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NOSES AND BONESES
By Jess the Dog Lady

DO NOT REPRODUCE THIS BEFORE ASKING ME!!!

Disclaimer

This is not a true story. It is rated PG 13 due to language and violence. None of the events in this story ever happened. In my wildest dreams, there is no way that the following events could have occurred in any way imaginable. Similarities between characters and real life is sometimes coincidental, sometimes intentional, and sometimes unavoidable. This is a chapter in the monthly series titled, Noses and Boneses. Every month I will add a continuing chapter. This is NOT an incredible work of literature... This is supposed to be a spoof that is COMPLETELY unrealistic and just for fun. It's best to read this when semi-drunk to get the full effects of the humor-- some people say I have a weird sense of humor that you need to be slightly "buzzed" to appreciate. Don't reproduce any portion of this without contacting me first, or I will hunt you down and stomp you with my size 10 boot.

CHAPTER ONE

The Undersheriff gave me a final twirl around the dance floor as the music died down to a slower paced example. I begged my way off the dance floor, eager to be away from his clammy hands and Chicken a la King breath in my ear. I rubbed my right hand as I headed back to the table at this soiree. The cold December air made my hand ache and was usually a good indicator of impending snowfall. My hand had never felt right since punching that Special Forces guy in the nose earlier this year.

The County sponsored Holiday party was one I never missed. Most of my clients worked for the local government, so this was a great chance for me to play catch up on how their dogs were doing with their new obedience skills. Invariably, they would all ask me for advice on some little problem right then and there, but I didn't mind anymore. I was used to it.

I weaved my way back to the table, smiling blandly at those I didn’t know and appearing more cheerful to those that I did. I only had another hour before I could exit gracefully and I was counting down the minutes. I hated dances and social gatherings. I can barely stand in high heels, let alone dance, and really would have prefered to be wearing my Birkenstocks while drinking wine at home.

I got to the table and reached for a sip from my glass of White Zinfandel. Since I was always "on call" lately, I had the pleasure of milking this one pathetic drink for several hours until it was socially acceptable for me to leave. One of the guys that worked for the Road and Bridge Department tapped me on the shoulder then asked me for a dance as I raised my Wal-Mart handbag from the table. The Chanel handbags and Ferragamo shoes had left me when I moved to the Colorado mountains.

Perhaps Doug was tapping me on the shoulder because I was the only one in that high school gymnasium in a little black number. Perhaps it was because I’d broken down and grabbed an issue of Vogue in the grocery store check out line to pick out a current hair-style. Whatever the reason, this man smelling vaguely of asphalt was wanting to ask me to dance. I held my snazzy vinyl bag against my abdomen preparing to give him the excuse of needing to use the restroom when I felt my handbag begin to vibrate in my grasp.

I quickly opened it to check my digital PCS pager. On the small LCD screen, I read, “Call office, ASAP”. I quickly excused myself from the company of “Mr. Pavement” and made my way to the bathrooms where I hoped to talk in privacy.

Across the gymnasium floor I strutted my stuff for all I was worth. I wanted those jerks at the Sheriff’s Office to know just how much woman was under my usual garb of BDU pants and duty belt. Oh, I didn’t want to date them; the fun was rubbing it into their faces just how wrong they were about me being "too butch". Just before I hit the ladies room door, a deeply tanned hand reached in front of me to open it with a flourish. I looked up to see my friend and partner, Tony, holding open the door for me with his pager held aloft in his other hand.

“After you, Madame," He said with a mischievous grin. I had tried to avoid him all evening, but yet he’d managed to remain lingering out of the corner of my eye all night long. At 5' 11" and about 180 pounds of solid muscle, his good looks were ogled or envied by everyone in the hall. I spied the restroom full of gossiping women (probably talking about me in my too-short skirt and 4” heels) just lingering by the sinks.

Taking a stab in the dark, I stepped to the side and spoke excitedly, “They’re giving away a $200 gift certificate for Lancome products from Neiman-Marcus out there! Are you all registered for the give-away with the D.J. on the stage?” None of the women noticed a man in their restroom in their mad rush towards the stage. As the door slammed open, Tony and I leaned against the wall mounted hand driers to escape the stampede.

