvenal, and frankly, it gets on my nerves."

I nodded. "He certainly seems juvenile to me, and Cousin Roper doesn't strike me as a guy whose retractable leash can hold a lot of weight without snapping, either."

Sloan blinked. "Not so, jiggle beagle," he protested. "The fact is, Cousin Roper has a few fancy degrees from Yale University hanging on his office wall. My guardian is the younger brother -- the one who didn't get the first-tier education. I've figured out that's the reason he tries to pretend he's so erudite."

"So Cousin Roper's the Border collie, and Cousin Will is the sheepdog?"

"Something like that."

He was not telling me everything, I was certain, but before I could pursue matters further, Buck lumbered up to our pen. "A body's been found," he announced in his Arnold Schwarzenegger voice. "It's human, male, and they are bringing him to the barn."

My hackles rose. "I am so out of here," I yelped, and darted toward the hole in the wall.

"Hold on, jiggle beagle," said Sloan. "Here come the men now."

In spite of myself, I glanced up as Warren Leffler and my old friend Denny came into the barn carrying between them a shapeless object covered with a blanket. When the smell hit me, I hid my face against Sloan's shoulder.

The odor of death is very specific, and once you encounter it, you never forget it.

I noticed that the outside dogs had made themselves scarce.

"Get me out of here," I said to Sloan. "I can't stand it."

"Found him outcher on the roadway," Warren Leffler was saying to Denny. "Just lyin' there...lyin' there lookin' dead."

"Too bad," Denny said, and lifted the blanket.

My heart leaped into my throat. "Sloan," I said, "I know the man. Natasha and I met him on the way up here."

"Who is he?" asked Sloan.

"Why, he's one of Mitzi's guardians," I told him.

(Story to be continued...); 2:09 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter Thirteen (CR 2005)

The sudden arrival of a corpse can wreck the most festive of gatherings, and my evening had been pretty crummy to begin with. The last time I'd seen Mitzi's male guardian (which was also the first and only time I'd seen him), he had been fully alive and sucking air. Now here he was on the floor of the barn, his eyes blank and staring, and his mouth hanging open like a trapdoor with a loose hinge.

My paws began to twitch and my head to spin. I pushed past Sloan, and bolted for the hole in the wall and freedom.

"Jiggle beagle -- wait!" I could hear the tags on his collar jangle as he charged after me. But I was not about to stop. I slipped easily through the hole and rapid-pawed it across the lawn and up onto the porch. I darted through the wide-open front door.

"LuLu, wait!"

I greyhounded it up the stairs and sped down the hall toward Natasha's room, barking hysterically. The door, of course, was closed.

"Natasha, wake up!" I yelped. "Let me in!"

I think I must have fainted, because the next thing I knew, there was Gizmo, the civilized Pekingese, gently licking my forehead and pawing my shoulder. "Little LuLu," she said in her charming, cultivated voice, "go with your friend Sloan. Natasha is fine for now. Don't worry, I'll watch over her."

"Jiggle beagle?" Sloan's voice drifted into my consciousness like greasy puddle water oozing down a grate.

I opened my eyes. "What happened?"

"You threw yourself against the door," he said. "I think you knocked yourself out for a minute."

My paws began to twitch again.

Sloan looked concerned. "LuLu, you were howling something fierce on your way up here, and I'm afraid we're going to get tossed back into the barn."

From Sloan's tongue to Dog's ear, I thought, when I heard footsteps fast approaching.

"Follow me," said Sloan. "Time to rocket-beagle down the back stairway."

Rachel was busy making coffee when we arrived in the kitchen. She looked tired and upset, but she managed to smile when she saw us.
"You two," she said. "A little early yet for breakfast, isn't it?"

Sloan ran over to the pantry door, placed his forepaws against it, and whimpered.

"So that's what you want," said Rachel. "Well, all right, but you guys be good in there." And she opened the door just wide enough for us to scoot inside our fragrant little sanctuary.

"We can stay in here until morning," Sloan told me once the door had closed behind the pretty cook. "Nobody will bother us. I can practically guarantee it." He sat down next to me. "Now, do you want to tell me who Mitzi is?"

I stretched out on a small carpet that smelled deliciously of peppermint and ginger. "She was just a dog we met at a restaurant on the way here," I said. "She belonged to the man in the barn and his wife. They were going in a different direction. I can't imagine how he ended up here."

