Give a Dog a Bone

Continuing from The Canine Caper

"You just happen to always carry around a tranquilizer with you that is big enough for a man-sized dog?" I asked my partner as we pulled into headquarters.

"Just made sure I was prepared."

There had been next to no information given to us in our briefing of the mission that we had just accomplished. How was anyone going to be prepared when the very thing you're preparing against is an unknown?

"We have the case," my partner said as we walked into The Head of the agency's office. The Head took the cigar box out of my partners' hand. Inside was a small tape. A rough voice, similar to the poodle's, spoke out of the small recorder now in The Head's hands.

'A male dog is given the title "man's best friend" as he walks on all fours and barks at the postman. Give a dog a bone and he will slobber on the floor. Give a dog the mind with which to form words and the strength with which to walk on his hind legs, and he will be put to rest by man, deemed too dangerous to live. What does that say about the company one man keeps?'

The recording ended there.

"We came across some more information when you were away," said The Head.

"That the man we encountered wasn't a man at all? A little too late for that," I snorted back.

"Both of you must head out immediately to the following location." He threw us a folder "All of the information you require is in there."

"How about another tranq?" I asked.

***

There were only two things in the folder: a picture of a black handbag and a printed out list of directions from mapquest which led us south-east to an abandoned factory. It had previously been owned by a dog-food company who specialized in making 'top of the line biscuits and bones,' or so the sign out front said.

"How appropriate."

The factory was not a small building by any means. To locate a small purse could take a very long while.

We started on the main floor, which only made sense. It was a very old factory, and had broken windows all over the place, most likely from immature children throwing rocks. You had to watch where you stepped in this place.

Having already searched a majority of the offices on the ground floor, with no luck of course, we were in the process of rummaging through yet another when my partner tapped me on the shoulder. I closed the cabinet drawer I had just finished looking through and turned to face him. My partner was staring out of one of the southbound windows. There, in the unkept grass behind the building, was a large mound of freshly dug earth.

The two of us hurried out to the mound and dug up the black bag.

"What are you doing?" I asked him as he opened up the purse. "Leave it for The Head!"

My partner took out his own recorder and put the tape in and hit play. The same voice sounded.

'A female dog lies on the ground as a living factory to a new generation, a new litter, and she's called "Bitch". Her children are sold at the benefit of her owner, and when she can no longer supply she is taken out back and shot, deemed too old. Ever heard of your owner's previous pup? I wonder why not.'

The tape stopped.

"DOWN!" came a voice just inside the factory. Out emerged a lovely golden retriever, who, just like the poodle, was walking on its hind legs.

My partner pulled out another syringe.

From behind the retriever came at least a dozen smaller versions, all standing on their hind legs as well.

"Prepare for this?" I asked.

...to be continued.