Adventures of Bob the Dog - Witness Protection program

You are not going to believe this. Oh, wait, if you have kept up with Bob the Dog over the months, of course you will believe it. What am I thinking?  If you don't know what I'm talking about when I mention Bob the Dog, you need to go back to the very beginning - all the way back to here. And as you read about Bob and his escapades, there is one important thing to keep in mind. This is NOT my dog!

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped at Torchy's Tacos on Burnet Road for lunch, as I often do after a session at the recording studio. I ordered the #3 plate and sat down at an inside table to wait for my order. I'm chowing down on the chips and salsa when I hear a "Pssst!"  I look around the room, but I don't see anyone trying to get my attention.

    "Pssst! Turn around slowly mate!"
I knew that voice. Oh, did I know that that voice. I looked behind me - and still nothing.
    "Crikey, mate. I said slowly!"
And there he was, peeking out through the food pass-through window. Bob the dog, complete with apron and hair net.
    "Don't say anything. Come to the back door when you are done. Tap out "shave and a hair cut" and I'll open the door."
Shave and a...? Oh, I get it, the secret knock. I started to say something, but by then Bob was nowhere in sight.

I ate my taco, but I really didn't enjoy it. I was really wondering what in the world Bob was up to now, and why so mysterious. I finished and walked outside and around the building. There was the usual "No Deliveries between..." sign on the door, but I knocked anyway. And yes, I did the "shave and a hair cut" knock. Immediately the door opened and Bob grabbed me, pulled me inside and pushed me into a broom closet, partially closing the door. He peered out through the narrow crack and then closed it altogether.

    "Bob, you want to tell me what's going on?" I asked.
    "No time for that, mate. I only have a tock or two, then it's back to work."
    "Okay, Bob I understand that you're busy. Come by the house when you get off, or I'll meet you some where," I said.
    "Not a bloody chance, mate. They are going to move me tonight; that's the only reason I spoke up. I'll be gone tomorrow."
    "Who are 'they', and what do you mean they're going to move you?"
    "Witness Protection. Only they call it Witness Security now."
    "You're in a Witness Protection Program??"
    "Shhh! Not so bloody loud! Yes, I'm in a WitSec program. There are some very nasty blokes after me hide and I'm laying low."

I just looked at him, and he went on to explain that when he had his little "dust-up" with the TSA in Los Angeles he got out of that jam by trading information about drugs stashed in the baggage area at LAX for his freedom. Turns out that while he was "burrowed in the bags" he saw way too much and part of the deal was that they had to keep him hidden until they could arrest and jail those involved.
    "I thought you smelled out those drugs, like a drug sniffing... well, you know, dog."
    "Crikey! After Nashville, I couldn't smell a poesy if it was shoved up me nose."
I decided to let that one go. He said that he hoped this would all be over in a couple of months, and he would get in touch "when this barney was over" and just like that I was out the door. But that's not the whole story.

I stopped at Torchy's this past Wednesday and Bob was nowhere in sight. I casually asked the girl at the counter about him and she gave me this very funny look and said, "No one named Bob works here, or ever has in the past." Turns out stopping and asking about Bob might not have been the thing to do. After I left, in just a few blocks a black Suburban with tinted windows pulled up way too close behind me and stayed there.

Now, I admit that I read a lot of crime and mystery novels and in those stories the super-secret government agents always drive the black Suburbans, but seriously? Isn't this a bit much? It did make me nervous, though, so when I got off the Interstate I pulled into the Valero gas station - a nice, crowded, busy place - and the Suburban pulled in right behind me. I'm thinking, Okay, I know what happens next. A couple of ex-military looking tough guys in dark suits and dark glasses are going to get out and brace me right here, only what happens is a skinny guy in a rumpled polyester suit, who looks like Howdy Doody gets out and says, "Excuse me, Sir. Uh, sorry to bother, but can I ask, uh, a couple of questions?"

This little guy looks like anything but threatening, so I say, "Sure. How can I help you?" He comes over and the guy is really, really nervous. There's sweat on his forehead and his eyes are doing some kind of boogaloo, looking all around. He fumbles around and pulls out a wallet with a badge and a picture ID and says, "I'm Smith with the US Marshal Service, and I need to, uh - I need to, well, uh, I need to ask why you were inquiring about Mr. Sirius."

This throws me and I say, "Asking about who?" And he says, "Mr. Sirius; Robert Sirius. Back at, uh, back at Torchy's." I get it! Bob Dog; Robert Sirius! So I say, "You mean Bob the Dog," and this guy has a heart attack, right there!
    "Please! No names! I mean, no Bob names- I mean, uh, not that name!" and he's looking all around us like there's a bad guy behind every gas pump. Then he leans in very close and says, "Do you know where Bob, uh, Mr. Sirius is? We were supposed to pick him up, uh, I mean, meet him last week but he wasn't there. He's gone, and uh, we, uh, uh..." and he stopped talking out loud but his lips kept opening and closing.
    "You mean you've lost your witness?" I said, and Mr Smith just cringed.
    "Please," he said. "Did he mention anything about where he was going? You haven't seen him since have you?" he asked hopefully.
    "You did! You lost Bob!" And after that Mr. Smith didn't want to talk to me any more. Before he left, I assured him that I did not know where Bob was, and yes, I would be sure to let him know if I heard from Bob.

But I had my fingers crossed when I said that.

The Adventures of Bob the Dog - Hero or Heeler?

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.
 
You may not have seen this item in the Los Angeles Times this week; it was buried in a back section, easily overlooked.

TSA remains tight-lipped about terminal evacuation.

By Arthur Bell

    Transportation Security Administration officials at Los Angeles International Airport refused to discuss last Thursday's evacuation of the International Terminal. Authorities said it was an action made necessary by protocols in place and security issues prevented them from elaborating further.
    What is known is that a disturbance at one of the screening areas led to the evacuation and shutdown of the terminal about 4 pm. Witnesses said that an Australian Blue Heeler refused to go through the full-body scanner and as the alternative pat-down procedure was being implemented, shouted, "Don't touch my junk!" and fled the screening area. There is some indication that two agents were injured in the melee that followed, but the TSA would neither confirm nor deny the injuries.
    One traveler, Arley Snugh of Nashville, said that the Heeler was a minor celebrity, lead singer for the Country and Western group Bob and the Backyard Howlers, but this could not be confirmed.
   A reliable source who refused to be identified said that there had indeed an incident where a Blue Heeler fled from the screening area and was chased into the baggage handling area, precipitating the evacuation and shut down, and that the dog was subsequently apprehended.  When asked why the TSA was refusing to discuss the event, the source suggested that there was a link to Friday's press release by the DEA that announced the seizure of a huge quantity of illegal narcotics found in the baggage area of the International Terminal.
   The press release said only, "An alert individual had uncovered the drugs buried deeply in the baggage area, completely undetected by normal screening processes. The DEA refused to identify the individual.

So there you have it. Can't wait to get the whole story from Bob. If he ever gets out of jail.

The Adventures of Bob the Dog - On the Lam in LAX

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.
 
Things had been pretty quiet on the Bob front - no news since his last email while on the road as a traveling Faith Healer and Evangelist. I was feeling fortunate about that until...

You may have seen the recent news blurb about security having to evacuate one of the terminal buildings at Los Angeles International. That sort of thing happens fairly often these days, so I didn't pay a lot of attention to the item, until I got this text message:

From Bob- need name of gud lawyer asap

Uh Oh. I texted back:

From me - I don't know any lawyers, good or otherwise, What's up?

From Bob - in lax on lam from tsa. closng in

From me - My advice is surrender and go quietly.

From Bob - 2 late. already bit 2 coppers. hidng in bag hndling

From me - What happened???

From Bob - tsa wnted to look at me prvate parts on porno xray

From me - Bob. You're a dog. You don't even wear pants!

From Bob - its the princple. protestd so they begn to pat me down. thts when i bit em & nicked off

I texted back my previous advice, that he should turn himself in, but there was no reply. It's been more than 24 hours and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. At least there hasn't been anything on the news. Yet.

Brother Bob's Traveling Salvation Show

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.

