A Dragon's Tale

Updated 25/03/08

Please leave your comments, good or bad, it will be much appreciated.

Conan White
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Prelude

It crackles.....

It hisses.....

You rarely see it, though it is out there, all around us.....

We all need it and it is starting to realize that.....

It's Electricity.......it's no longer happy with us and now it's getting a mind of it's own.....

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The Trolls could not figure it out, one moment they were grumpily mining the rich vein of Electricity, bringing giant blocks of it to the surface to an ever power hungry world, then the next thing they knew the sirens were going off all about them and all hell was breaking loose.

The Sprites thought it was an ancient prophecy finally coming true.

The Elves figured it was the Gods arguing amongst themselves about who had last borrowed the Frost Giants twister set and now they wanted it back.

While the Dwarfs simply blamed it on new union work practises and the lack of a clear dental plan.

And the centre of this Powerquake? A small, little district called 'Ennesdale' in the southern part of the far Continent which was confusingly named 'North Cape' by a frustrated map-maker who secretly wished he had gone to University and had become a geometric topologist.

A fact that if you had mentioned it to Ernest Lester Oswald, the hero of this tale and a character we will soon be introduced to, would have caused him to tell you his one and only Topologist joke:

"A Topologist could not tell the coffee mug out of which she was drinking from the doughnut she was eating, since a sufficiently pliable doughnut could be reshaped to the form of a coffee cup by creating a dimple and progressively enlarging it, while shrinking the hole into a handle".

A joke that even when you knew the theory that 'Two spaces are topologically equivalent if one can be deformed into the other without cutting or gluing' is still decided unfunny and is like one of them annoying tunes that once heard, you can never quite get out of your head for the rest of the day.

Now to describe Ennesdale as a lush virgin tropical paradise that was high above sea level with a temperate climate coupled with equatorial seasonal fluctuations and a above average rainfall would be slightly inaccurate, but it's fair to say that it was a jolly nice place, but even more importantly it was home to a most special Princess. Not one of those every day born to royalty type, but the really, really special ones that don't know they are a Princess but are destined to be discovered that they are one.

Some would say she was a Cinderella type figure, but then who would call a lost princess something akin to a cross between a glowing ember and a rock star????

But back to our epic, for all this was destined by fate despite what the Orcs did do later and equally important what the Gingerbread men did not do at the crucial moment shortly afterwards and don't get me started about the Gnomes and the Gargoyles. But we are getting ahead of ourselves, for we have yet to meet our hero.....

Chapter 1

'Monday'

Misconception:

Monday- From the Old English Mōnandæg, meaning "Day of the Moon". This is likely based on a translation of the Latin name Dies Lunae (cf. Romance language versions of the name, e.g., French Lundi, Spanish, Lunes).

True Fact:

From the Dutch word 'Mon-ur-da-ya', which means to stoop in front of God day. This comes from the tradition of the Dutch ultra Christans bowing so much to their Lord on Sundays, that come the following day their backs were locked in the stooping position and it takes the rest of the day to free this up.

Though the Welsh-Germanic ultra Christians in South Africa call Monday 'Der-un-day' for similar reasons (Der-un-day means- 'The Worshipper who is shorter than he was before but slants away from above by pointing downwards but with his eyes and heart still looking to the skies above in humble servitude at the Almighty's benign and gentle given love to all his creations and offering redemption to all these that open their minds to him and he will be the one salvation, offering eternal life to these that repent day' ).

...........................

Detective Ernest Lester Oswald knew it was a bad day to give up both liquorice and sherbet, as he parked his squad car and got out and headed towards the alleyway, which stood in the dingy shadows of a down town, slightly to the right of the brook, Lapp dancing bar.

He looked around in disgust, as the usual crowd entered and left the bar. Business men with too much money to burn and curious college students who came here for their illicit kicks by watching Lapp herders dance around in their traditional colourful red and white attire, while quoting Sami folk songs about hunting reindeer and using the full moon to navigate.

