Previously on Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees
“Maybe yoo just need to stop twying so hard to be like Shewlock Homes,” Dori said. “Stop twying to be someone yoo awen’t. And stop being so humorless. We are Finalists for Blogpaws Best Pet Humor Blog. Our furends aren’t stopping by on Fridays to soak in yoor melodwama. They got enough of that at home. They visit us to laugh. Yoo used to be fun before yoo became a detective, Hwermie. Yoo need to be fun again.”
I nodded. “Okay. I guess maybe I’m putting unnecessary pressure on myself.”
“Ya think? I’m pwetty sure Shewlock Homes didn’t sit around on Baker Stweet bending Watson’s ear about his fear of failing or how he feels inadequate.”
“I just don’t want to fail, Dori.”
“Hwermie, failure is a bwuise, not a tattoo.”
“And yoo gotta stop growling at me when I don’t measure up to yoor high expectations. Blowing out my candle doesn’t make yoors shine any bwighter.”
I sat back, stunned by her articulate reprimand.
“Don’t blame me for disappointing yoo, Hwermie. Blame yoorself for expecting too much.”
“Dori, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt this way.”
“Don’t apologize yet. I’m not done.” She moved to look beneath her paws. There I saw Mom’s phone with the screen filled with motivational memes. She read, “What screws us up most in life is the picture in our heads of how its supposed to be.”
I pointed to the next meme. “I like that one.”
“Yoo need to go back to being funner, Hwermie. Sewriously, yoo stawting to get fwrown lines.”
“Sounds like the formula to a great detective team, Dori.” I crawled onto the bench and lay with my head on her tail.
As the moon rose high in the night sky, I released the last of my self doubts. Life is too short to live in fear of making mistakes. Or getting frown lines.
You can quote me.
When I awoke the next morning I found Dori snuggled against me, using my floofy tail for her pillow. After spending an hour exploring motivational memes on our mom’s phone, she had fallen into a deep sleep, but I hadn’t closed my eyes for more than what seemed like a minute. I was worried about solving a case.
Two ghost ladies who hung out on our house rooftop had asked me to tell their granddaughter that she was dead cuz she was in Denial. But Violet and Isobel couldn’t give me details about their granddaughter’s death because they were under a G.A.G. Order.
“What does G.A.G. stand for?” I’d asked them.
“Alas, we are gagged by the G.A.G.,” Violet said, “unable to discuss such specifics.”
Dori had then opened her book, Ghost Hunters Do It… and read, “G.A.G. stands for Ghost Authorization Guidelines. Number three prohibits spirits from discussing specific details of another spirit’s life and death.”
Dori had then wanted to play 20 Questions with the ghost ladies to ascertain (my Word of the Day on my Word of the Day calendar) details of their granddaughter’s death, but then I kinda sorta got my floofy tail all knotted up with self-importance and growled at her. And hurt her feelings. Read More