By Diane Bator
Jimmy
Buffett had just started crooning about Christmas in Hawaii when I got a text urging
me to “Stay indoors until further notice. Escaped animal on the loose.”
My
stomach lurched and I shot a quick reply to the sender, my on-again off-again
boyfriend, Rob Gwynn who was a local police officer. “What kind of animal?”
I
didn’t wait for a reply. It was the last Saturday morning before Christmas and
the local market would be in full swing in fifteen minutes. No way was I
missing it. I had shopping to do. Besides, no one would be dumb enough to transport
a dangerous creature this close to a populated beach, would they?
I
opened my front door anyway. After looking both ways for large, furry beasts
and witches on rollerblades, then stepped into the sunshine and locked the
front door of my beach cottage-slash-office. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been
a curious cat, which made me an ideal detective. Not the best one money could
buy, but definitely in the top one hundred on the coast.
Definitely,
the only one with the oddball name of Dash.
The joke in my family was that my mom fell
in love with Dashiell Hammett at first sight, which made child hood rough for
the little girl she named Dashiell Allman. Not funny. Although, the nickname
Dash did make me feel faster when I ran. People tended to call me out of
curiosity since my name made me sound like a strong, male detective.
Once they met me in person — a short,
blonde, beach bum usually sporting a cast of some sort — some ran. Most laughed.
A few took pity on me.
Crossing
the beach, I aimed for the wet sand where the waves could caress my toes on my
way to Ricardo’s food truck. I woke up craving a Breakfast Dog. My growling
stomach finally got the best of me as I’d finished the paperwork from my last
case. Visions of cheese, a hot dog, a hashbrown, tomato, bacon, and a fried
egg, over easy had danced through my head for the past hour.
The
air was a bit cooler than earlier in December. A reminder that I still needed
to pick up gifts for my two favorite police officers.
Rob
Gwynn, aka Officer Athletic and my current boyfriend, was big into action
movies, working out, and muscle cars. I still wasn’t sure what to get him.
Alex
Carson, his partner and the man I’d called Officer Pasty for years, was easier.
He was a foodie who loved to cook. A couple of weeks ago, I’d discovered a
great booth at the market that sold homemade spices and rubs. I’d finally
decided which ones to get him and planned to hit the market. Right after
breakfast.
Something
wet brushed against the back of my right shoulder. I brushed it off like a bug.
Then it tapped me again.
“Very
funny, Rob,” I said as I stopped to turn around. “What the…?”
My
jaw dropped and my eyes grew wide as I came face to face with an elongated nose
attached to a furry creature that looked like a cross between a horse and a
tall sheep.
Its
nostrils flared before phlegm hit me square in the chest. Then it yelled
“Mwah!” and collapsed into the sand.
“What
the flying fig just happened?” I took a couple steps back.
“What
did you do to it?” a familiar voice asked.
On
cue, Rob and Alex loped across the beach, more concerned about the creature
than the fact I’d been accosted.
I
held up my hands in protest. “Nothing. It just fell over. I don’t even know
what it is.”
“It’s
a llama, Dash,” Alex told me with a chuckle. “Didn’t you learn anything in
school?”
Scowling
at the two-hundred and fifty pound officer, I shook my head. “I’ve seen
pictures of them, but I’ve never looked one in the nostrils before. What’s it
doing on the beach?”
Rob
looped a rope around its neck, flinching when the llama rolled away from him to
sit in the sand. “It’s part of the petting zoo at the market today. While the
farmer was unloading the animals, this little guy escaped.”
“Little?
That thing’s a full head taller than you and smells like a barnyard.”
He
grinned, petting the creature like an overgrown dog. “Aww, did the grumpy
detective scare you, Gumdrop?”
“Ha.
The grumpy detective nearly peed her pants.” I took one last look at the llama.
If I were a social media-type person, I would’ve taken pictures. No one in my
family would believe I came face to face with a llama, let alone one that
fainted on the spot.
For everyone else who knew me, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.
Like what you read? You can find Visions of Gumdrop in A Prob-llama of a Holiday by Aconite Press at: Amazon.com Amazon.ca
Drop by to read what the rest of the talented Blog Fest Gang wrote!
Dr. Bob Rich https://wp.me/p3Xihq-35i
Connie Vines http://mizging.blogspot.com/
Diane Bator https://dbator.blogspot.com/
Anne Stenhouse http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com
Judith Copek http://lynx-sis.blogspot.com/
Helena Fairfax http://www.helenafairfax.com/blog
Victoria Chatham http://www.victoriachatham.com
Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea
