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Well, I get up around…
Don’t pay attention to the lady with the hands. I hired her as my secretary and now everyone thinks she writes the books. Why people assume a brilliant basset hound like myself can’t write is beyond me. If computers were built for paws I wouldn’t need to have any help. Even voice dictation is out—computers can’t speak dog any better than Peeps do.
I get up in the morning when Karly clatters around getting ready for school. She pees in my water bowl, and puts something in her mouth that makes her foam like she’s rabid. I try to go back to sleep, but she steps on my tail to get clothes out of the box she keeps everything except treats in.
When she opens the door, I race past her to get to the kitchen. It’s breakfast time and I don’t want Packmom to forget. Skidding into the kitchen, I generally bounce off Packmom’s legs. I need to be careful, she carries hot stuff in a mug and sometimes it splashes out. She is a klutz, like most Peeps.
After breakfast, Karly grabs her leash and she and the Boypup Joey, walk with Tillie and me. I collect my pee mail messages from trees and poles. When Tillie and I do our duty, they carefully collect it and we head home. They put the small bags into the cans where all good smelltasting things are put.
After their walk, they go to school. Since I’m already brilliant, I find my favorite sunny spot next to the living room window. Spinning three times to protect me from poultry ghosties, I collapse for a mid-morning snooze. If I hear Packmom in the kitchen I usually stroll in to check on her. Sometimes she drops food and if I don’t get it first, Tillie will snag it. She still doesn’t understand that I am the alpha in this pack. Packmom puts us out in the yard for a little bit. I use the time to make sure no evil squirrels, rabbits, or cats have tried to invade our territory.
After a hectic afternoon of yard work and hunting for treats, I take another nap. It’s important to save energy for dinner. Joey’s squeals generally wake me up. Why he can’t just walk into the house and share his snacks with me and Tillie, instead of racing in like a runaway truck, is beyond me. After snack time, Karly and I usually go to Auntie Heather’s big den. That’s where I, a proper familiar, teach Karly how to be a good green witch. She isn’t a fast learner, but I’m getting through to her. Auntie Heather helps, too. Her familiar, Roquefort the raccoon, is useless. He’s part of Auntie Heather’s pack, so I tolerate the bandit.
Afterward, we get a snack. Auntie Heather makes the best tuna fudge in the world. If Karly is done and she’s cleaned-up her magic stuff, we go home for supper. Packmom always forgets to feed me. Karly does her school work, I curl up on her feet under the fake window with the moving pictures in it.
When she’s finished, she spends more time in the little room my water bowl is in. After she goes to sleep, I slip out to discuss my book with my secretary. It’s a dog’s life.
:::jaw drops open:::George, that is not true.
It’s not often a basset hound puppy is haunted by an unhappy ghost, but George’s packmate, Tillie, manages to attract one. George and Tillie need to find out how to help the ghost before she turns into a poultry-ghost.
Enjoy an excerpt:
Tillie’s tail is spinning in circles. She’s staring at a filmy thing sitting on the steps of an old, rough-brick building. I know it’s really a large Peeps’ den, but since it’s bad to be in the dog house, I assume it’s bad to be in a house. Why don’t they just call it a den if houses are so bad? From the smelltaste of cooking, Peeps, dust, skin, and the other stuff Peeps like, there are many small dens inside. Tillie “wrrrrrtttles” again and adds a soft “wuff.” Her front goes down into a play bow. The thing she’s trying to get to play is shimmery and clear, with thick and thin spots swimming on the surface.
“Snoof. Snuffle” I lick my lips. There’s a disturbing smelltaste of dustmoldlightningozone.
It’s a ghosty.
About the Author:I’ve worked in a hazardous waste lab, where under the sign for the Right To Know law, was added: if you can figure it out. I’ve been a metals tech, a bakery clerk, a professional gardener, taught human anatomy and ran two university greenhouses. Along the way I picked up my Master’s Degree in Biology, specializing in the population genetics of an endangered plant. I am also a top breeder, handler, trainer of English springer spaniels, with three in the equivalent of the National Club’s (ESSFTA) hall of fame. Every time I think I know dogs, another dog comes along and proves my beliefs are totally wrong.