And the emphasis is on traveling. When I went back the next day to the field off North Lamar where Bob and his group had pitched their tent, literally, all I found was an empty lot. There were a lot of tire tracks and gouged-up real estate, but no trace of Bob, or anyone else, for that matter.

I tried the only phone number I had but it was out of service, so I e-mailed Bob and immediately got his "Out of Office" message:

Still on the road Re: Caught your show; need to talk

Bob Dog bobdog1215@gmail.com to me

G’day Mate;

No time to chat. Bob and the Back Yard Howlers are currently on tour and it's load in, do the show, load out, and back on the bus.

Back at you later.

I guess he needs to update his message.

However, a couple of days later, I got this email:

Crikey! You saw the service?

Bob Dog bobdog1215@gmail.com to me

G’day Mate;

Glad you stopped in. I wanted to come by the old howlin' grounds, but as it turned out, we had to nick off  in a bit of a hurry. In fact we came a cooee of getting a ride in the divvy van. I really thought the Austin coppers would cut us some slack, seeing as as how much good we were doing the locals, but some blokes get aggro at a little free enterprise, I guess.

I guess you saw in the journos that the tour was bollixed. Bugle Boy and I simply couldn't agree artistically, and I swear, the young Sheila that the Sheriff was inquiring about told me she was old enough! I guess it's all for the better, though. I've finally found my true calling!

We've fetched up in Lubbock; the blokes here seem to appreciate a little old-time religion.

Hallelujah!

Bob the Dog

So all you Lubbock readers keep a lookout for a big white tent in an empty field somewhere. And lock up your daughters.

...More about Bob? Who knows? It may depend on the police.

He's back!

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.

The other evening, on the way back from The Home Depot out on on IH35, we stopped by Fresh Cup Yogurt.  I'm enjoying my cup of Bananas and Strawberry piled high with healthy fresh fruit, looking out the window at all the traffic on the back entrance to Wal Mart. Gradually it dawns on me that all this traffic is focused on the big field between Fresh Cup and the Golden Corral, which is normally nothing but a sea of grass but now boasts a very large tent and row after row of automobiles. Hmmm. Must be a carnival or maybe a circus or something.

Then I saw the sign.

Tent Revival and Healing Service Tonight! 

Reverend Bob - Evangelist and Healer

You don't suppose... surely not! I turned to Barb to say something and she's looking at me with alarm in her eyes. She is thinking the same thing I am.

"I'm going over there," I say.
"I'm staying right here," she says.

I walked over to the tent, swept up in a stream of people headed that direction; little old ladies, couples with kids, a flotilla of wheel chairs and a forest of crutches and walking canes. I push my way into the tent and take up a position in the back, against one of the poles. On the stage a band is playing "I'll Fly Away" and I'm pretty sure it's the guys from the Back Yard Howlers, only now they are wearing choir robes.

Bob is nowhere in sight but in a few minutes, the band starts in on a spirited rendition of  "Onward Christian Soldiers" and a Great Dane, who I think is Leroy, the bass player for the Howlers, takes the mike, begins a flowery introduction and sure enough, out comes Bob the Dog in a gold lame outfit so gaudy everyone in the first 2 rows had to put on dark glasses. Or maybe that's where all the blind people were seated.

Bob takes the microphone and starts working the crowd while the band is playing "Power in the Blood" softly in the background. I have to give him credit. The dog is good. He started out slow, in a melodic baritone - just a hint of the Australian accent and no slang - and gradually built up to a crescendo.

"In the hustle and bustle of daily life I wonder how many of us stop to think that in all that is highest and best we are ruled not by even our most up-and-coming efforts but by Love? What is Love--the divine Love of which the great singer teaches us in Proverbs? It is the rainbow that comes after the dark cloud. It is the morning star and it is also the evening star, those being, as you all so well know, the brightest stars we know. It shines upon the cradle of the little one and when life has, alas, departed, to come no more, you find it still around the quiet tomb. What is it inspires all great men--be they preachers or patriots or great business men? What is it, mates, but Love? Ah, it fills the world with melody, with such sacred melodies as we have just indulged in together, for what is music? What, my friends, is music? Ah, what indeed is music but the voice of Love!"

