Part 7

I pretended to be asleep so he could wake me up. Then I would jump on him and knock him down. It was our after-walk tradition. Instead of the latch on the tailgate clicking open, I heard the screen door snap shut. What? Wait. My eyes sprang open. Einstein had forgotten to roll up the tailgate window so I leaped over it, bounded around the car and up the porch steps. My human was retreating down the hall as I skidded to a halt at the screen door. I whimpered.

He stopped and turned to face me. "You're not coming in until you've had a bath. But first I'm going to find out what's on this memory card—proof of aliens."

"Oh, right, because aliens always drop their cameras in the woods," I barked. (Later, you might think that perhaps I have underestimated my ability to see the future. I was just being sarcastic, honest to the Great Paw Above.)

"Oh, and don't break that screen or you'll be in bigger trouble than you already are," he warned.
"Hey!" I howled as he disappeared into the basement.

Most humans assume that dogs don't like being left alone because we are needy. Not true. All animals, except humans, can see ghosts. I don't mind when a dog drops by for a woof, but cats drive me barking mad. However, apparitions from the animal kingdom are rare. Most specters are humans who have some kind of unfinished business they want help with. I wouldn't mind lending a paw in exchange for unlimited access to refrigerators, but every pup, kitten, squirrel and chipmunk knows that you never talk to human ghosts because you'll get roped into demon worship or something worse. (Like a conversation. The horror.)

Vinnie, also known as the Nuisance, had appeared two weeks ago talking about supplemental insurance. He sandwiched this information between a long speech about the president and how he missed a good bowel movement. Who would want to hear about that? I'm referring to the president. Poop is always interesting.

Anyway, I had spent the last two weeks strenuously ignoring the Nuisance and didn't feel in the mood for more work. Also his scent, like damp air just after a summer rain, made my nose itch. I backed up, dusted off my paws and charged through the screen door. Easy enough. The hard part was dodging Einstein's mother.

She's about ten years old. That's seventy if you're human. She's a gray haired, droopy eyed woman with a penchant for housecoats. (The housecoat is an unfortunate fashion statement. Since I'm the best dog in the world, I have kindly chewed designer holes in all of them. That evening she wore a blue one that was extra holey.)

"Out! Out! You mangy thing! Einstein, get this dog out of here. He's dirtying up my FLOOR!" She shrieked as she chased after me.