Wednesday, March 7, 2012

The case of the missing bovine tibia.

The long-awaited 2nd story by ghost writer
Edgar Allan Poo.

[A True Mystery that happened last week.]

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Sadly, it was yet another wet and dismal day.
The Typist was about to settle down to a few hours of dreary chores starting with 2 weeks worth of ironing when, suddenly! she saw this!
Mud! on The Dog's bed!
"Oh no, Georgia!" the fastidious diligent housewife cried in anguish, hurrying off to get a brush and dustpan.            

The Typist a.k.a. the fastidious diligent housewife knew exactly why there was dirt on the bed.

The Dog had been looking for her bone.


4 days earlier.
In the ongoing struggle to find a bone suitable for cleaning The Dog's teeth, The Cushion had come home with several bags of bovine skeletal parts.

The Typist decided to give The Dog half of this one.

[Which looks like a femur? humerus! radius? tibia to the person typing this story though she's happy to hear back from anyone who might want to correct her.]

She left The Dog alone to enjoy the bone, keeping a distant motherly eye on her progress.

After more than an hour, The Typist saw that The Dog was still, quite incredibly, gnawing the bone. She hadn't swallowed it [as she usually did]. In fact, upon closer inspection, the bone wasn't even cracked! 

"Success!" The Typist thought happily, to quote her favourite tour guide.

She carefully dug out the remaining juicy marrow for The Good Dog, then decided to give her another few minutes with the bone before trashing it.


10 minutes later.
The Dog walked into the house.

"You finished, Georgia." The Typist said, thinking that The Dog had probably gotten bored. Off she went to pick up the bone.

To her horror! it was gone! All of it! She couldn't see even a single tiny shard! How was that possible? 

She quickly text The Cushion at work to let him know that The Dog might have swallowed an almost intact 1/2 a bovine tibia and might die soon. Or be very constipated. And also, that it wasn't her fault.

She went back out into the yard and had another good look. Where might a dog bury a bone in a mostly paved courtyard with a diggable area only slightly larger than a postage stamp?
It was strange to say the least. But there was no bone anywhere. The only evidence The Typist found was some moved dirt in a far dark corner, too far and dark for her to crawl into.

"She may have buried it." she text again to The Cushion, somewhat relieved. And there, the story might have ended if it wasn't for what happened next.


Wednesday night.
The Typist came home from her exercise class to find the house in a mess. There were muddy paw prints everywhere. The Dog was tied up outside, looking very sorry for herself. The Cushion was right at the end of the courtyard, flashing a torchlight around in the heavyish rain.

"She's been digging for her bone!" he shouted out. "She just walked into the house and was all covered with mud! There's a hole right at the back but I can't see the bone anywhere!"

It was late. It was dark. It was raining. There was nothing to do but hose The Dirty Dog down and settle in for the night.

Which brings the story [finally] to Friday morning and the muddy bed.
The Typist was sure of one thing. The bone HAD to be out there somewhere. She also realised she was sick and tired of cleaning the house and bed after a muddy dog. So off she went to dig around [so to speak] for more clues.

Look what she found almost immediately!
 Can you spot the bone in this picture?

For some reason known only to herself, The Dog had been slack. Not only had she not [re]buried the bone properly, she'd left piles of earth everywhere leading to the hole.

"Success!" The Typist exclaimed yet again, as she dug out the almost intact bone.
Then she carefully [in case there were maggots] bagged the bone and binned it...
...while The Poor Unsuspecting Dog lay fast asleep upstairs.
 


Every day since.
The Poor Dog has gone up to where she buried her bone. She sniffs the ground. She sniffs the air. She's re-dug a tiny hole looking for her treasure. Alas! It'll always be a mystery to her, how it's gone missing like that.   

Should The Typist have removed the bone? Should she at least have allowed The Dog to witness the dastardly deed?
That's hard to say and depends on whether you care about such things.    

In this household run by a fastidious, diligent housewife and a soft-hearted pushover Cushion, it will no doubt remain [I'm almost afraid to say it]...
...a bone of contention.

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23 comments:

houndstooth said...

What a riveting mystery! You had me on the edge of the couch! I'd have been quite peeved to have someone abscond with my bone, I can tell you that!

Bunny

Anny said...

How could you... fastidious diligent housewife throw a dog's bone/treasure away without telling her at all. This is absurdddddddddddddddd... really.. really absurdddddddd. How could you. Don't your heart hurts.. mebbe a little when you see poor GLP looking for her treasure.. how could you.. you you fastidious diligent housewife.

love the story by the way... you should do more of this.. hahahahhaha :D

H and Flo said...

Heheheh. I'm actually left feeling quite sorry for GLP and the mystery of the missing bone. I personally hate it when your miscellaneous bovine skeletal parts go missing. Oh, and on that, I think it must be from a REALLY short cow... that joint is very ball and sockety looking and that groove at the end is for a kneecap... either that, or you've got it lying on a really BIG plate.

verobirdie said...

