A trip to California can be a time for conversation and great scenery. In these parts, it always involves a drive over Donner Pass at the top of the Sierra Nevada’s. Yes. The very Donner Pass where, in the winter of 1847, a group of 87 pioneers were caught in a November snowstorm. By February, only 48 people remained. I’ll leave the rest to your prior knowledge and imagination.
Oliver’s girlfriend has spent the last week enjoying balmy days in California. A girl on a mission, it was necessary for her to have a few days away to visit an old love. Please don’t tell Oliver. His little soul would be crushed. The truth is, her heart has been promised to another and this “other” lives in a small town in Northern California. The Mysterious Marine and I took a road trip yesterday to bring her back home.
I shall give this girl the name “Wookie”. A little derogatory when used to describe a female marine, the name fits her perfectly. (You all know I never use REAL names). Wookie is an Aussie-Berne-Doodle (Australian shepherd, Bernese Mountain Dog, and Poodle). In short, a very desirable and valuable dog. But, her breed description doesn’t describe her true talent. Wookie can smile. Not just a little. At her happiest times in life, she absolutely smiles a deliberate broad and wonderful smile while wiggling to get in your lap. She is the happiest dog in the world. He smiles are appropriate, contagious, and human. She saves them for occasions that deserve them.
While away on her visit of love, far from home, she was accused of a crime most foul. MURDER. Having been found with a few feathers in her mouth, it was deduced that she had dispatched a chicken while on her visit. Her welcome was suddenly cut short because, of course, she was marked as one of “those” dogs that couldn’t be trusted around feathered friends. In horror, it was important that she leave as soon as possible, hence the quick trip to California.
All things considered, there isn’t much to report about the trip itself. The bluest of skies. Crisp, cold temperature that warmed up to California sunshine on the other side of the pass. Trucks, trucks, trucks, and more trucks. Terrible roads. Hours spent talking about this and that. In a flash, we arrived to be greeted by four or five dogs of varying sizes. The only thing they shared was the intensity of their energy as they jumped in delight.
Upon our arrival, I noticed a puppy to the side of the yard pulling the stuffing out of a toy. At least, I believed it was a toy. How often I’ve snatched stuffed toys from Oliver, always a little too late. What is it about the squeaker in the middle? Is it puppy crack? Well across the yard, the adorable little dog was too busy to come and greet us. We were too interested in finding a bathroom to investigate just what it was that captivated the little guy.
On a mission, we were there to pick up our girl and hit the road. With no one home except the dogs, it was easy to focus.
Until we went back outside to leave.
It was then, the horror of the moment was realized.
There
had
been
another
murder
of
a
feathery
kind.
While no feathers had been present when we went in the house, a few short moments later, there were feathers over the entire yard. The residents of the coop across the drive were in shock. Another friend was gone, never to be seen or heard from again. Lucille had vanished into a puff of fluff, her cluck never to be heard again.
And so, the “Who Done It” began.
Quickly, it became evident.
Wookie’s lover held one lone foot in his mouth.
Lucille’s foot. One single three-toed reptilian foot.
Just like that, the murder was solved. The murderer identified.
With a sternness only found in a true Marine, the foot was retrieved, along with a few other body parts. It seems the littlest of the pack hadn’t been tearing about a toy after all. Let’s just leave it at that. Crime starts young.
The best news of the day is that Wookie had not one feather in her smiley little mouth. She was the perfect lady, certainly not responsible for the earlier killing for which she had been accused nor the present blood bath. We knew she wasn’t capable of such a heinous act as only a loyal dog parent would.
After cleaning up the crime scene, the three of us hurried back to the other side of the mountain where chicken is what is served for dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy.
RIP little chicken. Over the Rainbow Bridge, you go.
More tomorrow.