Sherlock Dog Read online

in front of my cage and stood looking down on me. I looked up.

  "Hello, Sherlock Dog," said Mommy. I wagged my tail. We had found each other.

  (Yes, it was that easy. Even after years of being too "something" for most people, it's still possible to find the one person who finds you positively extra ordinary. Really)

  Mommy took me home, and I set myself the task of learning everything about my new world as quickly as possible.

  I learned my name by the first day; I would learn its significance a little later.

  After my first few minutes of sniffing around, I knew that Mommy's house was also frequented by a male human and a male cat. You've met Ubu; Sir Bigglesworthiness is the name of the cat.

  (I could have had a really long name too: the full name of Mommy's favorite television show is Brilyint Benedict Cumberbatch Sherlock. I'll admit I am glad my name is just Sherlock Dog)

  It would be hard to teach commands to a dog named Brilyint Benedict Cumberbatch Sherlock Dog. This is not an issue with Sir Bigglesworthiness because his worthiness doesn't take commands. He has his own private door through which he comes and goes. When he comes, Mommy jumps up to greet him and rushes to serve him his food. Sir Biggy is the second most important thingy in Mommy's house.

  It took me a few days to figure out what was the first most important thing in the house. My first clue was The Song. I observed that Mommy always used the same song to tell her when it was time to wake up, when it was time to go to work, when it was time to feed me, when it was time to walk me, when the eggs were done and when somebody was calling to talk.

  Mommy would also play the song on her piano. One day she told Ubu: "I've made up words to the Sherlock song."

  These are Mommy's words to the Sherlock song:

  I love Sherlock.

  Yes I do.

  He's so awesome.

  And I love

  John Watson too.

  Ubu said, "That's the corniest . . . "

  "It's not any more corny than the Miami Dolphins song," retorted Mommy. (The Dolphins are what is most important to Ubu. That's all I'm going to say about that, because my story is about Mommy and Sherlock and Sherlock Dog)

  I had now learned that the very important song was called the Sherlock song. I knew my name was Sherlock Dog. I deduced that this Sherlock, whatever it was, must be very important to Mommy.

  Ubu says: a picture is worth a thousand words; he says this when Mommy is using too many words. I will now show you Sherlock's importance to Mommy by showing you Mommy's piano.

  Mommy's piano is in her bedroom; as is Mommy's laptop computer, which is like a little television. Mommy keeps her Sherlock deevee-dee on the left side of her piano's music stand. Mommy's other deevee-dees are downstairs by the television; Sherlock is in Mommy's bedroom: so it can go quickly from her piano to her computer whenever she wants to re-watch a little scene.

  "'Which is always,'"(e) says Mommy.

  Mommy keeps her fold-out maps of London on the right side of her music stand. London is Sherlock's city: he knows every street in it.(S) Mommy intently watches Sherlock as he goes about London, then looks for the places he has been, on her maps.

  "Look, Ubu," she will say. "This is exactly where Sherlock said, 'No, this way!' and John said 'Sorry!' and ran back across the right way."(h)

  A Baker Street sign hangs from the side of Mommy's piano. Sherlock lives at 221B Baker Street, one of the most famous places in the world: as famous as 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., 10 Downing St., and Bag End, the residences of the President, the Prime Minister and the Hobbit.

  Mommy keeps a Mini Cooper Ess with a Union Jack roof on the highest white keys of her piano (the ones only jazz musicians use). The Union Jack is not a kind of cheese, as I guessed at first, but is the British flag. The Stars and Stripes is not a kind of cake, but is the Merican flag.

  The Mini Cooper Ess doesn't have anything to do with Sherlock, really, but Mommy has a Union Jack Mini because she is an Anglophile. An Anglophile is not a kind of lizard, but is a Merican who loves British things.

  "You mean Benedict Arnold," said Ubu.

  "Benedict Arnold has totally ruined the name 'Benedict' for Mericans," said Mommy.

  "No!" said Ubu. "Veto! Veto! Don't even!"

  I have no idea what that was about.

  Pictures tell you things, but words tell things too. My mother dog's Daddy would use words from the Bible to help him talk about life and things. Mommy uses words from Sherlock. I will give you an example:

  Mommy manages a drugstore. [Note to whoever needs it: Mommy's drugstore is a chemist's that also sells little televisions, propane tanks, amusement park passes (sometimes), and many other products in addition to medicines] Mommy likes mostly everything about managing a drugstore: ordering fun new things and designing pretty displays; receiving shipments and stocking shelves; the interesting characters in her community and the funny things they do.

