At Denny's, alone. Some vagrant walks in and starts eating food off a table that someone left behind. There are gasps and whispers from the other patrons, but I don't even flinch. I've seen my best friend do this all the time. I've eaten leftover food off the floor. People think they know you but they don't. They've never known my hunger. They've never known my emptiness. My life is holes. My body has them, my mind has them, my soul has them. The backyard has them. They are they because I dug them there. Out of one hole and into the next.
I start heading for the beach and keep to myself on the sidewalks. People pass by and I can't believe they are serious. Dressed up and going nowhere. Noses up high but smelling nothing. Down on the ground is where the action is. I see some lady walking her poodle. Neither one of them even look in my direction. Of course.
Just then a van pulls out in a cloud of exhaust. The lady gets knocked to the ground and the poodle gets abducted. A fucking dognapping! I give chase but the vehicle leaves me in it's smoky dust. I'm really, really, pissed off.
I bound down to the beach where the gang is hanging out, as usual. After explaining what I saw, everyone else is as angry as I am. We are all animal lovers, probably Shaggy most of all. So to hear about this cruelty to animals gets everyone amped up for this case. Mystery be damned, we want revenge.
Our investigation lands us in the office of Buck Masters, whose dog was one of many to be snatched. You'd think he'd be worried about the well-being of his pet, but instead is whining about how Bob Miller's great dane will probably win the upcoming dog show. What an asshole. He tries to discourage us, but who else is there? Cops? We jet and make plans.
Anger opens up our acceptance to risk. The dognappers are coming, and I will be the great dane decoy. Give me a new collar with a tracker. Give me a bath. Fuck everything, let them come. Shaggy walks with me out on the boulevard. People stare, they yell. They throw trash. That's why I don't like anyone. That's why I eat your letters. Besides my gang, I have no one. My two allies are SCOOBY SNACKS and INSANITY.
On cue the van pulls up and grabs me. They are lucky I don't bite. Next thing I know I'm busting out of a crate in a Bad Guy Lair. Lots of other dogs in cages. My disguise as the dog show great dane decoy lasts about five seconds. They literally send me out of town on a rail. On a railway cart heading towards an on coming train. Shaggy saves me once again by putting his life on the line. Fred saves me with some quick thinking and hitting the switch to get us off the track. A real live train dodge.
The rest of the adventure went okay. A ghost shot an arrow at us. A witch doctor yelled at us. An ancient Aztec Indian threatened us with ancient magical spells, which didn't sound so ancient or scary when spoken in perfect English. We follow the trail to a village carved into the side of a mountain. It's dark and everyone is faceless. Bats flew all over us, knocking off Velma's glasses. Her vision was all fucked up, but she helped solve the mystery anyway. She's tough. I don't like her very much, but I respect her.
Fred finds a secret passage. Daphne finds another secret passage on accident. I find yet another secret passage because some jerk pushed me into it. May I please have some regular Bad Guy Lair with my secret passages, sir? For fuck's sake. Shaggy finds a sandwich. We end up freeing the dogs in cages and giving chase to the witch doctor. You ever have a dog chase you? You ever have a pack or angry dogs chase you? You don't win that race.
Turns out the witch doctor was Buck Masters himself. He kidnapped his own dog to mask the other dognappings, and then planned on zipping over to the dog show at the last minute to win it. He's the worst. He tells us we should have minded our own business. Outing assholes and rescuing dogs IS our business.
So I come home to the doghouse and write. I write to cover my tracks. I have to write twice as much as people because I make twice as many tracks. I'm writing an arfenal. I'm writing a coat of fur. I'm writing to get that scratch behind the ears that I crave. I can't sleep now. Dogs have dreams too, and not all of them are good.