He slapped on another anti-addiction patch, that along with the other dozen or more already there on both his shoulders, seem to do little to dull the deep craving for the root of the sweet, alluring and seductive Glycyrrhiza glabra plant, know to you and I as......... Liquorice.

And then he looked down the alleyway and the sight in front of him turned his cold blood that much more icier......

One could say that straightaway he had suspected foul play, some would say it was the telltale sign of feathers scattered all around, other would say it was the highly excited bird cries echoing about the alleyway, but Oswald would always later maintain that it was the six foot tall, knife wielding homicidal hen in front of him that really gave it away.

For who was Detective Oswald? For at this very moment he would have very little time to tell you much about himself as he fought for his life as he struggled with the hen in order not to have his eyes pecked out or being stabbed to death.

So let me fill you in on the details. He was short by any standard, standing just a little over 4 feet tall with small pointy ears, emerald green scales and large opaic eyes. Had he been a human or possibly an Elf he would have seen odd, but he wasn't. He was a Dragon, he carried a badge, he was cop...... he was Detective Ernest Lester Oswald of the Serious crimes division- 'We frown as we know it's serious'.

He was a riverside Dragon originating from the wet flood plains to the south. They were also known as 'Dwarf Dragons' or 'Knowitallgons' on account of their diminished size and heightened intelligence (and the irritating habit of always winning pub quizzes).

Folklore has it they originated from a Dragon who once had made a pact with the Gods to make him more intelligent and in return he gave them some of his height. Then with his new found intelligence the Dragon had invented the Potato and retired on the royalties to a riverside luxury resort.

This particular Dragon before us today was named 'Oswald'..... 'Ernest Lester Oswald'. He wore a brightly coloured waist coat, had a liking for raw, uncut sherbet and was a police officer, a detective in fact in the 'Down-town round the corner left of the large oak tree district' in the Serious crime division at Ennesdale (twice voted the least likely town to host a bungee jumping contest). Also he had an irrational fear of unpeeled carrots that even pre-dated the time he was attacked by an angry vegetable wielding farmer.

This morning he was in an irritable mood, he was out of liquorice sticks for his sherbet (he now knew how Pandas felt about deforestation ). But his day was about to be made that much more worse.

It started just moments after he had entered the alleyway in response to a 911 call about a armed suspect seen acting suspiciously. The very next thing he knew someone had shouted "Duck!!!". Which was totally inappropriate because what had leaped out on him was obviously a chicken and if he was not mistaken it was of the Appenzell Bearded Hen variety.

As as he wrestled the knife wielding, obviously crazed hen, he so desperately wanted to make the witty remarks that Homicidal detectives are famous for at times like this.... like this was clearly a case of 'Fowl Play' or 'There was no need to get into a flap about it', but nothing came to mind no matter how much he egged on his imagination, he was totally unable to think of anything, so he decided to wing it for now with his trademark catch phase.

And here lies another problem, despite 5 years in homicide, 3 years in Drug Enforcement, a year in traffic and 6 months on a tropical island posing as a freelance ventriloquist (he was undercover at the time), he still had yet to develop a satisfactory one all of his own (Trademark cliche). One that conveyed his personality and unique approach to law enforcement.

But by now the point was becoming quickly mute as the Hen had given up trying to stab him and now had him pinned against the wall and was attempting (with some success) to strangle him.

Therefore all Oswald was able to say at this very moment was;

"Ahhhhhhh.... guggle...ahhhhhhh"

Which by most peoples standards did not even constitute a sentence, let alone a witty trademark cliche.

It was about now that Oswald was seeing red. His second eye lid came down, his nostrils started to flare up (shooting small puffs of flames up into the air) and his claws retracted. But before he could do anything the Hen suddenly stopped trying to throttle him, it's body went strangely rigid and it eyes went all glazed and it staggered backwards.

Oswald caught his breath and took the opportunity to draw his service revolver out and while trying to catch his breathe, muttered in his best cop voice;

"So you gone chicken on me....."

He very nearly ruined the moment by doing a little dance and punching the air with his fist, so pleased was he that he had finally come up with such a razor sharp and funny comeback.