  But she hates it when silly people yell at her about things that don't matter. So when someone is yelling at Mommy because her advertisement has a picture of a blue Elvis Beanie Baby, and Mommy's store only has red and green Elvis Beanie Babies; when someone is waving the ad in Mommy's face and screaming, "false advertising!"; when someone won't let Mommy get a word in edgeways, to point out the little words in the ad that say, "selection may vary"; when someone is telling Mommy that Mommy's shop has single-handedly ruined her Christmas; Mommy will just tilt her head and look sympathetically at the customer, and nod her head from time to time in understanding; while in her head she is thinking, "round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it doesn't make any difference!"(e)

  (I know what that means because I know about Sherlock)

  After I'd figured out what Sherlock is and how important it is; and what a Merican is and what a British is and what's the difference; I settled into a nice comfortable life of being One Thing with Mommy. When Mommy goes up the stairs, I follow her up the stairs. When Mommy goes down the stairs, I follow her down the stairs. When Mommy goes to the bathroom, I try to follow her: though I keep getting my nose bumped by the closing door. She was right that I would have no commitment issues.

  Only three incidents have disturbed our pleasant routine: I got fixed; Mommy and I were banned from walking in the town of Fountainville; and Mommy was kidnapped at gunpoint as a result of her silly obsession with Sherlock. I will tell each story in turn.

  Ubu came with Mommy and me to the vet's, on the day I got fixed. Mommy had thought Ubu's muscles would be a help if I became fractious. (She needn't have worried, by the way) As we waited in the waiting room, Ubu and Mommy had a conversation:

  "There is no such thing as asexual," said Mommy.

  "Isn't there?" said Ubu. "Why don't you ask the dog after his procedure?"

  "Sherlock is not a dog."

  "You're right he's not a Dog," said Ubu. By Dog, Ubu meant tomcat. I am not a Dog because I've been fixed of that. Sir Bigglesworthiness is not a Dog because he's been fixed of that too. Ubu is not a Dog because he loves Mommy. Mommy is not a Dog because she's female. And Real Sherlock is not a Dog because he's married to his work.(r)

  "There is no such thing as an asexual human," said Mommy. "Look, if Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen were walking down a London street towards Sherlock . . . "

  (Tom Brady is a Merican football player. Gisele Bundchen is a Brazilian supermodel and Tom Brady's wife. Both are reportedly very attractive people. I wouldn't know: I'm a dog and I'm asexual)

  "If Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen were walking down a London street towards Sherlock, which would he notice more?"

  "He would notice both of them. He's Sherlock."

  "No, who would he notice, notice. You know—notice."

  "He wouldn't notice, notice. He would be like, 'that one's a Merican football player. That one's a Brazilian supermodel.' Then he would move on to the plumber and teacher behind them."

  A door opened and the vet called us
into the surgery. I woke up later with a plastic cone around my head, sick and in pain. Asexuality has felt better in the long run, but I would really like to forget those first few days. So we will move on to another day.

  I have mentioned that Mommy is good about walking me. Nowadays we walk in the neighbourhoods around our house, but we used to walk in the neighbourhoods behind Mommy's drugstore. Mommy would park the car at the drugstore, and we would take a twisty route through streets of houses to the park with the duck pond. We would take the same twisty route every day, to make the walk longer and because it made her feel like John Watson, running after Sherlock along a squiggly route in the Greatest Chase Scene Ever.(l)

  Mommy would sometimes try to run with me. Her family is all high school track stars; and Mommy could've been, too if she hadn't decided being a nerd was less work and more fun. My family is all Labradors with a propensity for obesity: so I would get tired and give up really quickly.

  "Not Sherlockian," Mommy would say; but while slowing to a walk, kind Mommy.

  Mommy is kind and soft-hearted and also a very small person, and in our earliest days together I was overly protective of her. Often during our walks, I would freeze and let off a single loud bark, to warn off an approaching strange human. It always worked, and I would feel very good and useful.

  On the fateful day that was to relegate the duck pond walk to our memories, a strange human came towards us around a corner with a strange Husky dog on a lead. The Husky