Loved the story too. You are very good at telling stories.
But I agree with Anny, how could you do that to GLP?

georgia little pea said...

FLO! THANK YOU! I'm so hoping someone kind will solve the mystery for me so I don't just call it a marrow bone. I think it's a bit short to be a tibia too but the other long bones are even longer. Doesn't the tibia fit into the kneecap? Surely the zoologist must know! :)

Jean said...

Dear Georgia Little Pea. I am so sorry that your Typist threwed away your bone. What is it wiv hoomans? My mama got rid of my balls today, and I waz very attached to them!
Yer Canadian friend, Eddie.

georgia little pea said...

dear Eddie,

humans are incomprehensible. i hope i used the right word.

btw, why are you speaking like that? is that a Canadian accent?

love, your friend, Georgia x

H and Flo said...

Yup, the tibia also has a groove for the kneecap but it doesn't have a whacking great ball at the end of it - that bit should fit into a hip socket. It just looks awfully short to be from a fully grown bovine. Unless it's from the lesser spotted dwarf bovine. Quite rare. I could be wrong. It's happened before. Once. In 1974.

georgia little pea said...

dear H,

i hope someone comes along and puts me out of my misery soon. i need to know!

it definitely is a bit short and i'm almost 100% wrong. maybe it's the tibia of a sheep or goat, though we did ask for beef bones. maybe we have a suspect butcher who can't tell a cow from a sheep or goat. sigh.

this is why i'm finding it so hard to get the right bones for Georgia. everyone seems to call them common or different names. it'd be so much easier if we just used anatomical names :)

Im Joy said...

Oh, I say, poor *BLEEEP! NAME OF CUSHION* does he know your typist has been calling him a soft-hearted pushover Cushion all this time? kkk...and poor you, Georgia... not knowing the fate of that bovine bone must be killing you! Although, hang on...I think curiosity is more a feline assasin! Happy bone chewing! xoxo

June said...

The bone must have become quite stinky.
Ew.
I don't blame you for bagging and binning, but poor Georgia. Don't you think she deserves a replacement?
Now?

georgia little pea said...

dear Im Joy - no, he does not know yet. should i be worried? feline assasin...okay, that took me a while to suss out! too clever, artist extraordinaire and English teacher... kkkkk :)x

dear June and others - why do i get the feeling that you're on The Dog's side? hmmm.

Anonymous said...

I am on the Georgia side, she should know

47 said...

How rude! Stealing a poor innocent dog's bone.

Kirsten (peacefuldog) said...

A real page-turner! You are indeed a diligent housewife, and good on ya for saving Georgia from the horrors of a moldering bonie.

Kristine said...

Oh poor Georgia! She will now be forced to spend the rest of her days wondering if her dear bone will ever return...

Needless to say, I would have done the same thing. My dog spends enough time digging through the trash as it is.

Ellen said...

Oh what a tale that kept me captivated all the way through. Such a tale of a dog and it's bone (yum for some) and of the typist (the aka fastidious diligent housewife...I so understand), wanting poochie to have and enjoy a treat such as that (okay the icky bone didn't stir any yum looks by me but I know my two would be salivating over the photo) and what does a dog do pray tell when it is tired of knawing? Why of course hide it for later. A little mud and dirt? Alas, we know that poochies do not notice the trail that they leave....

Thank you for a story well written and delightful to read!

Jan said...

You are a great Edgar Allen Poo and we think you are ready for your own TV series.

We do have to take the side of the typist in the interest of household hygiene though, but more bones of contention should be brought in to make up for this injustice.

What Remains Now said...

What a great mystery! I was totally sucked in. I do feel sorry for Georgia's "disappearing" bone, but a diligent, fastidious housewife was to do what a diligent, fastidious housewife has to do.

Amy said...

LOL - a bone of contention - you crack me up.

Kolchak Puggle said...

What a hard hearted typist! I daresay the Mama would have done the same. She only lets me chew my bones for a while at a time. It's so RUDE.

Karen Friesecke said...

I'm certain that Miss GLP is wondering why you threw away a perfectly good bone. She was just trying to enhance the flavor by burying it for a little bit.
BTW, that cow bone site is pretty cool!

chandra said...

Wow, that size of that bone made me feel a little queasy. For some reason, I think it's better looking with the dirt on it. It's hilarious that she left it sitting on the patio like that - it's as if it was an item on the dinner plate that was being disguised with a pile of mashed potatoes! I usually show Mason when I'm throwing away the nub of the bully stick (so he doesn't swallow it) but that's only because the trash bin is in a cupboard and I know he's too short to open the door and fetch it!

-c at ddy.