The Lost Keys Burial by Dog Incident

Not all dog owners lose their keys and not all lost keys are swiped by the family pet. In this eerie crime episode, the dastardly thief was the dog!

First of all, let's get one thing straight. I lose my keys pretty frequently for one reason or another. Most of the time, they're not really lost, just misplaced. But once in a while, there is a great mystery that shrouds the missing items such as this, when all the evidence pointed to the furry, four legged canine mastermind himself!

Where Are My Keys?

It's a mantra that my family are doubtlessly tired of hearing emanating from my vocal chords, "Where are my keys now?" It happens every time (and I do mean every time) I go to pick them up off the side where I know for a fact I left them the evening before and they are just not there!

This is usually followed by the frustrating treasure hunt around the room, looking beneath the sofa, chairs, coffee table and other furniture. If that initial search comes up empty, it's time to dive down the back of the sofa, chairs, under rugs and then into drawers, the bookshelf, top of the TV, top of the DVD player and on it goes.

You get the picture.

There is a Thief Among You

So one Saturday morning, I was due to go meet the guys for an early round of golf when the dastardly deed was done and a thorough investigation was soon underway. The usual searches came up empty.

Grilling the kids resulted in "I hate you" and "I'm running away from home" type comments, so I didn't push my luck. My wife was wearing a dead pan face and I knew I shouldn't press that avenue very far.

So, no keys in the room, unlikely they are anyplace else in the house and time was getting short before I had to meet the guys. I looked down at the dog for sympathy but I could have sworn he was grinning back at me.

Canine Caper

"Wait a minute. Did you just grin at me, you sneaky hound?" Shaking his head as if in denial of the fact, the dog got up from his spot on the floor and started toward the backdoor.

I dumbly followed, expecting some kind of enlightenment. Out into the back yard he padded, headed for the old tree at the end, cocked his leg and irrigated it as he liked to do. Then he headed for a bare patch of earth that looked suspiciously like it had recently been dug over. I got a little closer so I could get a better look.

Indeed. That patch of ground had been roughly dug at by clumsy paws and not a garden spade or fork. I got closer and then grabbed the small gardening trowel from the edge of the flowerbed along the way.

Elementary My Dear Watson

Whether it was the dog's guilty face or my own intuition working in overdrive, I just knew what I'd find in that patch. I dug down lightly with the trowel and there they were! Laying in a shallow grave, the evidence had been concealed by my devious mutt.

The mystery was solved and the stolen property was retrieved. Somewhat worse for wear thanks to its unceremonious impromptu burial, but my keys were found and I was glad to have them back.

Why had he done that? Not to drive me nuts, it seemed, but to hide from me the fact that he had chewed the leather key fob into a mushy mess and he didn't want me to see it!

Crazy, but true!