Sloan brought over the bone he had taken from me earlier. "Here, jiggle beagle, have a good chew." He yawned and stretched. "I'm thoroughly tuckered, Leaping Water, so good-might. Maybe we can sort everything out in the morning."

A few minutes later I heard him snoring.

I was tired but fought against sleep. All I needed was an attack of night terrors, and I'd wind up back in the barn with the corpse for sure. But at least I could rest. People came and went in the kitchen. I heard Jeremy's voice, sounding high-pitched and nervous, and Matt's, sounding weary. They weren't talking about anything of interest, though. It was very late, and I couldn't help but wonder if the majority of the Bradford family usually stayed up until four or five o'clock in the morning -- corpse or no corpse.

I yawned. It seemed unlikely.

After a while the warm darkness and delicious, spicy aromas in the pantry put me into a somnolent state. I lay my head on my paws and felt all three of my canine eyelids close. I wanted to dream about Gizmo because she gave me courage, but instead I dreamed about Mitzi. I hadn't liked the little terrier mix, but I saw her shivering with fear in a dark, scary place. Then I flashed back to earlier in the day...when I saw Mitzi with her female guardian in front of that motel. Her guardian had seen me watching them and fled.
Very odd behavior. Finally I fell into a deep, deep sleep and didn't dream at all.

When I woke up there was sunlight inching its way beneath the pantry door and the tap, tap, tap of familiar footsteps coming toward the kitchen.

"All right, where is she?" I heard Natasha demand. "Where is LuLu?"

She sounded blazing mad.

"She's in the pantry," Rachel replied, making an effort, I thought, to sound calm, cool, and collected. "She and Sloan are both in there, safe and sound."

"Get her! I want my dog out here now."

The door opened and the light came on. Sloan snorted, passed gas, and rolled over. I stood up and shook myself off.

"LuLu..."

Natasha knelt and opened her arms. Like any loving dog hoping for a treat, I ran to her. At first I thought she looked well-rested, meaning that whatever her cousin had slipped into her drink the night before hadn't done her any harm. Then I realized she was still wearing the clothes she'd had on the night before, her hair was a mess, and she wasn't wearing makeup. She had also removed her tinted contact lenses, and her eyes looked muddy.

"I was worried about you, LuLu," she said, and glared over her shoulder at Rachel. "How on earth did she wind up down here?"

"Please don't be upset, Natasha..."

"Make that 'Miss Bradford.'"

Rachel crossed her arms and assumed a defiant air. "All right, Miss Bradford, I'll tell you. You drank yourself under the table last night and passed out, cousin. Your dog started howling, and my mother went upstairs to get her. I put her in the pantry with Sloan, and that's all there is to the story."

"Not by a long shot!" I barked, but neither woman was paying any attention to me.

"Your mother was in my room?" asked my guardian with the calm ferocity of a dog getting set to lunge.

"She is the housekeeper, and LuLu was causing a disturbance." Rachel's dark eyes were wary, but she held her ground.

Natasha bent down and picked up my mangled leash. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you outside." Like a smart dog, she was allowing her opponent to retain her territory -- at least for the time being.

Sloan roused himself and trotted after us.

"Warmer weather," I observed, as we headed for the bushes. "There's grass poking through the snow."

"I hope it doesn't warm up too much before they get that corpse in the barn planted," he said, hiking a leg.

I felt my stomach heave.

"Now, now, jiggle beagle," he said, "try not to think about anything dead until after we've had breakfast."

Unfortunately, that proved to be impossible.

Once we were back in the house, Natasha made directly for the dining room and a cup of black coffee. Sloan and I automatically followed her.

All the Bradfords, with the exception of Aunt Olivia, were already seated at the massive table, looking about as joyless as a litter of plaid Dalmatians.

Emma, as usual, was gnawing on her lower lip. "Oh, Natasha," she wailed.

My guardian sat down. "What? Rachel told me I got drunk last night, but it can't have been that bad."

Cousin Roper's expression was as grave as a gas chamber attendant's, and Cousin Will didn't look too merry himself.

"Natasha," he said, "we found a body early this morning."

The coffee in her cup sloshed onto its saucer before spilling over onto the gleaming white tablecloth.
She blinked. "What?"

"I doubt we can blame it on rattlesnakes this time around," put in Jeremy Sawyer, who followed his sorry attempt at humor with an inane giggle.

"Jesus, man," chided Matt. "A guy's dead."

Jeremy pulled a face. "So what? I mean, it's the same old same old. No ID, right? Nobody knows who he is or how he got here?"

