Street Dog Stories

I frail grey man appeared on the trail ahead.
I cocked my head up towards ARC9.
"Scan does not register. I suggest caution." he said.
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but not this dog.
With a generous wag I urged us forward

Sandy cared little for the noble breeds. They lacked cunning and were easily misled. The trust of a street dog; however, was worth more than a freshly pinched rib-eye. Jack knew this too. They circled. How hard to fight? More than pain they feared losing a new friend

As the thief escaped into the woods, Sandy barked him towards Wilson's point. There he waited for hunger to set in. When men get hungry they get reckless. Street dogs get focused.
5 am, with the scythe moon receding...
"Ill get you, you mongr—"

Sandy and ARC9 paused their pursuit at a lazy stone wall once a cue to farmers and cows. ARC9 considered defunct ordinances; Sandy the scent of fox and wolves. The tracks ambled north to the thicket of pine hiding the missing child and his pile of candy wrappers

A clue led Sandy and ARC9 to a chain of islands reachable only by boat. The crossing's sea air stirred distant fears in the street dog. The robot's worries: corrosion. At the pier, worry turned to action - find the smuggler's cave and hopefully a litter of puppies

Sandy imagined an afternoon asleep in the park dreaming of squirrels. He would wait with ARC9 for another clue.
No sooner had his paws squared to the sun, the robot chirped "Suspect at Sola Park"
Sandy turned an ear.
"No, dogs still can not ride the Cyclone"

The old texts left out details should they fall into enemy hands. ARC9 had ore, water, nuclear power... but failed to judge wind and soon was covered in soot, smelting iron. Sandy grinned: buy a sword?
"Tomorrow, I temper steel"
The street dog sighed. Who is stubborn?

ARC9 intently watched Sandy dream- running, tail erect, whimpers. The street dog did not whimper when hunting, so he must be trying to escape? The robot dutifully recorded the timing of each start, stop and turn, mapping to city grids, hoping to unlock Sandy's past

From high upon the bluff the beach looked like an arm flexing muscles: smooth sandy skin leading to a curled forearm extending out into the bay; the boardwalk a tattoo upon the bicep. Sandy and ARC9 began the hike down to question both denizen and food truck

They entered the harbor north of Watson's Bay, came past the Opera House and settled at Circular Quay. While ARC9 eagerly scanned the jugglers and men on stilts, Sandy lamented his coat. When passing the equator winter had become summer. He could not shed fast enough

DNA testing could establish lineage in purebreds, but not in street dogs. "We are all golden" some would say. And it was true. And all terrier, hound and shepherd. Sandy did not care to know his makeup. He was his own dog. ARC9, who found him quite unpredictable, agreed

The alley behind the dollar store reeked of garbage, spilled beer and urine. Mikey, Spike, Lady — all to be expected, but a foreign scent as well. A younger Sandy would have sought a fight, but with a job to do, he and ARC9 slipped into the shadows to observe.
Owooo

Joe did not grok Alex's disco music or veganism. He did, however, trust her bs detector. When the TV spat "victory imminent" and she spat her tofu, he knew the war was just beginning.
"Alex find that reporter"
"Already pinged ARC9, boss"
"of course you did"

Anger, distrust and hope colored the crowd assembled at the doc. ARC9 growled into the mic "We regret to inform you reparations are not possible only relocation"
"And the fish?"
"Enough for sustainable diversity"
Quickly, Sandy barked the Polar Bears on to the ship

A gash in the barbed-wire fence highlighted the duo's idealogical differences. Curious by nature, Sandy darted through the hole while compliant ARC9 stayed put. The robot was the street dog's protector, however. ARC9 concluded guarding the retreat would logically suffice

Surprisingly the cave was empty. ARC9 concealed his disappointment behind a steel facade. Sandy’s crestfallen tail was harder to hide

A hard day on the trails had left the duo in knots. ARC9 needed WD40, but what about the street dog? ARC9 was fresh out of plush toys for vivisection... perhaps beach therapy?

