...
The meeting room felt especially charged this day... though not entirely with excitement. It was a miracle that everyone was willing to gather once again. Perhaps they were not as disheartened as he’d thought. Still, hopefully optimistic as they were, they were only there to hear him out. Chuck was incredulous of the whole thing, sitting with his arms crossed, picking his teeth with a fine wood splinter after a feed of walnuts he’d stored a few months prior. He wasn’t sure what ill scheme had gotten itself into his friend’s head this time. Nor was he sure if he wanted any part of it after the last adventure. But, he knew Francis, he knew that he wouldn’t risk something like that happening again. So he remained politely intrigued. Darlene was slightly tipsy, mostly coherent, and quite high spirited. Twirling a whisker with her left hand, she was confident in the young’n. He wasn’t dull nor foolish despite his own sentiments about himself, he would have something interesting to say if nothing else. Gerry had been the first to arrive, fifteen minutes early, He sat with rapt attention and chewed on a few seeds he’d brought while others filed in with various lesser degrees of enthusiasm. They had taken note of his promptness, change in posture, change in attitude, and they all had a similar idea of why. It straightened their own backs, after all, if he was serious... Oh, and Harold was there, too.
At the head of the table, Francis held up the wrapper, the light glinting off its grey translucent surface and smiling sausage logo. Some of them recognized it, Gerry was confused. Francis stated plainly that there was a hot dog vendor that sets up shop in the parking lot of the nearby grocer. He’s heard it said that at the end of the day he throws out his unsold tubes of miscellaneous beef, pork, and ‘other’ in the nearby dumpster. The same one the house already searches for cotton balls and other discarded human paraphernalia. Without finesse, he believes they could obtain those unsullied dogs and feed them to Sheffield to placate and distract him while they stole the entire tin of Watkins. Dogs only ever think of food anyways, right? If he’s full, he won’t harass them.
Chuck stared, eyes unblinking, glassy. Struggling to ascertain what substances Francis must have consumed to take such an idea seriously. Feed the dog hot dogs? Was that the plan? Leaning forward on his elbows he asked what he saw as a rather reasonable question... Has Francis ever seen a dog not want to eat? Surely the mutt would simply eat them along with all the sausages no matter how many they fed him. Darlene laughed, thinking back to what Miss Sparrow told them, Francis had truly taken it to heart. Sure, Sheffield might be slowed down some, but not enough to save them. Besides she had her own question for Francis. Will there even be more nuts to find? The last tin was spilled all over the deck, or did he forget?
Francis lowers the wrapper, his ears flattening. He remembered, but that was precisely it. That house has had a tin of Watkins sitting on that table for as long as he can remember. Sometimes the flavours are different, sometimes the two elderly humans are enjoying them. He does not know why, but there is always a tin. Furthermore, he noticed something strange during their last raid. The tin was still sealed, brand new, never opened. Merely placed on the table in that state and left for days. The resident humans store such a delicacy outdoors. As odd as that may seem.
Chuck and Darlene’s ears twitched at that, that certainly is odd behaviour for a human, normally humans store food inside their homes. But Darlene had seen firsthand in her younger days that there are exceptions. Sometimes during the winter humans will occasionally store certain items outdoors, meats usually, taking advantage of the cold to preserve them it seemed. Perhaps this is similar somehow. But would they continue to do so now after having lost an entire, unopened tin of Watkins? Sponsor of the Watkins Waddler’s children’s charity to help young families send their kids to summer sports camps?
Francis’ ears folded, eyes looking to his right with thoughtful concern. He was unsure, he admits that much, but he intended to continue scouting the area to see. Humans are creatures of habit after all.
Gerry cleared his throat, pressing his two forefingers together timidly, he pointed out that... even if a tin does appear and even if Sheffield would be subdued... sausages are very heavy. Would carrying enough of them all that way even be possible? He wanted to be supportive of Francis, he wanted to do better, but as the smallest member of the team he knew he was not up to such a task.
Francis didn’t have an answer for these questions, He slumped back, trying to think. But no paths presented themselves. He thought he’d had an epiphany when he found the wrapper. He thought he’d found a solution, something that would fix everything. But now he realized he was being just as naive and idealistic as before. Stupid, lost in his mad fantasies of feasts of Watkins award winning peanuts just like before. He could feel their eyes burning into him, scrutinizing him, finding every flaw.
The warm yellow light buzzed softly, small flecks of dust hung in the air. Gerry counted the rings on the table. Thirty seven. Chuck got up from his seat, Francis looked at him with pain, fear. Chuck walked towards his friend. Putting a paw on his shoulder, he sympathized with him, but he could not support this idea, not after last time. Francis looked shocked, sad, panicked as Chuck walked past him, bushy tail brushing Francis as he begged him to wait. Darlene was the next to get up to leave, the kid had spunk, she liked that, but Chuck was right, this plan won’t work and she didn’t get to her age by betting on long shots. Gerry wasn’t sure what to do, looking back and forth nervously between Francis and Chuck. He couldn’t kid himself. He got up and silently walked to the exit as well. Francis sat, paralyzed as he watched his friends and team mates abandoning him. Carrying his dreams of Watkins with them. He slouched, defeated, he had tried doing it alone several times, he had tried working alongside others. He had been so close. Now... now it’s all gone, and he couldn’t blame them for their decision.
But, then they heard a sound, a chuckle, soft and almost mocking. Chuck and the rest looked back, Harold was still sitting in his place, grinning, brushing his long grey chin fur. Chuck didn’t appreciate his laughter. What did the codger find so funny anyhow? Harold stated, with a cock of his head, that he found it amusing that neither he nor Francis nor Darlene for that matter had noticed. The more surly side of Darlene responded to this one, unamused and bearing little love for enigmatic riddles, she wanted to know what it was he thinks they had failed to notice exactly?
Harold took a deep breath, settled comfortably into his place, and cleared his throat, Chuck and Darlene’s ears twitched impatiently. Harold was slow and deliberate in his motions, leaning forward to lock eyes with them. He wondered... how they had not realized that the solution to their problem lay within the problem itself?
More riddles, Chuck had no time for this. He had peanuts at home which would be more than enough for him. He chittered angrily at Harold to get to the point or stop wasting their time. Harold asked him one question...
Does he know what a dog is... exactly?
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