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  • Writer's picturejshannon727

Detective Flea and the Presidential Dog

On my second visit to the White House, I was shown into a breakfast nook where Paisly barked furiously. His bulging eyes were fixed on a TV screen where an announcer talked about the rise in the President’s popularity versus the previous Gallup poll. “Way to go Mr. President!” Paisly pumped a fist in the air.

I was intrigued by the proud shine in the dog’s protruding eyes. “Interesting that the President missed the debate, but saw a rise in popularity,” I offered.

Paisly replied, “After debates he tends to slide down in the polls.” Without turning away from the screen he asked, “What can I do for you, Detective?” But Paisly had turned back to the TV where the reporter said the President’s cold was better, and that he would be well enough to resume normal activities in a couple of days.

I brayed loudly to get his attention. “Last week, you slept through both the break-in and the police investigation.”

“Since when is sleeping a crime, Detective?” Paisly snapped.

I examined Paisly’s features more closely. “It’s the second thing you did last week that was out of character,” I suggested.

Paisly’s bulging eyes demanded an explanation.

“Earlier in the week you ran away from the dog walker,” I said.

“I thought I saw someone I knew,” Paisly barked.

“Three hours is a long time to say hello,” I ventured.

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