If escaping meant leaving nurse Lola behind, Serious P had no interest in freedom. Sandy and ARC9 considered options.
"No we can't kidnap her" chirped the robot.
Sandy sighed, then pawed the robot twice.
"Yes, maybe she could take you for a walk. A very long walk"

the robot guarded
his refined deuterium
the street dog, rib-eyes. haiku

Sandy had met Argo behind Prospect hill. His ears were good, eyes fair, nose elite; perhaps beyond elite. The street dog reckoned he could be a good ally. Sandy also welcomed the companionship, but not all the time lost to p-mail

ARC9 shook the whipped cream can vigorously. Sandy sighed. Another clear example of the robot's far too literal interpretations. The party was not until tomorrow

ARC9 knew fear; not his own - but his companion Sandy's. It took the robot many years to learn them, however, for the normal street dog fears were not Sandy's. He did not fear Man. He did not fear cars, guns or hunger. Sandy was afraid of ceiling fans

"Robot you ain't known the pleasure of a woman's touch, or that feelin' when she looks at you just so"
ARC9 blinked.
"Or when she helps you up after a fall" Serious P continued.
The robot turned. "We must rescue her"
"And her cookin'"
Sandy's tail vigorously approved

Having a robot companion had its advantages: language translation, lugging supplies, credits, welding torch...; but sometimes Sandy did miss living alone. Scaring hot-dog vendors... chasing poodles for no reason... Also, ARC9 disapproved leaving p-mail on monuments

“Lola you have beautiful eyes”
“Serious, what do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“You trying to butter me up. You want something”
“Let’s run away”
“You know i can’t”
“Pecan pie?”
ARC9’s circuit flipped. “Sandy let’s go. He needs our help”
The duo barged through the door

The classic phrase summed up the duo’s differences perfectly. ARC9 sought permission, Sandy forgiveness. Well it was mostly true. ARC9 did seek permission

From across the street Sandy watched the groomer with suspicion — a boxer shampooed, doodle bids farewell to winter coat... ARC9 assured him the visit was necessary. Something about a "dog smell."
Sandy wasn't buying it. He had the superior nose after all

Serious P was on a roll. "It ain't no coincidence. Damn shifts lead to more daddy hacks and more strikeouts. Killing the game. Gotta outlaw it."
Sandy, also a traditionalist, nodded.
"...and don't get me started on robot umpires!"
ARC9 blinked. Let's not get personal

Serious P carried on. "There are some dumb-ass people out there. What they pay for 'art' makes me cry."
The duo tried to ignore him.
"I mean, 120K for a banana! What?"
Sandy had to nod. He did not like bananas either.
ARC9 added "Someone did eat it."

The Oak and Main hydrant p-mail caught Sandy's attention. Why was Hunter this far north when he'd been barking up plans to prowl Karl's point? Was the barking a decoy?
"Maybe he is lost" offered ARC9.
A strong possibility agreed Sandy. Hunter was a house-dog after all

Sandy’s relationship with fear was forged in his earliest days as a street dog. He did not scare easily, but when scared it went deep. Sandy also learned how to scare— ears pinned back, tail down, teeth bared… his quick sharp bark could petrify the largest of men

Serious P was out cold suffering from sun stroke or perhaps too much gin. Either way they needed to keep moving.
"ARC9 how do we revive him?" asked Alex.
Sandy raised a paw.
"Yes?" the robot inquired.
Sandy hearing an answer, not a question, unleashed his wet tongue

Sirius P looked the color that only a night of too much tequila could produce.
“something to pacify your stomach?” Alex offered, handing him some water.
“no mam. hair of the dog that bit me”
This got Sandy’s attention. And he promptly fetched the Patron

Alex and Serious P had hit a snag. "You can't expect me to remember the details the same every time. It's not like I pay attention"
Alex knew this. All the same she needed facts.
Sandy set out to mend the relationship.
Common enemy... muddy brook... Shake, shake, shake!