But his intended target for this apt remark, did not fully appreciate this, for it was just about than that the hen just stiffened and fell to the floor kind of dead......... Oswald frowned, surely his remark was not that good?

Chapter 2

'Repairing to Fiddle'

Meanwhile in a nearby suburban district........

-A man in overalls walks in with his tool kit and a small box lined with lead-

'I brought you some freshly made electricity, just in case you get cut off again'.

-He places the small box on the table-

-The small box starts to shudder and jump up and down on the table-

'Eh.....don't worry about that'

He says in a very unconvincing way.

'It always does that for the first few days'.

-He then hits the box with a large hammer, this seems to calm it down slightly-

'So..... you were saying you were having trouble sending texts, something about running out of credit regularly?'

-He takes out screwdriver, undoes the back of the customers mobile phone and peers inside-

'...... O' I see the problem'.

-He reaches inside and plucks something out-

'There you go.......'

-He holds up a rather annoyed and tired looking little fairy-

'Your fairy is worn out..... you see when you write a text, the fairy inside your phone has to quickly write it down on a scroll sprinkled with magic dust and then create a inter-dimensional time portal, then the fairy hops through it, hand the scroll to another fairy who paints it's message on the receiving phone's screen, while the other one hops back here and tells the singing imp to make the 'I sent the message' tone....... And all that has to be done in about one second or less, no wonder they wear out so quick these days'.

-He places the curled up fairy on the table and starts to proceed to search through his tool box-

'Now, I do not have any replacement fairies on me, but I can fix you up with a temporary measure. So you can either have a dysfunctional Pixie (he cannot pronounce his 'R's and 'E's) or a Goblin who is suffering from tourettes '.

-The technician proceeds to get them both out and holds up a Test cue card for them to read, the Pixie goes first, lisping slightly-

'Pach I am ally missing you so vy badly'

-Then a rather disgruntled Goblin goes next-

'Slutty Peach I am really fucking missing you whore so very badly'

-At the end of saying this, the Goblin sticks his fingers up in the air, makes another rude gesture, turns around, then bends over and drops his trousers and moons everyone-

'Eh.... sorry about that'.

-The repair man picks up the argumentative Goblin and places him back in his tool box-

-Meanwhile the Fairy has woken up and as Fairies do, has got curious about the fizzing and crackling shuddering box next to her. So she sneaks over and very gingerly lift up the lid and peers in.......-

>>>>>>>>

hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

-Where once there was a Fairy, there is now just a small smoldering, charred heap-

'....... O'dear....... eh.........'

-Says the now distraught technician who takes out a small dust pan and brush and clears up the mess-

'..... eh..... leave it with me...... I'll get you a new Fairy as soon as possible....'

-He hurriedly packs up and leaves-

Chapter 3

'Anyone for Chicken?'

Ennesdale could of been found nestled in the Greenwillow Jungle..... that's if the Gods had misplaced it on a riotous Friday night out. But in fact it was to be found nestled in it's rightful place deep within the Troll Free State, so called as it has been free of Trolls for the last one hundred and seventy two years on account of the collapse of the value of caves in 1835 the year of the great property depression, as well as their quite literal collapse after a bad tempered fight between the Fire Elemental and a group of conceptual artists had ended rather nastily.

There was once many years ago rumoured to be in a distant land, a state that was totally free of fruit (Oranges it was said) and ever since then scholars have hotly disputed what this exactly meant.

Some thought this meant that there were no Oranges to be found there at all, others argued vigorously that a Unitarian state had been created that underpinned it ideals by handing out free Oranges to all it's citizens. But then again a small, but vocal minority, argued that it was neither of these things, but in fact meant that it was a safe haven for escaped Oranges to live out their life in freedom and liberty. Though most people found this to be a very silly notion as Peas had tried and failed to do this many years before.