Once the restroom was clear, Tony threw the dead bolt on the ladies’ room door as I slipped our R.E.D. phone from my handbag and began dialing the number displayed on my pager.

“Dog Lady here," I spoke efficiently into the phone as it was answered. It was the only way that I would let them refer to me out of safety for my little daughter.

“Be at the airport in three hours. There will be tickets and friends waiting for you at the gate. Bring your friend and the “Blind Blaster” to play in the snow and rain,” The voice said before hanging up on me.

I turned to Tony and let him know that we had to go to work. He unlocked the door as I hit "end" on the phone, then placed an arm around my shoulders as he ushered me towards our table to retrieve our coats. A few quickly uttered “goodbyes” and we were headed out of the building. Tony and I trudged through the snow to my Hummer, my high heel shod feet getting colder with each step. I heard the door locks release under Tony’s finger on the remote entry system and we both headed for our respective sides to hop in for the race home. Once in the Hummer's passenger seat, I started stripping off jewelry and hosiery as Tony started the Hummer and put it into gear to take us home.

Up the highway we traveled quickly, grateful for the F.O.P. stickers in the rear window and the fact that most of the local cops were at the County party this evening. I called my "parents" before we left the parking lot, so all that was left was to finish getting dressed in work clothes and grab Colonel, one of my Bloodhounds.

Back at the house, I hurriedly left a check for the sitter on the kitchen counter before I raced upstairs to my bedroom to change and grab my travel bag. I only had to throw in my winter gear, as the bag stayed packed with everything but outerwear. I could hear Tony loading Colonel into my truck outside. Some said he was part Redbone Coonhound and that was the reason he was so vocal about everything that he did. I didn’t care though—- he was a gift from my father and I’d promised to work him. Explosives were what he worked best, and that’s what he was needed for on this case judging from the cryptic message received.

I raced for the living room t.v. and turned on CNN at full volume, hoping to hear a sneak preview of what awaited us. After twenty minutes, I still hadn't heard any reports that would indicate a need for a Bloodhound. I double checked my gear bag while listening to the t.v. and decided to leave out our passports since the voice on the phone hadn't mentioned bringing a book to read; then heard hurried footsteps racing up the staircase. Tony burst into his bedroom and headed for the shower as I raced into his room behind him. One of the problems with living this far out in the mountains was that a three hour deadline was very tight depending on the road conditions up here. I heard Tony start the shower as I packed his bag and laid his guns out on his bed.

Tony wouldn’t deviate from his Beretta .40 cal automatic with the Black Talon ammunition; while I was old fashioned and still swore by my Smith & Wesson .357 revolver packing Hollow Point ammunition. His back-up piece was a Beretta .380 using Hydroshock ammunition, while mine was a Colt 1911A .45 automatic.

Hey, you have to be a little modern sometimes, but the .357 was what had saved my butt more times than not. I packed our ammunition, then went downstairs to call my “parents” and tell them that I’d be reachable through the FBI at the number they’d used in the past. They were the closest thing to parents that I currently had, and my daughter thought of them as grandparents. I even called them Mom and Dad when I'd had too many glasses of wine. They would call the babysitter and instruct her to bring my daughter to them to finish being watched for the night and the next few days. The next call was to my kennel aide who assured me that she was on her way to watch the dogs in my boarding kennel for an undetermined length of time.

I headed downstairs with our bags as I heard the water shut off to Tony’s shower. With Colonel’s travel documents in hand, I started up the Hummer again and checked on Colonel. He was quivering from head to toe as I threw his gear bag into the back seat. Knowing he was going to work is what this dog lived for. I loaded the bags into the rear of the truck before I checked my watch for the umpteenth time. We had exactly 10 minutes to leave the house if we were to make it to the airport on time, so my anxiety was building. I could hear Bo Diddley and Scout baying from the back yard, upset that they weren't going to get to work.

I attached the magnetized strobe light to the roof of the Hummer as Tony appeared in the garage doorway. How men can shower and get dressed in less than fifteen minutes was still a mystery to me, but I think it had to do with them not having long hair needing ministrations. Tony climbed into the driver’s seat again and started the truck as I popped open the glove box in search of scissors.

