Bagsby Jones, bull dog P.I., was on the case.
He wrinkled his brow, sniffed the air and vigorously kicked his hind legs. He rarely took the time to relieve himself while on the job, but this one had been necessary. Call it an emergency that couldn’t wait. Feeling his tummy rumble he grimaced and vowed to pass on the next road kill. It must have lain in the sun too long he surmised. The next time he’d take it home to the cat.
Bagsby looked up and down the busy street, and was relieved to see his target had yet to round the corner of Big Bills Butcher Shop. Bagsby, thankful his poop stop had not thwarted the mission, sent up a silent “thank you” to Pooch Heaven.
All four of Bagsby’s, short but muscular legs, carried his stocky little body towards the perfect hideout. He had spent weeks watching and calculating the moves of the big guy, and Bagsby was confident this was the perfect place for the ambush.
Stifling a bark of laughter, Bagsby began back into a small space between two large trash cans. This maneuver proved difficult as the space was quite small. He grunted a cuss word or two and wiggled his booty back and forth until he finally squeezed within the tiny opening. It had only been yesterday, he had backed himself in with ease. Bagsby was baffled until he remembered the road kill and realized the tainted stuff must have given him gas. A repetitious rumble squeaked out his back door giving credence to this assumption. The confined space captured the ripe fragrance and wafted it to his nose. Bagsby curled his upper lip, scowled and cursed the road kill. Then he thought about the cat and smiled.
His mischievous reverie, interrupted by the sound of a whisle, dissipated at once bringing his thoughts to the task at hand. Harmonious whistling had always heralded the big guy’s approach so Bagsby knew he was close. He tensed and readied his body for the ambush. The whistling grew louder as the target rounded the corner of Big Bills. After a moment he could hear the big guy’s footsteps above the whistling, and so Bagsby hunkered his tiny (but muscular) legs closer to the ground, preparing himself for the attack. Bagsby could barely contain his excitement.
Wait for it…
wait for it…
not yet…wait for…
…and then it happened… Shoe-leather and a blue pants leg crossed Bagsby’s field of vision. Without hesitation Bagsby flung his bull-dog frame forward but his gas-riddled body wedged once again between the two trash cans. The noise startled the big guy dressed in blue and once he caught sight of Bagsby ricocheting between the two cans, he screamed and ran down the busy sidewalk dodging the passerby’s.
Fearing the big guys escape Bagsby lunged again. Adrenalin and another slippage of gas propelled him forward and away from the toppling trash cans. Bagsby hit the ground running, booking it in the direction of the fleeing target. When he was within striking distance he jumped with teeth bared and jowls flapping in the wind.
Bagsby came down on all fours with a mouth full of leather. Proud of his conquest, he vigorously shook the leather satchel which created a snow drift of stamped envelopes. The satchel’s engraved name of Newman was completely slathered with drool. Bagsby smiled, holding the satchel between his teeth. He enjoyed watching the colorful pieces of paper scatter in the wind.
Dropping the satchel he thought, “Now for the finishing touch.” Bagsby lifted his hind leg and christened the bag with yellow dew. With that done he turned, kicked his hind legs and walked towards home. He and Newman would meet again tomorrow.
However, now he had to go home and feed the cat.
Bagsby Jones snickered with the thought.