Chapter 5

Emmett & Sherlock

Tramp felt like the dog Shannon had described when he saw his new family change. They were mad when he brought carp smells into the yard, and they were happy when he slept on their shoes.

It snuck up on Tramp like an “Aha” moment, one of those big moments Emmett talked about when he was reading a book, that point when everything started to come together and make sense.

Emmett had the big thick wingback chair in the living room Tramp used to guard the house. It was the kind of chair one could sink into and nobody would ever be bothered. Except Tramp.

Tramp loved curling up on Emmett’s feet close to his black dress shoes. Emmett told Tramp his black dress shoes showed he was a good businessman. He wore them all the time, except when reading. Tramp thought maybe he took them off just for him to put his nose in. And, of course, Tramp loved the smell of feet. A dog could tell so much by the smell of his people’s feet.

“Here it is, Tramp, the ‘Aha’ moment.” Emmett had a huge smile on his face.

Tramp twisted his head and squinted his eyes. Sometimes his people didn’t make sense. “Okay, Tramp, I know you want to know what I’m talking about. Let’s say you’re doing something you really like—rolling in the dead carp for example—and you never questioned why you were doing it. Then the reason why comes out of nowhere and you go, ‘Aha, now I get it.’ That’s an ‘Aha’ moment. If you figure out why you like rolling in the carp, you’d have an ‘Aha’ moment. Then tell me, ’cause I sure don’t get it.”

Emmett always smiled after yelling out

“Aha,” and scratched under Tramp’s chin.

Tramp stood on his back legs, put his front paws on Emmett’s knees and barked, “Aha, now I get it.”

“You get it, don’t you Tramp? You do get it,” Emmett said and smiled his big smile. Tramp purred like Calico and raised his head up and down like Pauly. It was almost the way he’d seen his people nod.

“My favorite author is Arthur Conan Doyle. He writes about the best detective in the world,” Emmett said.

Tramp barked at the word ‘detective.’ Shannon had told him that, if he’d been human, he would’ve been a detective. He wanted to know more about the book Emmett held in his hand.

“The protagonist is Sherlock Holmes. He’s the best detective in the world. He says things like ‘There is nothing like first-hand evidence.’ That’s from one of my favorite cases,

‘A Study in Scarlet.’ What he means is he can figure out what happened because of clues. I’ll bet you have those same instincts. I’d call them ‘blood memories,’ much like a chin, an ear, a tail, handed down from one generation to the next. You’d be a great detective, Tramp. Mark my words.” Emmett smiled his big smile and scratched under Tramp’s chin.

 

The next morning Tramp was standing at the lake, his paw in the water next to a big fat dead carp. He was in control of that carp and could push him around and get cool at the same time. “Aha,” he barked. He had figured it out. That’s why he came down to the lake every chance he got to roll with the carp. He was cool and in control. But it didn’t mean he’d change. He still went home smelly and wet and had to head down the basement steps.

The next time Emmett yelled “Aha,” Tramp looked up at him and bobbed his head. Emmett looked down at Tramp, twisted his head to the side. He squinted his eyes.

“Tramp,” Emmett said, “we may be the only family in the world whose dog understands every word they say,” he said and scratched under Tramp’s chin.

It wasn’t just Emmett’s words, but his hands and his eyes that made Tramp feel part of the family, a little in control and a little cool.

Only special humans knew that all animals have the ability to be like them. It takes a special family to bring the human out in a dog. Tramp was part of that family.