d5e426eccb138e04dab909926b2752c6

“Oh, yeah. All the time. Until they figured I was too old for the job, and they retired me. I’m too young to retire, so I didn’t like that,” he said. And then he sneezed, causing big gobs of goo to hit the back of my neck and even the back of Odelia’s head.

Even if Rambo was too old to chase the bad guys, he could always hit them with his goo and make them surrender, I figured as I extracted the worst of the sticky goo from my precious blorange fur.

“Eww,” Harriet whispered. “Eww, eww, eww!”

“Oh, can you have that talk now, Max?” said Odelia. “About the bowl situation, I mean?”

“What bowel situation?” said Rambo. “My bowels are just fine, in case you were wondering.”

“Not thebowel situation—thebowl situation,” I clarified.

“What about my bowls?” he grunted, looking annoyed.

“The thing is, Rambo,” said Harriet, turning to face the large dog, “that in our household we each have our own designated bowl—two, in fact. One for water and one for kibble. And at night usually a third bowl comes out when Odelia doles out the wet food. And you can multiply that number bytwo, since we occupy two homes.”

“Ooh, wet food,” said the big dog, licking his lips with an extremely long tongue. “Rambo likes himself some wet food.”

“Yes, well, so the whole point of this setup is that we only eat from our own bowl, you see? And for convenience’s sake our bowls even have our names on them. So Max has his bowls, I have my bowls, Dooley has his bowls, and so does Brutus and so do you!” She gave him a beaming smile, but the dog shook his head, causing some of his saliva to sprinkle around.

“I don’t get it,” he announced in that deep gravelly voice of his.

“You can only eat from the bowl that has your name on it,” I said. “You can’t touch any other bowl.”

The dog frowned.“Oh.” Then he frowned some more, causing his eyes to disappear into the folds of his face. “I see…”

“And?” said Odelia. “Do you understand the rules, Rambo? I’m sorry to have to be this strict, but with five pets in the house we need to have some house rules, you see.”

“But… what if I’m hungry?” asked Rambo.

“What is he saying, Max?” asked Odelia, glancing back through the rearview mirror.

“He wants to know what he should do when he’s hungry,” I translated Rambo’s words.

“I’ll make sure to keep his bowl filled at all times,” she said with a smile. “Just like I do with all you guys. Except Max, because Max has to watch his weight.”

I made a face.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Maxie,” said Odelia. “You know you tend to gorge.”

“I don’t ‘gorge,’” I said stiffishly. “I simply have a very healthy appetite.”

“I hear you, Max,” said Rambo. “I’m exactly the same. I have the kind of appetite that makes me very cranky when I don’t have anything to eat.” He stared at me. “Very cranky.”

I gulped a little. I had the distinct impression that Rambo wouldn’t mind eatingme if he ever found his bowl empty and couldn’t touch my food or the others’.

“Odelia, did you stock up on dog food?” I asked, my voice a little squeaky.

“I asked Chase to pick up some more after work,” she said. “I hope he doesn’t forget.”

“I hope so, too,” grumbled Rambo, still giving me that penetrating look.

“He won’t,” I said in a strangled voice. “And if he does, you can always eat some of my food.”

“I thought you said I can only eat from my own bowl?”

“No, but just in case of an emergency I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Only if you’re sure, Max,” said Rambo, his hooded eyes boring into mine. “Cause if not, I won’t touch your bowl. I’ll just find something else to eat…” And then he gave me a toothy grin, and I could see he had some very sharp incisors. Sharp and very, very big.

Gulp!

Chapter 25

They’d arrived at the address Odelia’s uncle had sent her. The bungalow-style house was a modest one, in a quiet neighborhood that had been built about thirty years before. It had a front yard that was well-kept, but the house itself looked a little rundown.

She set foot for the front door, four cats and one dog looking on from the sidewalk.

There was no bell to ring, but there was a sturdy brass knocker, so she used it deftly. Moments later she could hear stumbling inside, and the shuffling of feet. And when the door opened and a large man appeared, puffing from a cigarette, and only dressed in boxers and a tank top, she gave him her best smile.“Mr. Pollard? Jerry Pollard? My name is Odelia Poole, and—”

“I know who you are,” he said, and stepped aside. “Come on in. Your uncle told me you were coming.”

“Thanks,” she said, and glanced back at her pets. She didn’t think she could take them inside this time, so she gestured that they should go around the back. Who knows, maybe they could listen in on the conversation, and even save her life if Mr. Pollard turned out to be a serial killer who liked to dismember his visitors and stuff them into his freezer.

“Take a seat,” he mumbled, and started dumping pizza boxes and fast food wrappers to the floor. “Don’t mind the mess.”