George Knows
by
Mindy Mymudes
Blurb:
An egotistical magical basset hound named George believes it's his
duty to train and protect his 12-year-old Girlpup, a greenwitch named Karly. He
and his Girlpup, must solve a murder as well as save their park from being
developed. George is the perfectly designed familiar for the job.
Excerpt:
I don’t understand
my Girlpup; the rest of my Pack adores me. Packmom Doreen is always an easy conquest. She saved me when
I was a puppy and I fell over my ears, and my legs wouldn’t stay under me. She
is the most important member of the Pack—she feeds us.
Just not often
enough.
Packdad Brian is
very well trained and does whatever Packmom Doreen wants. In the last two
years, I’ve become a model of the perfect hunting hound. Karly needs to see me
for what I am, and she doesn’t.
Yet.
When I prowl in
her mind, I see how she pictures me—a clumsy, stupid, wobbly pup. I shouldn’t
have to prove to her I am the best familiar in the world or that I am brilliant.
I shouldn’t, but I know I’ll have to.
“George!” she
shouts through panting. Why is she running? “Where the heck are you?”
Although Karly’s
scent changed after her twelfth birthday from sweetmilkFrootLoops to that fakeflowerchemical
that she thinks removes her odor, I know it’s her. Even if I can’t smell her, I
can still hear her stumble over the path. Big rocks and trees that scrape the
sky get in the way. She needs to get lower to the ground. Now she’s sneezing.
If only she’d work with me, her allergies would go bye-bye. Whoever heard of an
allergic witch-in-training? We can use green magic. But Karly will first have
to trust me.
And she doesn’t.
Yet.
Maybe when she
gets older.
She will.
I continue to
scrape my claws into the damp ground, searching for more smelltastes and
listening for my Girlpup. She’s panting like it’s a hot day. At least she’s
catching up. I am satisfied she’s okay, and dig like a badger with my wonderful
big paws and claws, the ideal excavation tools. I wish I was digging up the den
of a rabbit. I slow to sniff.
No.
There’s no rabbit
here.
Something
different’s calling me.
What the heck is
it?
Dirt and roots
pile up behind me, and my rear is now higher than my front as I dig. I scrape
against rocks and try to push them away. They aren’t rocks—too long and thin. I
wrap my jaws around one and toss it with a headshake out of the hole. I find
another and do the same thing, until there is a pile of buff-colored things
that look like bleached driftwood.
I heave myself out
of the hole and investigate my find. The thick sticks are hairy with fine
roots. I pick one up. It’s light for its size, hollow, and about the size of a
rawhide bone. It has a round knob on one side and is broken off on the other. I
retrieve more pieces from the hole and sit.
Maybe they are old
branches.
No.
They don’t
smelltaste like old branches.
Hmmm.
Karly finally
shows up, huffing and puffing, out of breath. She needs to get out more. I poke
my nose into the pile of things I’ve dug out. “George, what are you doing? You
aren’t, um, eating those, are you?”
I look at her like
she’s crazy. I don’t eat wood.
Anymore.
Karly points to
the things and counts them. “So what did you find? There are nine of whatever they
are.” She bends down and touches one. “Weird, they look like someone snapped
them in half.” My Girlpup takes one of the longer things and rubs off the dirt.
She drops it like
it’s a pan just out of the oven. I take a sniff; it’s not hot. There’s something
here, though.
Not a good
something, either.
“G-G-George,
those are bones,” Karly’s voice breaks as she stutters over my name. I take
another sniff. Yeah, they could be bones. What’s the problem with that? I lick
one. It tastes like dirt. They’ve been here a long time.
Yup.
That’s it.
Just a bunch of
animal bones. Maybe a big dog buried them. What’s bothering her? The hackles
rise on the back of my neck. The not good gassulfurdrysnakecatstink smelltaste
spins around my brain like smoke.
Oh.
Oh no.
I hack and cough.
I know exactly what kind of bones these are.
I
look Karly in the eye and push a picture of a Halloween skeleton. I know she
doesn’t like it when I go into her head without permission, but this is
important. I am not sharing the good stuff, like manure, rotting fish, and dead
animals.
“No way. These aren’t human bones,” she
squeaks and backs up.
Nope,
she can’t ignore these. I pick one up gently between my teeth and carry it to
her feet. I carefully place it in front of her toes then shake my muzzle, lips
flopping from side to side, trying to get the taste of Peep bone out of my
mouth. Peep bone.
It’s awful.
Bassets do not eat Peeps’ bones. We only chew
non-peep bones. We need our Peeps to hunt for our fresh, meaty bones.
“George,
leave it. We need to talk to Aunt Heather about them. She’ll know if they’re
human or not, and what to do if they are.” Karly gulps. “If they aren’t…I hope
they aren’t. You’ve never smelled human bones, so how’d you know?”
Um,
I am your familiar. I have magical skills? There’s something off about the
bones, and a weak scent gets stronger as I inhale.
Blegh.
It’s a really bad
smelltaste.
About the Author:
Mud E Poz (aka Mindy Mymudes) runs with the
Muddy Paws Pack in Milwaukee,
WI. She insists she is alpha,
even as the dogs walk all over her. She hunts, cleans the den and keeps them
entertained. When she can escape the pack, she enjoys digging in dirt,
listening to audiobooks, and weaving the antics of the pack into stories. The
alpha male, Tall Dude, just shakes his head and stays out of the way.
You can find Mud E Poz on:
Amazon
Goodreads
You can buy "George Knows" (December 6) on:
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Sony
Smashwords