Early one morning the sun was shining. A red haired woman approached.
"Can you help me out of a jam?"
ARC9 scanned the lines of her face.
"You are married to a carpenter"
"Soon to be divorced"
Serious P sat up. "Don't I know your name?"
And that's how it all started

Sandy had lost Hunter's scent. Begrudgingly he pawed ARC9 and pointed to a string of crows perched above. The robot dutifully chirped, whistled and beeped.
After some thought the birds replied a single high-pitch note
Alex asked "What did they say?"
"3 miles north shed"

“The paper will need a photo, Sandy” Alex insisted.
But the street dog, a portrait of stubbornness, would have none of it. Photos steal your sole. He skirted into the brush, ostensibly chasing a squirrel.
“Don’t worry” ARC9 assured her “I have footage”

ARC9’s plan had been clear. Sandy sniff the hydrant on Oak, the lamp at Shaw’s, return to the green at 7 avoiding Main. The robot would scan the south side. Where was Sandy?
As the church bell rang 6 ARC9 knew the flaw. Neither the street dog nor Father Tom groked DST

An errant lightening bolt had left ARC9's blinker fritzed. Sandy did not care for he had been avoiding the robot anyway, but Alex was stressed. As If the robot's incessant literalism was not bad enough she now had to contend with an infinite stare.
"Sandy, fetch!"
Woof!

“you were a shock jock?” alex asked with a raised brow.
“indeed” Serious P reflected. “or maybe better said, a ‘truth teller’”
Sandy snored. ARC9 blinked.
“i think thats why i was picked” he continued.
“to toe their lie?”
“exactly”

Sandy takes a second sniff then darts quickly through the unlatched fence. The fox scent might fool a house dog, but it’s clearly a mock. The quantity alone, requiring no less than 100 fox, a dead giveaway.
He then pauses lifting his head. What’s that drumming sound?

After 100 days (of VS365!!!), Sandy and ARC9 took a pause from solving mysteries to reflect upon what they had accomplished and ponder what the future held in store. More adventures with the nonsensical Serious P...?
ARC9 blinked as the street dog darted off to find out

there once was a street dog from the city
whose first year was often not pretty
if lore had it right
he’d learned how to fight
‘fore gettin’ weened from the

Sandy preferred run down Horn park at the old school to Center park, and surely would never venture to the gated Heights park with its house dogs and cappuccinos.
"C'mon" prodded Serious P. "Plenty to be learned in enemy territory"
The street dog sniffed for more data

ARC9 read the dispatch aloud: 5 houses burgled on North street between 8 and 11 AM; doors and windows smashed.
With a stretch Sandy accordioned up out of the long grass and started towards the park entrance. If nothing else there would be house dogs to round up

Sandy passed hydrants and lampposts overdue for a visit, ARC9 pushing the street dog hard. He would need to carve out time for p-mail later.
Cresting the hill at High street they saw the ferry boarding below.
“tchk tchk” the robot clicked.
Time to pick up the pace

Sandy dreamt in a prior life he had been an eagle, living high in the crags, swooping down to best gulls for unguarded hotdogs and pretzels at the boardwalk. He imagined ARC9 had been a stop sign. The robot still new to this line of inquiry, said "No, I was an ATM"

In the wild house dogs are reckless. Soft, slow and reckless. Hunter was no exception and needed to be rounded up before he caused more trouble.
ARC9 agreed with the plan but considered Sandy's intolerance equally brash

Sandy traced a bluestone path from the estate down to a turquoise kidney-shaped pool reminiscent of a 1960's Les Paul. Each stone in the path had pearl inlay and an ivory fret. He understood why a dog would live here. The cat in the window would need to go, however

An earthquake caught Sandy and ARC9 off guard tumbling the robot to the ground, a rivulet of grey now seeping from his neck. The street dog lifted his nose.
“Don’t fret Sandy -zzzrt- repair the coolant -grrg- town.”
The liquid did not smell like antifreeze

Sending p-mail takes practiced aim taking into account wind, rain, uneven surfaces and that you are frequently facing the opposite direction. Sandy did practice (a lot) and considered himself an excellent writer.
ARC9 reminds him that quality not quantity matters most

The Riverton marching band struggled mightily against a crepuscular concert of mosquitos, crickets and bats. ARC9 took this as foreshadowing of the team’s upcoming troubles and suggested seeking friday night fun elsewhere. Sandy agreed, snagging a hot dog before leaving

Sandy hopped up onto the sea wall, baiting the rottweiler further. What next? The street dog mulled his options… A whimper should do the trick.
Lips back, the rotty charged.
Sandy hit him with the old stutter step. 100 lbs of drool sailed past into the water below

(cue orchestra)
-The afternoon sun at High park gently warms a street dog and robot lounging in tall grass. Birds chirp.
-A giant shadow descends threatening to destroy paradise
(dun Dun DUNH)
-A cloud
-The street dog resumes dream of stealing steaks from BBQ picnic

The carriage path ended at a stone wall abutting an overgrown cemetery. Sandy approached quickly keen to jump the wall and play amongst the headstones and wild flowers. At the last moment, however, he abruptly stopped. A distant voice warned of Carson the Cruel

Sandy worked his way off the pier, back behind town hall, through the university fields and up the hill to High park. Unless he could get clear of the parade crowds he would not be able to wind down.
ARC9 suggested medication.
Sandy agreed the robot needed some

Sandy's stomach churned for steak. Alas none could be found in High park with BBQ season now over. Heading to town seemed like a chore as did chasing hare. Being hungry seemed like the only option.
ARC9 reminded him dandelion greens were nutritious.
He'd rather be hungry

Working south along the coast under the moon’s light the duo came upon a seal absently crooning like a blackbird.
“i have rescued a ball. has a child lost one?” ARC9 translated.
Tomorrow would be joyous, Sandy thought, as the seal handed him the ball

The Smith's front yard was an embarrassment of kitsch- scarecrow, wheel barrow full of hay, six pink flamingos and an animatronic heron requesting you have a nice day. Sandy avoided the house- especially the picket fence gossip p-mail.
ARC9 had sympathy for the heron

Unlike most street dogs, Sandy was at ease in the woods. The fresh air, clean mud, abundance of squirrels to chase all put a spring in his step. And no cars. He had been quilled by a porcupine so not everything was perfect, but in balance all good.
ARC9 kept bears away

Through the mansion's majestic front window, Sandy caught sight of his old mentor Kurt asleep on an oriental rug. Heart racing, his mind a tangle of fear, sorrow, envy and love, the street dog froze. What had happened to the cunning hound?
ARC9 knocked on the door

Sandy holed up in High Park after a day of excess- the rib eye variety. He had consumed a lot of water as well and now needed to sleep it off.
The next morning, refreshed, he left a river of p-mail bragging of his exploits.
ARC9 was not impressed

Fireworks over, Sandy began the descent into town snaking the crowd's ebb keeping his head down. Out of his left eye he spotted a turquoise suit with a folded pink scarf. And with a blink of the same eye the suit vanished.
Sandy gulped.
Had the League of Flowers returned?