I'm impressed. That part about "love is the morning and evening star" is, is... Familiar. I've heard that before, I just can't remember where. By this time the band is playing "Shall we gather at the River" and Bob has moved through the body of his sermon and into the exhortation.

"Oh, my brothers,  are you going to put off repentance till it's too late? That's your affair, you say. Is it? Is it? Have you a right to inflict upon all that you hold nearest and dearest the sore burden of your sins? Do you love your sins better than that dear little son, that cherished daughter, that loving brother, that saintly old mother? Do you want to punish them? Do you? Don't you love some one more than you do your sins? If you do, stand up. Isn't there some one here who wants to stand up and help his brother or sister carry this gospel of great joy to the world? Won't you come? Won't you help me? Oh, come! Come down and let me shake your hand!"

And before he's through, people are trampling each other to get down the aisles!

I left before the healing service began, and on the way back to Fresh Cup, I remembered. Elmer Gantry!  Sophomore English. The whole thing - every word - is straight out of Elmer Gantry!

Oh, Bob! Now you've really done it.

...Oh yeah! This will be continued.

The Adventures of Bob the Dog - End of a career?

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.
 
I just finished reading an interview with Bob in City Dog/Country Dog magazine. He says he is over his disappointment that his first CD, "Blue Lonesome" was a colossal failure. Evidently Bob and his band, the Back Yard Howlers, are one hit wonders. He received the Country Dog Association Newcomer of the Year Silver Dish award for "I'm so lonesome I could Howl: - his single - but other songs like "I'm panting for you baby" and "Howling at the streetlight" are not to the public's liking. Bob said and that his best yodeling was yet to come, so he was not discouraged and he and the band were headed out for a big national tour and expected sell-out crowds.

Unfortunately, the word is that things are not going well on Bob's first (and perhaps final) big tour. He and his band, started out well - I hear Nutbush Tennessee sold out in in less than 6 hours – but other venues have not been so kind. Ticket sales are slow and crowds are sparse. It may have something to do with the fact that Bob failed to show up for a couple of concerts and has "behaved erratically" when he does make it on stage . The tour sponsor, Bugle Boy Dog Food, is reported ready to pull the plug.

But, true to his word, I received a money order today that paid off Bob’s “tab” – including the cost of the IDA counseling and the vet bill. He enclosed a note that said he had me to thank for getting him started on his career in the music business.

Not so sure about the career, but thanks for the money, Bob.

...to be continued. Maybe.

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – the First Single

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.

Bob the Dog and his band – The Back Yard Howlers – have released a single that’s beginning to get a lot of airplay. Frankly, I’m surprised. I thought yodeling was pretty much a thing of the past, but Bob sings some too. It’s interesting that when he sings there’s no trace of the Aussie accent. I’ve heard the song and it’s not that bad. Sort of a throwback to the days of Jimmie Rodgers, but I’m guessing that’s before your time.

The song is titled “I’m So Lonesome I Could Howl” and the last I saw it had been given an “8 kibbles” rating by City Dog/Country Dog magazine. In an accompanying article, Bob’s agent said that the band was in the studio working on their first album.

Meanwhile there’s been a lot of bad press about Bob in the newspapers and entertainment news.  Why am I not surprised? It seems he’s been accused of yodeling in the wrong back yards, among other things. He denies it, and says that it’s just “yammering from some jealous bitzers, and that he’s living on the true.” I'm not so sure about that.

One news item quoted the manager of the Opreyland Hotel as saying, "Bob has certainly worn out his welcome with us. We try to be sensitive to the the needs of guests, but repeatedly diving off the 4th floor balcony into the atrium pool is not behavior that we can condone or permit."

In the mean time, Entertainment Tonight says a French Poodle named Yvette has obtained a restraining order from the Davidson County Sheriff's Office, which bans Bob from coming within 100 feet of her. Bob claims that it's a case of mistaken identity - she's got him confused with some other bloke.

This is not my dog.

...to be continued

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – Tishomingo Take Down

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.

