Tuck, the teenager down the street, was trouble personified. Don’t get me started. And ever since his acquisition of a crossbow, an irresponsible Christmas gift from his incarcerated uncle Jim, the neighborhood had been experiencing a suspicious escalation in unsolved misdemeanors involving dead birds and flat tires. I barked a lot but the powers that be failed to connect the dots. Unfortunately, when word got out that Sparky would retrieve anything as long as he was convinced it had something to do with badgers, Tuck was among the first to exploit my pal’s grit, determination and character. Newsflash puppies: Trust no one. “Hey Sparky,” Tuck said, “I need your help nabbing a really big batch of badgers.” My pal, thrilled to be of service, began stretching. Tuck went on to explain that this particular family of elusive critters was located behind glass, in the refrigerated section of Mr. Mevel’s Stop ‘n Go Market, two streets over and one block south. When Sparky inquired as to how he’d recognize his target, Tuck showed him a tall can of Budweiser with an arrow shot through it. Long story short, it wasn’t long before Mrs. Baxter got a call from Mr. Mevel explaining that Sparky was in his store wrestling with a case of beer that was much heavier than he (Sparky) was. Which reminds me of the time Mrs. Baxter started playing Gregorian chants, loudly, at breakfast.
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