Today, I am happy to have Brandy as my special guest. Brandy is the chocolate labrador retriever from Think Murder. He’s here to tell us a bit about Adina and her friends at the Cutie Pie dog rescue.
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When I was just a puppy, a lady came and took me away from my mother and my sisters and brothers. The lady was really nice and tried to take good care of me. But her man didn’t seem to like me much. A couple of weeks later, he took me for a ride in the car, then put me out on the side of busy road and drove away. The noise from all those cars was scary. After I’d wandered around a while, a different man stopped his car and picked me up. This man took me to Cutie Pie.
The people at Cutie Pie were nice, especially Adina. Bruce and Stacey were cool, too, but Adina was my favorite. Trust me, she’s good people. We dogs have ways of knowing these things. She took me on long walks and gave awesome belly rubs. I could tell she loved me, and I really hoped she’d take me home with her. I’d have done almost anything for Adina. Alas, she didn’t take me home (sigh), but she did help me find my forever home. I was adopted by a wonderful family with two kids, and they take great care of me.
I am one lucky puppy. Remember, there’s no greater gift a shelter/rescue animal can receive this holiday season than a loving family and a forever home.
Before you go, here’s an excerpt from Think Murder:
Hilary had pretty much wound down by the time we reached McSweeney’s. A popular spot among men and women in their 20s and 30s, the pub was standing room only and the scent of Guinness hung in the air. Most of the guys were scoping the scene seeking out potential hookups – but that was nothing new. Petite and pretty, with strawberry blond hair and sparkly blue eyes, Hilary was a magnet for male attention.
We made our way to the bar and each ordered a glass of white wine. I even managed to grab a small dish of chicken wings for us to share. We did our best to eat, drink, and talk, while standing, constantly jostled by the crowd. Just as one guy was on the verge of striking up a conversation with us, we snagged a small table in the back corner.
More often than not I enjoyed watching the flirtations or even flirted a bit myself, but today my attention was on our conversation. Hilary’s mood had changed since our arrival. Seated at our relatively secluded table, she fidgeted in her chair. After we had both ordered a second glass of wine, Hilary took a few rapid sips, then confided, “Something’s going on with Duncan, he’s been acting strange.” She hesitated, then stammered, “Do you think he’s cheating on me?”
So how was I supposed to answer that question? I hated to lie, still neither Duncan nor I had ever mentioned to her that we had been an item a couple years back – a brief relationship that ended when his interest lagged. To add insult to injury, he had found a replacement for me before breaking it off. Duncan is hot; he knows it and he uses it to his advantage. Faithful is not his middle name.
A bit of a coward, I replied, “I don’t know. Has his behavior changed? Any special reason you think he might be seeing someone else?”
“Just a feeling I have, like there’s something he’s not telling me. He’s been almost secretive since his last visit home.” Hilary’s eyes welled up with tears. “I think maybe I should wash my face, freshen up before we leave.”
While I waited for her to return from the restroom, I finished that second glass of wine and did my best to drive any thoughts of Duncan and his cheating past out of my mind. My favorite strategy for accomplishing that was to check out the guys standing at the bar. Most of them were in their early 20s, with the standard Washington yuppie uniform – business-like suits or at least respectable jackets and ties. The only guy that stood out was wearing a Redskins cap and no jacket. I guess he didn’t know the local dress code. No one there struck my fancy, so I didn’t have to pretend I was going to work up the courage to approach anyone.
Bored and wondering what was taking her so long, I decided to check up on Hilary. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t hiding in there, crying her eyes out. It meant we’d probably lose the table, but I was about ready to head home, and a trip to the restroom before leaving wasn’t a bad idea.
The restrooms at McSweeney’s are way in the back, down a long narrow hallway a few feet past the entrance to the kitchen. The location was a bit out of the way, but someone had the foresight to put four stalls in the women’s room. There was rarely a need to stand in line, at least not this time of day. At night, when there is live music and the place is packed, well that’s another story.
When I pushed the door open, the sink area was empty and the stall doors were all ajar. Strange. So where was Hilary? As I pondered that question, something about the last stall caught my eye. I walked over to take a closer look and saw Hilary slumped over on the floor.
“Hilary, are you OK? What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer. I moved closer, going partway into the stall. She was leaning leftward, her long hair falling into a large puddle of blood. I screamed, quite loudly to judge from the size of the crowd that came running in response. I leaned over and tried to check her right wrist for a pulse. There was none. Shaking uncontrollably, I lost my balance and landed on my butt outside the stall.
If you’d like to read the rest, click here.