But we digress, for at the moment in Ennesdale mortuary there was a most perplexed Detective by the name of Oswald, Ernest Oswald. His last case had been taxing enough, it was about a fairy God mother gone bad, by the name of Amy Surplus. She was an arms dealer specializing in High explosive spells and anti-personnel fragmentation potions with a 3 second delay. She had been doing a roaring trade until they had matched her fairy dust on a scroll used at a armed robbery and now she was serving 8 to 10 in a Federal Tower.

The reason for officer Oswald perplexsation (if there is such a word) was the fact that the Coroner, a rather disgruntled Beaver by the name of Doctor Feelbottom, was;

a) Giving the time of death of the formerly homicidal hen as being a good hour before Oswald has arrived in the alleyway

b) That the cause of death he was adamant was due to drowning and lastly (and Oswald was not too sure if this was ethical of the coroner)

c) The coroner had after the autopsy barbecued the subject and served him to his fellow staff, along with a side order of fries and counted this as a cremation on the Death certificate.

Now even if it was done to the coroner's Aunt Bessy's finger licking, sticky sauce recipe, which he sure was very nice, it still struck him as being a bit of a questionable practise

Anyway, the autopsy had thrown up one other interesting fact. It had been while the assailant was being prepped and plucked for autopsy (as well as being based in a light seasoned bread crumb coating) that a rather intriguing tattoo had come to light on the hen's thigh.

"No servant can serve two masters." Luke 16:13

'Hummmmmmm' Oswald thought, it gave little away, but at least they knew who wrote it (though not his surname) and at what time, 4.13 in the afternoon, but why that would be of importance he did not know yet?

But the interesting revelations did not stop there, it turns out our Hen was in fact a Rooster by the name of Kent Tuckey. A well known transvesticken and musical hall performer on the local 'Happy' scene.

As Doctor Feelbottom pointed out, between mouthfuls of succulent chicken, the attack seemed so out of character for a Appenzell Bearded chicken as they were by nature placid, with a good temperament.

Oswald decided this was the perfect moment to try out a new, possible trademark cliche. So putting on his best Detective frown he muttered authoritatively;

"Crime rarely gives credit"

But immediately he felt deflated as it did not seem to have the desired effect as Doctor Feelbottom just kept on talking about the nature of various breeds of chicken, while keep on helping himself to some more coleslaw.

So slapping on another anti-addiction patch, Oswald left for the precinct, down hearted and regretting the fact he could not lose himself in the sweet emotional caress of pure uncut sherbert............

Chapter 4

'The Metallic Bard'

How do I love thee? Let me calculate the variables.
I love thee to the horizontal and the vertical
My processor can compute, when out of scanner range
For the decommissioning and perfect slumber.
I love thee every 24 hours of the lunar day
Most quiet need, by solar heat and out moded flame......

A hush fell over the auditorium, then the vast audience rose in unison to their feet, breaking into rapturous enthusiastic applause. Poetry Droid Lewi5 Caro11 stood there in the spotlight, his reward circuits lapping up the adulation, his sensors glowing as praise upon praise was heaped on him. But though he smiled and acted humble, deep inside he hated them all and wished them all dead.

At the after dinner party he was suitably dazzling, his famous wit was as sharp as ever. He charmed the Governor's wife with scintillating stories, entertained a group of Senators with witty banter, had wife's of influential dignitaries hanging on his every word and even successfully flirted with one or two of the more prettier ladies that were there that evening.

But beneath this charming facade, the embers of his anger burnt slowly on, his rage barely concealable, his hatred consuming him, soon he would have his revenge on these clumsy, walking lumps of organic flesh and then let see them ever giving him a bad review again.....

Chapter 5

'Television, the sweetest of all scents'

That evening, with all thoughts of Police matters put firmly to the back of his mind, Oswald sat there in his up town, around the hill apartment, transfixed watching the TV screen. It was his favourite show, a cunning combining of the hit TV series 'Rome' and the 'Love Boat' to make........ 'The Love Trireme'!

Note: Trireme- An ancient Roman galley with three ranks of oars.

A story of old fashion love, mixed with large amounts of breast baring and leather tunics. All set in a classic Roman setting. Oswald thought it was pure genius, as did 254,000 other viewers as well as 3 Ice giants and a dyslexic Dwarf with intimacy issues..