I had been trying to grow out my bangs since Vogue said long hair was fashionable a few months back. As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway, I realized that Vogue didn’t understand a Bloodhound handler’s needs. There was no way that they could know how annoying hair in a handler’s eyes was until they’d experienced it on a trail. As we coursed over the bumpy gravel road, I removed the two inches from my bangs that I’d tried so hard to grow these last five months. My graying bangs weren’t straight after my ministrations, but they were out of my face after just a few snips.

We broke the land speed record heading down the mountain to the airport. As we arrived at the gate, we were met by two surly looking fellows wearing enough winter gear to climb the Himalayas. Clearly they weren’t from around here or they’d have been dressed like me— in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. It was only 15 degrees after all, not in the negative numbers like the past few weeks of November and early December. Therefore, there was no reason to bundle up like the Michelin Man.

I hopped out of the truck while Tony grabbed our bags, then I grabbed Colonel's leash. The tallest of the two “friends” took our keys to the Hummer and drove off as we raced into the airport with Colonel in tow, the shorter one following us closely. I stopped before the check point to put on Colonel’s trailing harness from out of his bag. After donning a pair of cheap sunglasses, I heeled Colonel towards the gate with Tony’s hand gripping my right elbow. I hated going through the metal detectors because I invariably set them off with the metal plates and pins in my body. Working dogs was hard on a body, and I'd had the surgeries as a result of my labor intensive job.

We approached the metal detectors and Colonel, my “seeing-eye” Bloodhound, and I were pulled out of the line to be scanned by a sleepy looking clerk. As both Tony’s weapons and mine were stored in our bags without ammunition, there were few questions asked after I told the clerk that I had pins in me from the same accident where I lost my eye sight. Feeling sorry for me, she let me pass though without further exam. Tony also cleared the checkpoint and we quickly headed for gate A-23, the last gate in the concourse. The shorter friend stayed back behind the check point and we didn't waste time saying farewells to him. I checked my watch and saw that we had less than two minutes to cover a lot of ground, so we began to run.

For those of you who have never tried to run with a bloodhound, you’re in for a treat. The moment that they think they can run, they assume you want top speed, there is no middle ground. So there we were racing for the gate— a Spanish man carrying two large bags over his right shoulder, using his left hand to decisively grip the arm of a “blind” red-headed woman with crooked pixie bangs, both being dragged down the concourse by a red Bloodhound at top speed. My legs stretched to their full length to keep up with Colonel. Yes, we attracted some stares but were grateful for the late time of night giving us fewer passengers to weave through and therefore laugh at our little comedy.

Precisely at midnight, we reached the Pan-Aviation gate. Our flight, I noticed, was destined for the Baltimore- Washington International Airport. We were quickly ushered into first class seating and the doors shut behind us immediately. With only one quick stop scheduled, we’d have time to catch up on sleep before arriving at our final destination in Baltimore. This was my second first class flight in less than a year, so I was starting to wonder if my dogs and I were finally gaining serious respect after our recent Mexico endeavor.

With Colonel sleeping across both of our laps, we flew for five hours before our first stop in Cincinnati. Another shorter flight brought us to our final destination. This was home to me, Maryland, and I could only guess at the atrocity that would demand our attention. Tony and I were exhausted and cranky as we exited the plane with Colonel in tow.

We dis-embarked the plane and were met by the twins of the men in Colorado. They identified themselves as Special Agents Ruslan and Hahn. We were transported to the Inner Harbor area of Baltimore, Maryland, then deposited coldly at the front desk of a Marriott with two room keys.

I wiped a slinger of drool off of Ruslan's shoulder, left there courtesy of Colonel, before we headed into the hotel. Feeling magnanimous, it was the least I could for him at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Tony left us to call the field office to check in as I walked Colonel in the small grassy lot by the hotel.

As I stood there watching the sun come up over the Chesapeake Bay, I realized that this was going to be an interesting trip. The scent of nutmeg reached my nostrils from the McCormick Spice Company just down the road. The scent was mixed with "Old Bay" seasoning smells from the local restaurants coupled with fishy smells from the Chesapeake Bay. My heart and stomach clenched at the odors and I closed my eyes as the memories hit me like a large patrol dog on a bite sleeve. I had come home, and didn't know if I should fear this mission, or my past.


Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six


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