Sherlock Dog

Sherlock Dog

  Copyright 2012 Carolyn Wada

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  SHERLOCK DOG

  Perspicacious Dog

  Perspicacious: it means keenly discerning, and Mommy says I am. One morning, we were walking down the Big Hill, with the trees on one side and the road on the other. Mommy was wrapped up tightly in her John Watson coat, looking and walking straight ahead; to her, they were the same trees and road as from the night before and the day before and the morning before. I was zigzagging, giving attention to grass and pavement and air in turn, reading the dozens of tales they told of Who and What and Approximately When.

  Mommy did notice when I suddenly darted six feet to the right and then six and six feet to the left and then six and six feet to the first spot on the right and began to lick the road. "What is it Sherlock Dog, what is it?" she said, in the bemused voice with which she always reacts to my shows of doggy genius. Mommy, loved but appallingly unobservant Mommy, couldn't know: that at some point since our last walk, someone had dropped a hot dog in the road near the curb; and it had been lying there for Some Time; and then a cat had run from a yard, snatched up the hot dog and carried it up a tree; and he (yes, it was obviously a he)(I) had made a sloppy job of eating it in the tree and had come down to eat the fallen bits in the grass.

  After our walk that morning, Mommy took off and hung up my lead, scratched me under the ears for a few moments, took off her boots, gave me a biscuit, hung her John Watson coat on the back of a chair and sat down before her computer. This is what she does every morning after our walk.

  Mommy's computer told her the Word of the Day.

  "Perspicacious: it means Sherlock Holmes," said Mommy to Ubu.

  "'Nuff said?" laughed Ubu.

  "'Nuff said," said Mommy.

  Mommy loves Words. As I like to chew on a meaty bone, so Mommy likes to chew on a meaty word. Word-of-the-Day sends a new word to Mommy's computer each morning. Mommy uses the word in a sentence "that might possibly appear in the Sherlock universe," and saves it in her computer in her Sherlock folder. I know she does this because she told Ubu so.

  Ubu is Mommy's Man. He is very big and strong. Once, Ubu was slobbering on Mommy's face, and I stuck my nose between theirs, wanting to slobber on Mommy's face too. Ubu effortlessly picked me up and tucked me under his arm, as if I were the cat and not a 90-lb. Labrador. He carried me outside, closed the door and resisted the most plaintive whimpers I could muster: he is strong in that way, too.

  If you are perspicacious, you may have wondered: how did a dog know he had traveled six feet to the right to sniff the site of the Stolen Hot Dog? It is simple: I know my lead is six feet long. I had swerved laterally each time, and each time I was brought up by the jerk that tells me when I'm at the end of my lead. I know my lead is six feet long because Mommy once debated the merits of four-foot, six-foot and retractable leads with Ubu, settled on the six-footer as best, and put the others in storage.

  Mommy tells Ubu everything she thinks about everything. Sometimes Ubu tells Mommy he thinks differently; sometimes he just listens; and sometimes he says, "I'm watching the movie!"

  I always listen to what Mommy tells Ubu: and that is how I know how far six feet is, and who Sherlock Holmes is, and what obsession means, and why Mommy's obsession with Sherlock Holmes got her into trouble from which I got her out. That is what this story is about.

  Britishes and Mericans

  As a dog, my work is to observe and understand humans and particularly Mommy. I can usually do this very quickly. After my first day with Mommy, I knew nearly everything important about her. When I meet a new human, I can know the main points about him in seconds.

  Figuring out about Britishes and Mericans, though, took many, many days. It was my greatest challenge and my best work. I had to make so many observations and connections. It was such a fine process: so I would hate to present the result as an obvious statement framed in a simplistic doggy metaphor, such as, "Britishes and Mericans are different breeds of humans that can be differentiated by the sound of their barks." Let's go on a longer walk.

  Mommy is a Merican: she lives on a purple mountain majesty. She is proud to be a Merican because at least she knows she's free. I learned these things and many others from songs. Songs are very important to Mommy; she will sometimes study a song as intently as I study a shoe in the road: she wants to know where it's been and what flavours are in it. Her investigation excites her as mine excites me.

  Once, Mommy figured out the chords to the song Mazing Grace. Chords are the flavours of a song all stacked up on top of each other. Mommy figured them out and then ran to where Ubu was; she was jumping up and down. Ubu followed Mommy to the piano and Mommy played Mazing Grace without written music. Without written music because she had figured out the chords with observation and knowledge: that was what made her so proud. I was proud of Mommy too, and jumped up and down.

  Mazing Grace is a British song. It was in a movie with Benedict Cumberbatch. Note that name; it will be important later.

  Britishes, like Mericans, make songs and movies. They also make books, News, and television shows. Most of Mommy's favorite books writers are British. Every so often, Mommy will tell Ubu what her favorite things are, in case he's forgotten. When she talks about books, she will always say, "It's funny, but most of my favorite writers are British."

  At first, I couldn't figure out what was funny and what the "but" meant. "It's funny" means something is funny, and "but" means something is somewhat contradicting something said before. But Mommy never said anything meaningful before "it's funny, but." I had to apply all my powers of logical reasoning to figure out the unspoken first part. Using clues taken from other contexts, I think this is it:

  "I know Mericans are supposed to love Merican stuff best and think Mericans are the greatest at everything, so it's funny, but most of my favorite writers are British."

  I will list Mommy's favorite writers:

  1. Jay Arrr Arrr Tolkien

  2. Jay Kay Rowling

  3. Douglas Adams

  4. Roald Dahl

  5. James Herriot

  6. Charles Dickens

  7. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  8. Rex Stout--*A Merican

  Mommy listens to British News in the car, because British News is actually world News, whereas Merican News is mostly Merican News. If you are perspicacious, you will now know how I figured out that Britishes sound different from Mommy and Ubu, and the other Mericans I know.

  Sherlock is a British television show, and Mommy's favorite show of all time. It is about Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective,(l) played by probably the world's only Benedict Cumberbatch. Sherlock is tall and slender and has beautiful long fingers that look fantastic when he presses them together, which is what Sherlock does when he is thinking. Sherlock is a great thinker; that is how he became the world's only consulting detective: people who don't think as well have to consult him for help with their thinking.

  Sherlock is also a great explainer. I must explain about explaining. Sherlock belongs to the crime drama breed of television show. A crime drama must always have explanations: the characters must eventually tell what they know and how they know it. Mommy can be very critical when it comes to these explanations: she thinks they too often come off as forced and artificial.

  There is a character in another crime drama: I am not going to say who because I am a Labrador; and have you ever met a mean-spirited Labrador? But
sometimes when this character is explaining something, Mommy will be growling at the television: "Speed it up! ohmygoodness, his delivery is awful. This explanation is going to take the whole episode! Look, he's messing up the timing of [the other actor] too! Aaaaaaah!"

  But when Sherlock is explaining something: well look, this is what I do when I am anticipating a treat. I sit bolt upright and stare with rapt attention at the source of the treat, which is Mommy. When Sherlock is about to explain something, Mommy sits bolt upright and stares with rapt attention at the television. She watches the explanation and sometimes mouths the words with Sherlock. Then she will go back and watch the explanation again. Then she will go back and watch the explanation again. It's like peanut butter cookies; you have one and you think, "oh yes, that was really good; I would really like more of the same, please."

  Mommy isn't even content to keep the explanations in the television. She has saved her three favorite explanations in her head: all the words, in the exact right order. Sometimes, she will recite her favorite explanations to Ubu; all the words in the exact right order. First she will say: "I can't do the [British] accents." Then she will recite the explanation. Then she will say: "Isn't that sharp? It's like totally organic." Mommy has