Last week I got a $300 bill from a Veterinary Clinic in Tishomingo, Oklahoma for “Surgical repair to the left ear of a Blue Heeler named ‘Bob’.”

I waited to see if I would get any more news about this particular issue, and sure enough in a couple of days I got an email from Bob. I’ll let you read it in its entirety:

Bob Dog bobdog1215@gmail.com to me

G’day Mate

I guess by now the postie has fetched the docket from the vet. Just put that on my shirt tail and I'll pay you back when my first album goes aluminum.

Me and the mates were playing for pints and petrol in a little joint in Tishomingo when things got a little barney. We had done both sets and were loading out when a Rottweiler who was full as a boot began howling at us. I tried to never mind him until he began going on about me mum – you know what I mean – and that's when I decided he needed sorting.

We took it out the back but it was a tee-up. The Rott and his mates had hosed down the alley and there was about a foot of muck back there and me being at least 20 kilos lighter than the Rott I didn't have much of a purchase. Well, to wrap it all up, he blinkin' near tore my ear off and if Leroy hadn't tapped him about a bit with the inn keeper’s baseball bat I might have carked it right there.

As it is, the doc needled me up and when I get the cotton out of me ear I'll be able to hear again, and of course, I do need to be able to hear so as to be able to yodel, so thanks for helping me out, mate.

Bob the Dog

Glad I could help, Bob.

…to be continued

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – Bad Dogs Anonymous

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.

It took only three days before Bad Dogs Anonymous knew that Bob was just too much dog for them and threw in the towel. They recommended their residence program, Incorrigible Dogs Anonymous, or IDA, as it is known locally.

The following Monday, Bob and I met with the counselors at IDA, who seemed a rather nervous lot. They kept looking at the transcript of Bob’s time in plain old BDA, and kept muttering things like, “You know that success depends entirely on the canine.” And “Not all dogs are meant to be domestic pets” and “You do know that our fees are payable regardless of the outcome of the program, don’t you?”

When I left, I looked back at Bob and he was looking at me with his puppy dog eyes. I might have been more sympathetic if I had not just read in the Statesman that police had recovered a taxi in Brown County, missing from Austin since a taxi-driver had been car-jacked after being called to a fake address on Cameron Road a week ago. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Bob?

I didn’t hear anything from the folks at IDA all week and I really thought that was a good sign – until I drove over there on Friday afternoon to take Bob home for week-end furlough and found the building locked and seemingly abandoned. I called the number but service had been disconnected, and when I called the folks at plain old BDA they put me on hold and never picked up the phone again.

I was a little wary of the whole situation, but Bob did not show up next door and Monday I got a fancy certificate in the mail that said Bob the Dog had completed all aspects of his rehab in exemplary order and that there absolutely was no need for further treatment. I was dubious, but frankly, I could live without Bob and his escapades. I just had to keep telling myself: This was not my dog! This was NOT my dog!

So actually I was pretty happy when I got a text message from Bob Monday night. It said simply, “FOUND OUT I CAN YODEL. ME & MATES HEADED FOR NASHVILLE.”

I just wondered who paid for the cell phone. Silly me.


Next - Tishomingo Takedown

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – Impounded!

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.

I’ll be honest and say that after some time had passed and it got strangely quiet next door – no more howling at the moon – I really, deep-down, was hoping that Bob had run off to seek his fortune elsewhere. I felt a little guilty about it, but this was not my dog, people! I should have known that I wouldn’t be that lucky and sure enough, just when I was feeling a little smug, I got a call from the Brown County dog pound. They said they had my dog; did I want to pay the fees and come get him or what?

“What do you mean you have my dog? I don’t have a dog!”
“Well, I’ve got a good-looking Blue Heeler here wearing a tag with your name and phone number on it. Is your dog named ‘Bob’?” the voice said.
“Let me talk to the dog.”
“Excuse me?” the voice said.
“Never mind. How much is the fine?
“Two hundred dollars or three 50-lb bags of Bugle Boy dog food with real beef morsels and enroll the dog in rehab. Your choice.” said the voice.
“I gotta go buy some Bugle boy. I’ll be there in the morning.”
“Be sure it's with ‘real beef morsels.’ That’s the only kind we accept.”

