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is it?” I asked.
    We all looked to where Howie stood stock-still, his nose pointing toward the ground. Dirt. Nothing but dirt. A chill came over me as I realized that whatever was making the sound was buried beneath the earth.
    The whimpering changed to a plaintive barking.
    â€œWow,” Howie said, “I’ve heard of an underdog, but this is ridiculous!”
    Just then, Ditto squawked, “Get the door, Daisy! Get the door.”
    â€œThey’re coming!” said The Weasel. “Hurry, back to the bungalows.”
    As I turned to go, I noticed that Hamlet was shivering. I assumed, considering that it was a hot day and Hamlet’s bungalow was only a few yards from where the mysterious noises were emanating, that he shook from fear, not cold.



“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll talk to my friend Chester. He’s good at figuring things out.”
    Wow, I thought, as I raced away with Howie and The Weasel, a real paranormal experience. What would Chester say?
    â€œBaloney!” I heard him mutter as I told him the news over our dinner dishes. A wall separated us, but I knew Chester well enough to imagine just what his face looked like when he said it.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked, surprised at his response.
    â€œThis food is worse than baloney,” he answered. “I can’t believe how this place has gone downhill. I’m calling my travel agent when we get home.”
    I have to admit the food wasn’t great, butat least there was lots of it, which is a primary consideration for us canines. Cats, as you undoubtedly know, are much more finicky eaters.
    Chester gagged. In cat language, that means the current cuisine has just failed to get a four-star rating.
    â€œOh, come on,” I said, “it isn’t that bad.”
    â€œSpeak for yourself,” Chester croaked.
    On the other side of Chester, Howie piped up, “Hey, Pop! Here’s a joke that’s right up your alley.”
    Chester groaned. Howie went on anyway.
    â€œWhat do you call a fancy dance for rabbits?”
    â€œI give up, Howie. What do you call a fancy dance for rabbits?”
    â€œA hare ball.”
    Chester hissed. Howie chortled. I tried to get us back on the subject.
    â€œI’m telling you, Chester,” I said. “There was a sound coming from under the ground. We all heard it”.
    â€œMass hysteria,” said Chester. “It’s common among dogs.”
    â€œI heard it too,” The Weasel said from the other side of me.
    â€œIf that’s your star witness,” Chester told me softly, “your case is in serious trouble, Harold.”
    I was all set to express my astonishment at Chester’s failure to be excited by my discovery when the reason dawned on me. It was just because it had been my discovery that Chester couldn’t get excited. He’s usually the one who’s onto some mystery or other while I’m home napping. Well, today the tables had been turned and Chester wasn’t happy about it. I decided to try a different approach.
    â€œI wish you had been there, Chester,” I said. “ You would have known what was going on.”
    Chester began to purr. “Wellll,” he said, “purrrrhaps.” I love it when he tries to sound modest.
    â€œSay,” I said, “you don’t suppose it couldbe one of those paranormal things, do you, Chester?”
    It took a moment for him to reply. “Possibly,” he said.
    â€œMaybe a UFO has landed on the other side of the fence.”
    â€œThese things do happen.” I could hear the excitement building in his voice. “There are recorded cases. Why, in southern California alone, Harold—”
    â€œDo you think we should investigate?” I asked. I knew if I didn’t interrupt he’d be telling me about every UFO sighting he’d ever read about.
    â€œIn time, in time,” he answered, in a tone that let