"Jeremy!" Roper's voice was as sharp as a whiplash. He nodded to his brother. "Go ahead, Will."

"If you don't mind, ladies," said Cousin Will, "we would like you to accompany us out to the barn to take a look at the corpse."

Emma swayed in her chair, and Emily choked on her coffee. Only my guardian kept her cool. "For what possible purpose, Will?" she asked.

He hesitated a beat. "Well," he said finally, "there is the remote possibility that you might know him."

She smiled. "I don't even live in Pennsylvania," she reminded him, "and I haven't been here for more than a day. That's a pretty remote possibility, cousin."

Roper spoke up again. "Natasha, please help us out here. We're simply trying to cover our bases."

She took a sip of what was left of her coffee, and I noticed that her hand was quite steady. "So where are the police?" she inquired. "You have managed to contact them, haven't you?"

"We phoned the sheriff," Will assured her, "about an hour ago."

She nodded. "I see, and the body was discovered...exactly when did you say?"

"What difference does it make?" Will shot back testily.

Natasha set down her coffee cup. "Old habits die hard, Cousin Will," she said. "I used to be an investigative reporter, and when faced with a murder, I tend to ask questions."

"My gosh!" cried Emma. "Who said anything about murder?"

Natasha shrugged. "Suicide, murder -- whatever." And she took another sip of coffee.

"I suggest," said Roper, 'that we get this ordeal over with before breakfast is served."

"Oh, by all means," my guardian rejoined. "We don't want anybody to puke during le petit dejeuner, now do we?"

Cousin Will glared at her, but Roper managed a weak smile.

"Coming jiggle beagle?" asked Sloan, as the group, which now included Rachel and Hesper Leffler, filed out of the house and headed toward the barn.

I shook my head. "I've already seen the corpse -- remember?"

"But your guardian hasn't."

This was true, and Natasha was bound to recognize Mitzi's owner. I should be there for her, I thought. Then again, she had yet to hand over so much as a sliver of beef jerky after our long night apart. On the other hand, I was curious.

I trailed well behind Sloan and the group of family members who were entering the barn; a good thing thing as it turned out, because I have sensitive ears.

Less than five minutes after the Bradfords went into the barn to try to identify the corpse, a piercing shriek rang out, and Sloan tore out of the barn so fast, I thought his tail was on fire.

"Holy squirrel mites, jiggle beagle!"

Emily Sawyer stumbled out of the barn a split second later. Her eyes were wild and her face was the color of month-old cottage cheese. Emma was right behind her, making nervous, birdlike sounds while chewing on her lower lip and fluttering her hands.

"Emily, dear..."

"Get away from me!" the younger woman screamed. "Don't come near me or try to touch me. You killed him! You monsters killed him!"

Her mother-in-law turned around and fled back into the barn.

Emily took a few more steps before falling to her knees and sobbing hysterically, while clawing at a wet mixture of mud and snow. "Murderers!" she shouted. "Murderers! Murderers!"

I wasn't too surprised when Hesper Leffler, aided by my guardian, stepped in and took charge. The housekeeper delivered a solid smack that set Emily's head rocking, and Natasha, who could yank a mean leash when she had to, hauled her to her feet.

"Whiskey, I think," said my guardian, and Mrs. Leffler nodded in agreement as they helped the girl back to the house.

"Where's Jeremy?" I asked Sloan.

A stupid question, of course. Jeremy was in the barn with the rest of the family, including Emma and Rachel Leffler. I somehow doubted he was making much of an effort to console his distraught mother.

(Story to be continued...); 2:42 AM
Anonymous said...: THE HOUND OF THE POCONOS

Chapter Fourteen (CR 2005)

Sloan trotted off toward the barn, while I followed the three women back to the house. A few feet shy of the porch, the large bitch who looked a lot like Buck caught up to me.

"I'm Frieda," she introduced herself, "Buck's siser and cur-dog Gnasher's bitch. Did I hear you tell Sloan the dead stench in the barn had a dog?"

Frieda was one big girl, I decided, the kind of dog who used to march into battle with ancient armies -- but she had gentle eyes. Maybe it had to do with her being a mother.

I nodded. "He also had a wife. My guardian and I met the three of them on our way up here. Why do you ask?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she lowered her great bulk of a head, growled softly, turned and walked away. I couldn't help but wonder if she'd already found Mitzi and eaten her.

