Things Miss Josie likes to say to me as we walk:
- Stop pulling.
- Stop eating that.
- Stop barking.
- Stop being such a douche-canoe.
Miss Josie decided to take me to Brady’s Run Park in the morning for a long stroll. She needed to clear her head, and I needed to get my wiggles out, but we stuck to the paved trail. Neither one of us wanted to encounter a bear again.
The leaves were changing in a brilliant display of gold, red, and orange, and the air felt crisp and fresh. I breathed it in. There was nothing as good for the soul as time spent in a forest. The peace. The calm. The serenity.
Well, it would have been serene. The only problem was I happened to be in an exceptionally barky mood. I barked at a jogger, at a leaf blowing across the path, at a maple syrup gathering vat, and even at my own shadow.
I do this often. Shadows are freaky.
As we rounded a corner on the path, I saw an older man walking toward us with an ancient basset hound. The man looked like Santa, with a white beard, portly shape, and wide smile. The basset hound was off-leash and hobbled toward me. At this point, I nearly vibrated with excitement, on the verge of losing it entirely.
The man didn’t seem upset by my barking or my wiggling or the way I lunged toward his dog with a crazed gleam in my eyes. He may have been the most laid-back human I’d ever encountered.
“Why don’t you let him say hi?” he asked, giving Miss Josie a smile. “He’s being friendly, that’s all.”
Although she seemed nervous about the idea, Miss Josie carefully eased me closer. I sniffed the other dog and I stopped barking, a relief for all involved.
“Hello, puppers,” said the basset hound. “My name is Priscilla. This gentleman with me provides treats. I’m sure he’ll give you one if you’re nice.”
I greeted the man, tail wagging, and drooled all over his pants. He patted me on the head, and when I stuck my nose under his jacket, he laughed and a treat magically appeared in his hand.
“If you want this, you’re going to have to sit,” he said in a deep, hypnotic voice.
I planted my bum on the ground so fast Miss Josie gasped. There I stayed, still as a statue, until he gave me a treat. I took it from him gratefully and licked his hand afterward.
“They call me Biscuit Bob,” he said to Miss Josie. “All the dogs know me. This little guy must be Capone.”
“How do you know his name?”
He chuckled. “We heard you yelling at him as you approached. Noise carries in the forest, you know.”
“He’s right, it does,” said Priscilla. “Did you honestly bark at your shadow?”
“Guilty.”
“I bark at empty toilet paper rolls. It’s a thing with me.”
Biscuit Bob continued. “It sounds like Capone is on the rambunctious side, but don’t be too hard on him. Labradors at this age are always energetic. You have a good puppy. I can tell. I’m never wrong.”
I stared at him in surprise. “Is that true?” I asked Priscilla.
She nodded. “Biscuit Bob understands these things. He recognizes a good dog when he sees one.”
Note to self: Biscuit Bob is my new best friend.
“Be a good dog, you’ll get rewarded,” said Priscilla. “It’s canine karma.”
“Canine karma?”
“The better you behave, the more treats and good things will come your way.”
“Ohhh. Canine karma.”
Biscuit Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bacon-flavored treats.
“You’re a dog whisperer, Biscuit Bob,” said Miss Josie.
He smiled at her. “You learn as you go. And I carry a lot of treats with me. It makes me popular. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you name him Capone?”
“It was the name the breeder gave him.”
When Biscuit Bob bent over to pet me, I licked his entire bearded face. I’d never licked anyone with a beard before, and I liked it.
“I’m so sorry,” said Miss Josie, pulling me away.
“Don’t worry about it, and don’t worry about the name either. He is who he is, and you’ll figure it out eventually. Sometimes the answer is right in front of you.”
Biscuit Bob waved a cheery farewell as he walked down the path. Miss Josie repeated his words as she watched him go. “Sometimes, the answer is right in front of you.” A smiled formed on her lips. “Oh, my gosh. We need to go back home, boy.”
We got back to the shop as Mr. Nate arrived. He held two cups of coffee in his hands, and Jackson stood by his side. Miss Josie greeted him by pulling his head down for a swift kiss.
“Is this coffee for me?” she asked.
He nodded, looking adorably befuddled both by her question and her spontaneous show of affection. “Yes. It’s Ethiopian. I got it from Equal Exchange. Ethiopia was where coffee initially came from, and they grow the best coffee beans in the world. I mean, Latin America has some fantastic coffee as well, and so do other countries in Africa, but Ethiopia’s climate and the whole coffee-growing culture there creates the most consistently amazing flavors. Try it. You’ll see.”
Miss Josie took a sip. “Yum. Thank you.”
Mr. Nate shook his head. “I can’t believe the answer was so simple. Black coffee. I had you pegged for something completely different.”
“Some surprises are good,” she said, giving him a wink. Miss Josie was positively saucy this morning.
Even Jackson noticed. “What’s up with all the flirting?”
“I have no idea.”
Mr. Nate put the second coffee next to the cash register. “This is for Anne,” he said. “Cream and sugar. Were you out walking this morning?”
She nodded. “Yes, and while I was out, I thought of something. Well, thanks to Biscuit Bob, but I’ll tell you about him later. First, would you like to help me solve a mystery?”
“Of course. But why do you remind me of Nancy Drew right now?”
“If this were a Nancy Drew book, the title would be The Secret in the Old Shed.”
Mr. Nate’s eyes widened. “The shed. Cedric. The shovel.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s do this.”