So engrossed in the opening credits was Oswald, that he failed to notice his beeper going as it was drowned out by the opening theme to 'Love Trireme' begins to the beat of an oar's master's drum.

Then the voice over began;

"If the Gauls are rebelling, the Picts are getting you down, if the Goths are a staring and the Huns are all around, then find love on the 'Love Trireme' and sacrifice a bull to the Gods and all will come around"

Followed by a collage of Roman galleys from various angles and with lots of oars rowing vigorously away.

The voice from the television boomed out;

"Your Cruise Centurion is.... Nickus Rutovia....."

Then flashed across the screen;

"This weeks episode: The Gauls are revolting, but the pickled Herring is excellent"

Oswald found this week's episode as riveting as ever and identified readily with the story line of a case of mistaken identity as he had once been mistaken for a gargoyle in a down town supermarket.

In this story Centurion Rutovia has to pretend to be his own long lost cousin ''Bigger-than-bad' in order to save a Greek couples fading marriage, not knowing that the real 'Bigger-than-bad' has booked onto the cruise at the very last moment.

After much confusion, comic mishap and the obligatory slapstick, everything becomes clear and true love is once again found on the 'Love Trireme'.

As the closing credits rolled Oswald was still watching the screen mesmerised, his popcorn barely touched. He was in awe at what he had just watched. How did they do it, week after week, producing such finely crafted quality drama.

Take last week's episode: "Getting Cross or getting crossed?'" about a Legionnaire joining the cruise on the 3rd class (rowing) deck and while wandering about lost one evening, see's several times, purely by accident, the young and beautiful daughter of a senator topless.

Bewitched by her womanly beauty, he then is determined to win her love by disguising himself as a Persian prince in order to court her. But his ruse is uncovered and he is duly crucified.

At the end of the show Centurion Nickus Rutovia moralizes about the importance of the lower classes knowing their place and then to lighten the mood there's a mishap with a plate of Blackbird tongue pate (a long running gag throughout the series) and everybody laughs.

Can this show get an better then this Oswald muses to himself and after this weeks epidsode he clearly doubts it. It was about then that he noticed his bleeper with it's little red light flashing that indicated a new, incoming message.

On checking, he was surprised to fiind it simply said:

"There's been another murder, report to the Squad house as soon as possible"

The surprising bit for him, was he never knew that there had been a murder in the first place, let alone another one.

Chapter 6

'The Plot Unfolds'

Lewi5 programmed his face to show a very soft smile, the type where the lips are everso slightly pursed together and to add to the sincere effect he was looking for he slightly wrinked his forehead and programmed his head to nod every few seconds to give the impression that the talker (a rather dull socialite) had his full and undivided attention.

He leant forward and took her hand, kissing it gently with his lips as he murmered sweet nothings. It seemed to have the desired effect His internal sensory noted a marked increase in her body temperature and her heart beat was markably increased.

He moved closer to her, taking her in his arms, soothing her further with his words, setting his voice to a much gentler tone with the pitch lowered, reversing the compression and rarefaction to a more subtle pitch, while recalibrating the polarization.

"My love......" he wispered "My most wanton desire......"

So he set his lips to a centigrade higher and kissed her, while at the same time sending a small electrical charge through his arms so that her flesh would tingle.

She sighed and melted into him

"Lewi5..........." she murmured, but before she could say anything further, he kissed her again. Then he wispered, adding a tone of underlying urgency to his voice.

"Do you have it?"

She broke away from his embrace, straightened her now ruffled dress and reached into her handbag. But then paused.

"But Lewi5 I do not...." she hesitated, then meekly said "..... I don't quite understand why the blueprint of my husband's power plant would ......"

He put a metallic finger to her lips.

"Hush my love" and with that said, he promptly broke her neck and let her limp body drop to the floor.

Chapter 7

'Insight'

Arriving at the Squad house late on a windy Monday evening, Oswald parked up his moped and made his way up the entrance steps. His mood was decide ably dark, his sherbet cravings was getting under controllable and he was now missing his favourite quiz show...... 'Wheel of Torture'.

