The Case of the Kidnapped Collie Read Online Free PDF Page B

smile.
    See, she had smiled at me! Holy smokes, how many nights had I dreamed of that very smile, and now here it was in front of me and it hit me like the Ray Gun of Love!
    And then her soft collie voice came floating through the air and settled into the vast caverns of my eardrums: “Hello, boys. What on earth are you doing?”
    See? She was wildly in love with me. Those were the words of a woman in love, the honeydipped words of a collie princess who had forgotten about bird dogs and all the mistakes of the past!
    At last I regained my footage and managed to speak to her in my smoothest, most charming voice.
    â€œHello, Beulah.”
    â€œHello, Hank.”
    â€œIt’s been a long time.”
    â€œYes, a long time.”
    â€œUntil moments ago, I was a hermit living in the desert, eating cactus and grasshoppers. Now, you’ve brought rain and flowers, green grass and mud puddles.”
    â€œOh my.”
    â€œYour face is just as lovely as ever, Miss Beulah. To quote the poet, ‘Your face would sink a thousand ships.’”
    She stared at me for a moment, then started laughing.
    â€œThat’s very kind of you, but I think the poet meant to say launch a thousand ships, not sink them.”
    â€œWhatever. Has anyone ever told you what an awesome nose you have?”
    She laughed again. “I don’t think anyone has ever put it that way.”
    â€œAwesome nose, Beulah. If I had a nose like yours, I’d never get any work done. I’d just sit around looking at it, and then I’d be crosseyed.”
    â€œWell, I can’t take any credit for my nose. I hope there are other qualities you like about me.” Her expression darkened. “Is something wrong with Drover?”
    He was still rolling around in the dirt.
    â€œWho? Oh, him? No, he acts like this all the time. I think he’s got worms. But back to your nose . . .”
    At that very moment, the runt sat up and proceeded to butt into my business. “Beulah, I wrote a poem, just for you: ‘Roses are red, chrysanthemums are violet/My heart’s like an airplane, but the pilot bailed out.’”
    Silence filled the air. Beulah blinked her eyes. I rolled mine. I was embarrassed. At last Beulah thought of something to say.
    â€œWell, it’s nice that you wrote a poem for me, Drover. Maybe you could work on it and make it even better.”
    I pushed myself in front of Drover. “Hey Beulah, speaking of poetry, it happens that I’ve composed a few verses myself. Get this: ‘Roses are red, that’s perfectly clear/Forget little Drover, he’s a pain in the rear.’”
    â€œHank, that’s not very nice.”
    â€œOkay, maybe you’re right. Here’s another one: ‘Roses are red, your nose is just awesome/My heart’s in a tree like an upside-down possum.’”
    She stared at me. “I think I missed something.”
    â€œWell, possums wrap their tails around a tree limb and hang upside-down, don’t you see, and . . . hey, it rhymed. Let’s don’t be too picky. I composed it on the spot. Give me a couple of days and . . .”
    Her gaze had moved away from me and turned toward the creek. “Have they started yet? I wanted to watch Plato. He’s worked so hard to get ready for bird season.”
    â€œBirds! Now there’s a subject for a poem. Listen to this one, Beulah: ‘Cardinals are red and bluebirds are blue/A dog who’d chase birds isn’t worthy of you.’”
    She didn’t hear it, which was too bad. I thought it was even better than the one about possums. She moved to the front of the pickup bed to get a better view of the bird-chaser . . . uh, Plato, that is.
    Down on the ground, I followed her around to the side of the pickup. “Hey Beulah, have I ever showed you my tricks? Watch this one.”
    I stood on my back legs and walked forward three steps. She gave me a glance and a quick