Before I allowed my imagination to wreck the entire day, I raced up the steps and into the house.

The three women were seated in the same room where the party had been held the night before. Hesper Leffler was busy at the bar, while Natasha sat on the sofa, holding Emily's hand. Emily herself looked dazed, like she'd been mauled by mastiffs.

"I hate that stuff," she protested, when the housekeeper urged her swallow a little whiskey.

"Drink it anyway," insisted Natasha. "Trust me -- you need it."

But Emily stood (or rather sat) her ground. "No, no. Thank you, you've been very kind, but I'm all right now. I'm not sure what happened. I just...I guess the thing is, I've never seen a dead person before."

"Never?" My guardian blinked. When she'd been an investigative reporter, she had seen plenty of dead people; I'd heard all the stories, and realized it was hard for her to imagine anybody reaching the ripe old age of twenty without encountering a corpse or two.

Emily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before Mrs. Leffler could supply her with a tissue. "No...well, I did see my parents, but it wasn't the same thing. They'd been fixed up by an undertaker, and they looked very nice in their coffins. It wasn't like..." She broke off and started to sob again.

"Drink some whiskey, Emily," said Hesper Leffler, and since the housekeeper was literally holding the glass against her chin, the girl finally consented to take a small sip.

Natasha dropped her hand. "Do you know who the man in the barn is?" she asked, beginning to sound impatient and more like an investigator instead of a semi-sympathetic relative.

Emily choked. "What? No! How could I?" She acted surprised and befuddled, like a retriever who had brought back a decoy instead of a duck.

Natasha sighed. "Oh, come on, Emily, you might never have seen an unrepaired corpse before, but your reaction was completely over the top. You really crashed and burned out there on the lawn, kiddo."

"I have seen better corpses in my time," admitted the housekeeper. "After one look at that guy, I felt like throwing up."

"He wasn't a pretty sight," Natasha agreed, "but Emily wasn't sick, she was hysterical." She turned back to the trembling girl.
"You've got to tell somebody the truth," she said, "and it might as well be me."

"I never set eyes on the man before!" cried Emily. "Please let me alone! I don't know who he is." And having said her piece, Emily reached for the glass of whiskey and downed the contents in two quick swallows.

Natasha leaned back against the sofa looking pissed. "Well, I've set eyes on him before," she said. "I just wish I could remember if he mentioned his name."

"How very interesting, Cousin Natasha," remarked Jeremy Sawyer from the doorway, where he stood beside his mother. He never so much as glanced at his wife, but kept his eyes on my guardian. "Do you think our dead man might have followed you here?"

Natasha studied him for a long time, the way she sometimes studies the little offerings the cats manage to drag into the house. "Considering I met the man and his wife at a drive-through restaurant on the way up here, and spent roughly fifteen minutes in their company, what possible reason would he have had for following me?" she asked. "I somehow doubt he would have been urged on by lust, and while it's not always easy to judge, he didn't strike me as psychotic."

At that moment brothers Bradford came into the room, and Cousin Will made directly for the bar. "For once Jeremy may have a valid point," he said, while mixing a preprandial cocktail for himself. "You have led a pretty interesting life, wouldn't you say, Cousin Natasha?"

She raised her chin and her eyes narrowed. "Meaning exactly what, Will?"

"Meaning," said Jeremy, eagerly leaping into the breach, "that you were once married to Victor Cavalon, the actor who played all those freakish roles in psycho movies twenty some years ago. Cavalon's life has to have been awfully kinky, and you must have known a lot of major weirdoes in your time."

"When my husband wasn't working, he played a lot of golf," said Natasha, sounding bored. "Of course I made him keep the severed heads and books on demonology locked away in the attic." She smiled. "I will admit, a few of his golfing buddies were a little strange."

Jeremy was not about to let up. "And what about your own line of work," he said, "when you were the hotshot investigative reporter? I'll bet you upset a lot of people in those days. Maybe somebody finally hired a hit man?"

"Jeremy!" Emma gnawed on her lower lip. "You have no right to talk to Natasha that way."

But my guardian merely laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "It would seem your son is quite the fan of TV crime dramas, Emma." She paused. "And I thought he had better things to do."

Jeremy flushed.

Natasha turned to Cousin Will, "As for the life I've led, when it comes to interesting adventures, I'm sure I'm a novice compared to you."