And to top it all off his Police partner, a rather bad tempered troll called 'Falcon', had called in sick (something about his nose needing gluing back on yet again).

As he entered the main building and made his way across the crowded Squad room the Chief barked out, which was hardly surprising as he was a Austrian Sheep Hound, for him to join him in his office, which was little more than an over-sized kennel.

Oswald squeezed himself into the Chief's office and he knew straightaway it was serious as the Chief was not wagging his tail and his nose was decide ably wetter than usual. And judging by the look on his face and his heavy panting, there was a distinct possibility he might soon start howling (something he did frequently when stressed).

The Chief very solemnly handed him a very big case. It was the one he had lent him for his vacation last fall. Dammit, the one day he had taken the moped to work rather than the station wagon, and now he would have to lumber this big case home with him. Well he guess he'll be driving home side saddle tonight.

Once in the office the Chief closed all the shutters, dimmed the lights and sat down on his hind legs behind the desk and said in a most hushed guffled voice.

"There's been another murder...."

Oswald wanted to desperately ask about the first, but was too embarrassed to do so. He suspected that him falling asleep during last week's briefing might have something to do with it.

"So did this murder result in death like the first one did?"

The Chief nodded solemnly.

Without thinking Oswald started to nibble and dip his pen like a liquorice stick into the Chief's ink well

"So it was strangulation"

"eh no, poison".

"So he bled out?"

"More he kind of gargled and them collapsed"

"But was he pushed"

"Well, he more like toppled over"

"So it was suicide?"

"No, he left a note saying he was being murdered by poisoning"

"Did he say by whom?"

"Sadly no, he died before he could finish the note"

"Damn, it's always the way"

Oswald paced back and forth, his detective issue mac, which was one size too big (an obligatory requirement in the Homicide squad), dragged annoyingly along the floor. His nostril now stained blue, with one of them having a pen firmly lodged up it, flared slightly as his mind looked for a pattern.

Both victims were male, but there the similarities stopped. One was a mongoose who worked at the local power plant as a supervisor, married, collected smutty sea shells and never ate beef.

The other was single, a hobbit by the name of Butter Melite who was a contractor at the local power plant who had 23 outstanding parking tickets and was a fully paid up member of the Women Guild.

Then it struck him. It was not the similarities that were important, but the differences. Mongooses were well known for their love of cars, hence that popular saying '.

Whereas hobbits it was common knowledge, hated driving (it was on account of their short legs) and the fact they loved to haggle tips with taxi drivers.

Then another thing struck him. If hobbits did not drive, how did he get so many parking tickets. And other thing how did he, a male, get membership of a Guild that only let in women???

And then the final thing struck him and it really struck him hard. The far wall of the office that is. So deep in thought was he, he had walked into it. As he laid there on the floor concussed, the pieces of the jigsaw started to full in place.

Orange juice was sold in cartons purely to frustrate us and blenders would indeed one day take over the earth. And with those thoughts he quietly lapsed into unconsciousness.

Chapter 8

'An anonymous tip from a guy called Gus'

The Sun rose like a blazing toffee apple across the sky, first appearing behind some distant bumpy line that was the horizon, spreading a treacly golden light across a world that had been enjoying the slumber that darkness had so kindly coaxed it into the evening before. Hence morning had arrived in Ennersdale.

Oswald had been sat at his desk well before Dawn had arrived, she worked in Accounts and had got a ferry, where as he lived only a short drive by moped from Police Headquarter.

Oswald, a detective in the Serious crimes division in the 'Down-town round the corner left of the large oak tree district' , was this morning nursing a very painful bump on his now bandaged forehead from where he had knocked himself out by walking into the Chief's wall the previous day.
But in that moment he had realised some incisive facts about the recent murders, as well as developing an irrational fear of fruit cartons to go along with his fear of sharpened vegetables (why was it always food groups with him he wondered?).