Turns out that they caught Bob trying to break into Underwood’s Cafeteria in Brownwood in the middle of the night. On the way home he said that he had paid good money for what he thought was the alarm code and that he should have known better than to trust a Pomeranian.

I asked him how he got to Brownwood and he said I really didn’t want to know.

I asked him how it was that he had a dog tag with my name and phone number on it and he said he ordered it over the Internet right after it became obvious that Cole was not coming back.

I started to ask him how he paid for the alarm code and ID tag, but I thought better of it. Bob is right. Some things you just don’t want to know.

“You know you’re going to have to do a rehab program, don’t you? I have to send a certificate of completion to the pound.” Bob allowed as how he could do that and he had heard that Bad Dogs Anonymous probably had the best recovery rate, so would I mind getting him in there?

So Bob the Dog is now enrolled in Bad Dogs Anonymous. I drop him off every morning and pick him up every evening. It does not bother me that when I pick him up, all the staff and administration hide behind closed doors until we leave. Much.

I’m really, really hoping that this is going to be the end of it.

I’m such a fool.

 Next - Bad Dogs Anonymous

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – the Meat Market Massacre

"Bob the Dog" adventures start here.

As soon as I saw the story on the ten o'clock news I knew Bob the Dog had struck again. The manager of the Monterrey Meat Market up on Braker was describing in vivid Spanish how a pack of “...wild dogs had burst through the automatic door and laid waste to several thousand dollars of the finest steaks, chops and ribs this side of the Rio Grande.”

At least I think that’s what he said. My Spanish is not too good, but I did recognize the word “perro” multiple times and the camera did show a trail of meat products leading out the door, where – the TV reporter informed us – witnesses said there had been a pickup waiting for the ill-gotten gain to be loaded and “swore that some kind of dog was driving.” The police naturally were skeptical and the news reporter even rolled her eyes a little, but the fact remained, a pick-up truck filled with the Market’s finest product sped away from the store.

The next morning, the newspaper picked up the story and added that the truck, reported stolen from the River City Bingo parking lot, had been found abandoned in a ditch off of Sprinkle Cut-Off Road. There were a few scraps of cellophane and some blood stains in the back, but the police were quick to point out that the blood was not human in origin and that it was most likely from a fresh Porterhouse, recently liberated from the Monterrey Meat Market, scene of yesterday’s crime. It also appeared that there had been quite a bit of canine activity in the area, based on paw prints found in the muddy ditch.

Naturally, when I checked on Bob the Dog next door, he was in his place, nice as you please, and had nothing to say about any recent felonious activity, but his eyes had a glassy protein-suffused stare and his belly was again bloated. We did talk hypothetically about how a life of crime would probably not end well for a dog, but I don’t think it made any kind of impression on Bob. The attraction of fresh, red meat is a mighty hard demon to quell. He did agree that his prospects were limited. I thought he was talking about how a life of crime would quickly turn bad for him. Turns out that he was only talking about what a paucity of meat sources he had to choose from.

Next - Impounded!

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – the Corner Store Caper

The beginning of Bob the Dog’s adventures can be found here.

Sure enough, on Friday I got a call from Raj, the manager up at the Valero Corner Store. Raj lives one street over and he’s well acquainted with Bob the Dog and said that Bob slipped into the store and wasted a rack of beef jerky and pushed over the hot dog cooker and escaped with about two dozen sizzling franks before they knew what had happened, and he had been trying to get in touch with Cole, but his phone was disconnected. Did I know where Cole was so that he could come and pay for all the damage before the home office made him call the cops?

I explained that Cole wasn’t going to be our neighbor any more, so calling the cops wouldn’t do any good, but I kept my mouth shut about Bob the Dog and the note, because I wondered if my failing to take action might somehow make me liable. After Raj hung up, I peeked over the fence and sure enough, Bob was back in the yard, fat and happy, but pretty bloated after all those freshly cooked wieners and a side of beef jerky.