For a split second I had the impression Cousin Will was ready to bludgeon my guardian where she sat, then I saw his brother shake his head -- an almost imperceptible gesture, but Cousin Will got the point and reined himself in at once. "Forgive me, lovely lady," he said. "We've all been under a strain and you've held up wonderfully. I believe it was Cicero who said: 'It shows a brave and resolute spirit not to be agitated in exciting circumstances.'" And he raised his glass to her.

Jeremy Sawyer opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted before he got started by Matt, who came in to announce that the sheriff had arrived.

Unfortunately, Matt wasn't good at entrances. He tripped over my mangled leash, and since I'm a great believer in self-preservation, I yelped as though I'd just been kicked.

"Poor little LuLu," he said, and knelt down and unclasped the damn thing. "There -- you're free now and can't get tangled up."

I wagged my tail. Matt might be as bland as stale chicken treats, but he seemed like the best of the Bradfords.

I followed him out onto the porch just as a bright and shiny SUV pulled up in front of the homestead, and the sheriff and two of his deputies got out. Trailing right behind them was a far less impressive ambulance with two dented fenders.

I guessed the guy wearing a star pinned to his L.L. Bean jacket was the local sheriff, and I also guessed he was closely related to the Bradfords. He was tall, dark, and fit perfectly into the litter, as did his two young deputies. I wasn't sure about the paramedics who got out of the ambulance with far less bounce, although one of them with the eyes of a doe slightly resembled Matt.

Cousin Will, glass in hand, came outside to greet the "boys" as he called them, and the backslapping party which followed reminded me of a gathering of male dogs around one of the fire hydrants back home in Lincoln Park.

"How's it goin', Will, Matt?" asked the sheriff -- backslap, backslap, backslap.

"How's it goin'?" Deputy #one -- followed by more backslaps.

Ditto for Deputy #two.

"I understand," said the sheriff, removing a sleek pair of wraparound dark glasses, "that we've got ourselves another corpse."

(The paramedics, possibly because they had not been included in the blackslapping routine, stood silently by, wearing hangdog expressions on their faces.)

"'fraid we do have a corpse," said Cousin Will, his large teeth completely bared in a wide grin. "'fraid we do. Come on inside before you get to work, boys, say hello to Roper, and take the chill off." He nodded to the paramedics. "You boys come on in too." Then he backslapped the sheriff again. "Your presence here just might calm down the womenfolk, you know what I mean?"

The sheriff nodded, winked, and all the men laughed.

"Who are these clowns?" I asked Sloan, who had come running the moment he saw the flashing lights.
"They make Lassie look like Inspector Dogleash."

"Dalgliesh," he corrected me, "but they're all right -- at least for this part of the world. They're members of the family, obviously. Well, most of them."

"How very convenient."

Cousin Roper met the sheriff and his merry men in the front hallway. "We've got a problem," he informed them.

Will knocked back what was left of his cocktail and raised his eyebrows. "You mean, something aside from the corpse in the barn?"

Everybody but Roper and Matt chuckled.

"It's Natasha," said Roper. "She's upstairs packing. She says she's leaving, and we can't let that happen."

(Story to be continued...); 1:26 AM
LuLu said...: No part of this story may be copied or reproduced in any form except by the written agreement of LDHD; 1:33 AM
Anonymous said...: We hope you have enjoyed these excerpts from LuLu's upcoming book: The Hound of the Poconos.
Let us know your thoughts; feedback is always important to us.
Beginning Wednesday, February 15th, a new column: Lincoln Park Poop, by Morey the Mutt, will kick off~; 9:59 PM

LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

: Name: LuLu

I am a single five-year-old female Beagle, shown here by myself, while my mix-up of a sister sings the praises of mutts on my blog. Well, let her. I have a most intriguing (one might even say lascivious) past, at least according to my autobiography. In a former lifetime I was Queen Elizabeth the Ist of England, and later on (among others) I was Nell Gwynn, Pauline Borghese, Louise Brooks, and eventually just lovable, neurotic, adorable ME. I have a perfectly charming, albeit very annoying, sister named Sadie. She's rarely plagued by conscience, possibly because she's a Sagittarius. To date she has attempted to steal most of my boyfriends, meaning we're quite used to fighting over bones. Sadie and I are the same age, although she's the adopted one. We do have a fair amount of things in common. For example, she was once Mary Queen of Scots, and later on both Barbara Villiers and Marlene Dietrich. Amazingly we get along -- at least when we're before the public~

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LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

Monday, November 07, 2005

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LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

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