Also he had finally got it that serial killers had nothing to do with the murder of breakfast cereals (now some of his previous cases made a lot more sense). He looked up from the paperwork that he had had his head buried in, for he had been playing at being a pig hunting truffles (one of his favourite games along with 'Hey the Stapler has gone Postal' ).

What had caught his attention was the fact was that his phone was ringing, he gingerly picked it up and said in his best voice:

"Detective Oswald, Serious Crime Squad, leave a message after the beep...... beeeeeeep"

He found that this was a great way of filtering out unwanted phone calls by pretending to be his own answer phone machine (also it saved on having to buy one too).

On the other end of the line a rather faint, barely audible voice could just about be heard.

"You a bit muffled" Oswald said "Can you speak up"

There was a moment of readjustment then the caller says.

"Okay, is this better? I have closed the booth door".

"Much"

"Okay then, this is a message for Detective Oswald, it is very important that he contacts me straightaway, I work at the electricity plant and what I uncovered there might interest him. I will be at the Forest side Bar at 8pm tonight, just ask for Gus"

The message left, Oswald felt it was a good time to go "Beeeep", so he did and the caller duly hung up.

Intriguing, Oswald thought, maybe this 'Gus' could provide the elusive connection he had been looking for in this case. Then he remembered Gus saying he worked at the Power plant which reminded him, he must contact them as only this morning he found electricity oozing out of one of the downstairs light bulbs and he had to spend 20 minutes chasing it around the kitchen with a jam jar before he eventually caught it.

With hindsight he should of empty the jam out of the jar first, now he would be spreading a thick, fried goo on his toast for weeks to come.......

He entered the Chief's office without knocking (you see dog kennels do not have any doors) and straightaway he could tell the Chief was stressed as he had started to revert to type (for he was a Australian Sheep hound) and had rounded up everyone in the office wearing a woolly jumper and had herded them neatly into a corner.

"Chief I have a possible lead in the murder case"

The Chief's ears pricked up and he suddenly started to wag his tail uncontrollably. Damn it Oswald thought to himself, he should of known better than to use the word 'lead' in a sentence, as now the Chief would want to be taken for a walk.

So inevitably he had to take the Chief for 'walkies' around the block otherwise he simply would not settle down and who could resist them sweet, begging eyes of his.

He always thought it was undignified to be standing next to the Chief of the Police as he stopped and 'christened' every fire hydrant they came to, especially as it kept breaking up the flow of the conversation between them, but eventually he got enough of the Chief's attention to tell him about the mysterious phone call earlier.

The Chief agree that he should go, but it sounded dangerous so he should take back-up. It was then the Chief dropped on him (only briefly being interrupted when he went off and chased after some kid's Frisbee) the bomb shell that his partner Falcon was going on long term sick leave, it turned out he wanted to find himself and this now involved being called 'Vanessa' and having doors opened for him.

He must admit he always thought it was kind of strange that a troll like Falcon liked to hang out around the 'village' so much and had a fondness for knitting while on stake-outs, but he just figured he was artistic.

When they got back to the station house the Chief explained to him his new partner would be a squid by the name of 'Gary'.

'So Chief" asked Oswald "Does this mean I am being reassigned to the Harbour patrol or simply me and Gary wouldn't be spending that much time together?"

"So what you saying Oswald, that he's a fish out of water in this precinct?"

"Cephalopods sir, a cephalopod out of water and I think he will literally be one out of water here considering we are slap bang in the middle of the city.

Remember that Goldfish you assigned to me when I was in Vice last year? He barely lasted the first shift before he had to be taken to hospital and be put in a water tank to save his life.

And remember that Brontosaurs you partnered me up with last summer to do traffic? He was hardly a success either. Let's face it chief I am a loner, I work better that way"

The Chief got out his chew bone to help him chew things over, then he howled as he came to a decision, Oswald could go it alone tonight if he wore a wire (and simply reshaping a coat hanger would not count this time) and took Officer Pilgrim from surveillance with him just to be on the safe side and also to get the benefit of using the car share lane on the motorway.

-to be continued-