Noses At Work, Chapter 1

NOSES AT WORK By Jess the Dog Lady
DO NOT REPRODUCE THIS BEFORE ASKING ME!!!
Disclaimer

This is not a true story. It is rated PG 13 due to language and violence. None of the events in this story ever happened. In my wildest dreams, there is no way that the following events could have occurred in any way imaginable. Similarities between characters and real life is sometimes coincidental, sometimes intentional, and sometimes unavoidable. This is a chapter in the monthly series titled, Noses at Work. Every month I will add a continuing chapter. This is NOT an incredible work of literature... This is supposed to be a spoof that is COMPLETELY unrealistic and just for fun. It's best to read this when semi-drunk to get the full effects of the humor-- some people say I have a weird sense of humor that you need to be slightly "buzzed" to appreciate. Don't reproduce any portion of this without contacting me first, or I will hunt you down and stomp you with my size 10 boot.

CHAPTER ONE
I rolled from the bed at the insistent sound of bells ringing. Knocking over my empty wine glass on the nightstand, I grabbed for the phone. Normally at 3 a.m. I would let a phone ring, but this was my special R.E.D. (Real-Time Emergency Digital) phone; my direct line from the Secret Service in Washington. I tried to sound as alert as possible, as if I didn't need sleep. "Dog lady here!" I said crisply into the phone.

"The hounds bay at night," the caller's voice mysteriously replied. On went the light immediately, and I pressed a switch on the phone to activate the high security scrambler for encrypted messages. God, who in the Hell thinks up these stupid code phrases, I wondered?

"Yes, go ahead," I finally said into the phone.

"Be at the airport in 4 hours. You will be met by some friends. There will be a ticket waiting for you at the gate. Bring bag for 2 days. Bring both dogs. Weapons provided. Mountain terrain and hot temps. Good luck." Click, I heard the phone line go dead.

4 hours wasn't much time so I got moving fast. I hit the remote activator for the coffee pot, and hopped into the shower. My bag was almost ready, it just needed the clothes added for the environment we were headed to. I ran downstairs to start the truck and let the Bloodhounds out to potty before taking off. While they were busy outside, I packed the truck as I made several calls. I called a babysitter to my house to watch my daughter, and arranged for my kennel aid to handle the rest of the critters while I would be gone. I grabbed my usual breakfast of a vat of coffee and a "Rice-Crispy" bar and loaded up the dogs.

We arrived at the airport and left the truck at the front loading zone. A Secret Service Agent took my keys as I briefly appraised his physique... Tall, muscular, and entirely too handsome and unhappy looking for his own good. I decided I'd call him when I returned and get rid of that dour expression from his face. I grabbed the dogs' leashes as another agent grabbed my little bag and the larger one for my dogs' gear. We attracted several curious looks as I walked my dogs rapidly through the airport on leash. Either the metal plates in my body or the dogs' collars set off the security alarm at the baggage check area but we didn't care. The Agent flashed his badge to the startled security officers and we were on our way. The tickets were waiting for my dogs and I as promised. First class accommodations to Mexico meant I'd have room to stretch out the dogs on their own leather seats. When you're used to being cramped on tiny charter flights, this would be like heaven!

We touched down in Mexico at 1:30 p.m. Zulu time and were met by three agents at the gate. One offered to take Bo Diddley's leash, and another wanted to walk Scout. They'd heard of my dogs' heroism, and all wanted to be able to say that they'd walked my dogs. I declined, as I prefer to handle my own dogs in public. We were halfway to the exits when Bo Diddley stopped in his tracks and whipped his head around to watch a young man walking past us. He immediately dropped to the ground in a prone position. I turned around and asked if we had jurisdiction for narcotics arrests. The tallest agent informed me that his department did and could hire me on the spot if I thought it was necessary, as they had been fighting the drug cartels without much success. I consented and motioned to the shortest agent to take Scout's lead and hold her back while I worked Bo Diddley.

If Bo Diddley didn't think there was a reason to take the baggage, he wouldn't move from my side. I turned back to watch the receding man. A whispered "Coke" command for narcotics work went into his ear, and I released my grip on his collar. By now the young man was 20 feet away from us, and as his back was to us, he never saw Bo coming. Bo's mouth was open and ears were flapping in the wind as he launched airborne towards the man's back. The man had been carrying his heavy bag over his shoulder when Bo hit it in full force. If the would-be smuggler had released his grip on the bag upon impact, he probably wouldn't have ended up needing reconstructive dental work later on....

As it was, Bo hit him so hard on the shoulder that the man went face first into a group of chairs. Bo wrenched the bag away from the man and brought it to me. On my command, he then returned to urinate on the man's bloody face, temporarily blinding him until he could be handcuffed by the waiting agents. The agents were upon us quickly and grabbed the bag to open it. Instead of a large cache of drugs inside, they found a quantity of Plastique explosives wrapped in bags of coffee beans. In a side pocket, a single marijuana joint was recovered. Detonators and wiring were found alongside the explosives, but wrapped in women's maxi-pads. The severely injured man was taken into custody at that point by two of the agents, cursing whomever had brought him down and then had the audacity to piss in his face. He never knew it was my dog, and we preferred it that way.

The last agent took us out to a waiting Range Rover Discovery before anyone could make an I.D. on us. He was about 5' 10" and 170 lbs., Latino, and clearly the strongest man in the group of my escorting agents. After loading the dogs into the rear of the vehicle behind a pet barrier, we left for the hotel.

Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six is HERE!