We had a little talk about his adventures, but he showed no remorse and said quite frankly he was pretty tired of dry dog food and that fresh meat was now his new best friend forever. Or words to that effect. Sometimes Bob is hard to understand, what with the accent and all. We agreed that he should go on living next door as long as he could and that I would pick up some Bugle Boy dog food with “real beef morsels” as Bob allowed that was the only kind of dog food he would even consider.

I didn’t care for this turn of events, and I liked it even less when I found out that the only place in town that carried Bugle Boy dog food with “real beef morsels” was Callahan’s – way, way south – and that it cost about the same as steak at the HEB, and maybe I should just let Bob the Dog knock over Raj’s hot dog cooker every once in a while and plead ignorance of the whole thing. I knew calling Animal Control was out of the question. Bob was way smarter than any dog catcher; they had been called a half-dozen times about two brutish Pit Bulls that wandered loose up the street and the Pit Bulls – not known for finesse – had easily bested the catchers so often the City wouldn’t even send them out on that call anymore.

Besides, none of this was Bob’s fault; he had been left to his own devices and by nature Blue Heelers have active and fertile minds and if they are not kept busy, they will find their own activities – which might not fit in with conventional doggy behavior. I’m sure that’s what led to Bob’s heist of the Monterrey Meat Market.

Next - the Meat Market Massacre

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – This is NOT my dog

Let me make one thing very clear at the outset. Bob the Dog is NOT my dog.

I do not own a dog. Bob belongs belonged to my next-door neighbor Cole, and I place all the blame directly on his doorstep. Not that that does any good, because Cole is not using that doorstep at the moment and likely will not ever again darken his door, let alone use the step.

Bob the Dog is a Blue Heeler, the Australian cattle dog. Cole paid a bunch of money for Bob in the mistaken idea that he would make a good bird dog. If cows could fly, he might be, but birds are of no interest to this dog. To hide his general annoyance with the dog, Cole took huge delight in pointing out that he named the dog Bob, and greatly enjoyed working “Bob the Dog” and “Bob the Neighbor” into the conversation. I was not amused.

I should also point out that everyone in the neighborhood is acquainted with Bob the Dog – he howls. Nay, he bays at the moon. Some even call him Bob the Bugler. Complaining to Cole has been in vain to this point and is moot now because of Cole's absence. But let me start at the beginning.

About two weeks ago Cole called me from Las Vegas, where he and his wife Murleene were burning through their inheritance, such as it was. He explained that he “was on a real streak, and up many thousands of dollars, and he wanted to ride that streak while he could, so he was not coming back on Sunday night as planned, and would I please go over and feed Bob the Dog and check on him?”

Not that I was given much choice, but Bob the Dog had been howling louder than ever, so I figured he was out of food and checking on him was to my benefit. Now Blue Heelers are a very intelligent breed of dog, and Bob the Dog had already figured out that the dog food stash was on the screened-in porch and it was mere puppy play to get in there and lay waste to what remained of the supply. All that was left was a shredded sack and some pot plants gnawed to stubs. Cole had mentioned there was more feed in the garage and I knew where the key was, but I found only a half-sack in there and I knew that wasn’t going to last long so I hoped Cole’s luck would turn and they would be back before it became a crisis.

As it turns out, his luck had turned. He called me very early Tuesday morning and in desperate whispers said he had lost the thousands he was up, lost a bunch more money that he had borrowed, lost the house, lost the furniture and cars, lost Murleene, and now some very bad people were looking for him. He thought it best if he visited Montana or Canada or someplace far away for a while and he hoped that Bob the Dog could move next door and live with Bob the Neighbor. There was an “urrk” on the phone, and that’s the last I’ve heard from my ex next door neighbor, only now there’s a “For Sale” sign in front of his house and all the furniture and his car disappeared one night.

Unfortunately, Bob the Dog did not go with the furniture. I was pretty sure by the plaintive howls that Bob was out of food again, but by the time I could get over there, he was nowhere in sight. He did leave a note, however, that said he was going to go “releve the Valero Corner store of all their Slim Jims and beef jerky, and thanks for the care, mate.” Hmm. Turns out Bob is not that smart after all. He misspelled “relieve.”

Next - the Corner Store Caper