"Barry B. Longyear - The Purloined Labradoodle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Longyear Barry)

THE PURLOINED LABRADOODLE
by BARRY B. LONGYEAR

****

Wherein Jaggers and Shad give new meaning to the phrase
“impersonating an ... officer?”

I had originally intended these narratives to address the more
significant inquiries Guy Shad and I worked in our time together in the
Exeter office of Artificial Beings Crimes. An incautious comment I made in
my chronicle of Shad’s death in “The Hangingstone Rat,” however, touched
upon my suspicion Shad might have his rescued engrams imprinted
temporarily on a celebrity look-alike bio of British actor Nigel Bruce while his
mallard duck replacement meat suit matured. Nigel Bruce, of course, was
known primarily for his role as the bumbling Dr. Watson in the grayscale
Sherlock Holmes vids of the mid twentieth century. I deduced this attire
would amuse Shad to no end due to my police replacement bio strongly
resembling Basil Rathbone, the actor who played Sherlock Holmes in the
same series.

Since Shad regarded me as something of a foil for his humor, due to
his former career as the American comic advert insurance duck on the telly,
he could not possibly resist the opportunities for silly situations with us thus
configured. This aside in one of my accounts, however, produced a rash of
queries about the cases we worked thus resembling Holmes and Watson,
neé Rathbone and Bruce. Not just the facts, mind you. These inquiring
minds wanted to know down-to-the-last-flipping-detail, please and thank you
very much.

Shortly after he moved into his new feathers, I discussed it with Shad.
As always he had little interest in anything not involving movies, acting, his
feline friend Nadine, or solving the current case. When I pointed out to him
that the original Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Aurhur Conan Doyle were
narrated by Dr. Watson, hence rightfully Shad should author our adventures
so made up, he looked up from his case file and said, “You know, Jaggs,
despite my many quills, I’ve never been much of one for writing.”

We were on three matters together with Shad in his Watson meat suit.
The first of these inquiries I have titled “The Purloined Labradoodle.” This
inquiry initially had nothing to do with Watson or a Labradoodle. It initiated
actually in relation to improperly imprinted puppies, an imprisoned parakeet,
and a parrot profoundly perturbed.
 “Limp stone,” muttered the parrot darkly.

I finished stocking the shelves in back of the small shop counter with
boxes of birdseed, tins of dog food, and little packets of catnip. The
counter and display case were festooned with colorful leashes of assorted
sizes; plastic bones; rubber mice; squeaky toys; scratching posts; king-,
queen-, and knave-sized pet beds and such. The walls were hung with