Alex turned to ARC9 “What does he think is more fun, fetch or tug-of-war?”
What kind of question is that, snorted Sandy. That is like asking: which is better surf or turf? Both obviously.
ARC9 answered the reporter’s question thoughtfully “Both”
Good boy smiled Sandy

Resting between yesterday and tomorrow an old turtle had stopped on Rt 8, holding a line of cars (now twenty two long) at bay.
ARC9 approached her slowly for she was a snapper. “Do you need any help?”
“Oh no” she laughed, glancing at the cars. “I like messin’ with em”

Sandy yawned. House dogs barking on Oak St was not signal of wolf. Why bother?
ARC9 gave him a gentle prod. "Short-wave indicates the stranger in turquoise has returned"
Sandy sat up quickly shaking of his malaise.
Why didn't you say so first?
The robot blinked patiently

Sandy agreed to neighborhood watch with ARC9. He had sensed trouble or maybe it was the full moon.
At midnight a scream burst from the Governor's house. Sandy did not hesitate darting through the open front door.
"Fluffy escaped!"
ARC9 blinked. This would not end well

Tourist dogs, with their leashes, obedience and sunscreened humans, congregated at the bowl in front of Meg’s Seaside Cafe. Sandy too was thirsty and his patience was ebbing.
Fortunately ARC9 noticed Meg had left a bowl for her favorite street dog in the alley out back

The cult huddled on the beach, high-fived, then slowly separated, forming a ring. Circling, they raised their hands again, shrieked and ran to the sea.
“What does that bit signify?” Alex whispered.
“Crashing to earth” ARC9 suggested.
Sandy thought they liked swimming

Was it innocence or naïveté? Did it matter? Sandy darted across Prince St and grabbed the lost puppy by the scruff of the neck. He would bring it back to High park and teach it some common sense.
Unbeknownst to the street dog, ARC9 also scanned for adoption homes

33 Oak had been vacant for years. One rumor was a ghost lived there that scared people away but that was false. In fact the house did not radiate evil at all. Buyers somehow just knew the house preferred to be alone.
It did enjoy visits from a worldly street dog however

From High Park ARC9 scanned the accident scene—three cars, ice cream truck, elephant, two mimes reenacting "who's on first?", juggler on stilts, children hypnotized.
Something was wrong.
The robot paused, calculating.
"Sandy, wait!"
The cars were too small

Strength helped set the pecking order of the north point street dogs, but cunning was critical for maintaining. Sandy tired of the struggle, a year of outsmarting a treacherous third, the constant nipping at his heels and set out on his own.
ARC9 was a fine companion

Sandy and ARC9 flee the congested rally only to find high park also overrun with people. The robot suggests continuing to the suburbs calculating suburbanites were at the rally.
What about house dogs?
Sandy instead enters caves north of the park.
ARC9 cautiously follows

Sandy tiptoed past the chicken coop, pig trough and sleeping cow trying desperately not to spook any of farmer John’s animals. It was late and a ruckus might also wake John’s shotgun.
ARC9 wondered about unnecessary risks.
The street dog smelled pie

ARC9’s inscape could best be described by Gödel’s most famous theorem. But which side of the coin did he occupy—incomplete or inconsistent? The robot could only speculate…
Sandy suggested “both.”

ARC9, lights-off, supposedly de-fragging, rose up straight and began to sleepwalk across the room. Sandy had seen many somnambulists before, but this was entirely new. Were the robot's sensors active? Only one way to find out. Sandy gave a skateboard a good push

a little scout lore for your friday.
—
ARC9 could not compute why the campfire smoke never blew towards Sandy. The street dog knew, of course. He hated cats

Miraculously the skateboard glided right between the robot's legs.
ARC9 then continued sleepwalking, expertly avoiding an ottoman, a pair of wicker rocking chairs and a lamp shaped like the Eiffel tower. Sandy could not sugarcoat it. The robot led a charmed life

The fingerprint on ARC9’s visor was a mystery. Neither the robot nor street dog had seen or heard anyone enter the room last night. Sandy jumped his paws up on the robot’s chest to investigate further. What was that smell? Perfume? Was that a hint of lipstick?

A CX11 droid slumped in the corner, eyes primrose, ochre coolant seeping from a gashed helmet. A safe also lay demolished, door violently separated from its housing. Had the droid been guard or unlucky thief? ARC9 assumed thief.
Sandy sniffed the empty safe for clues

the street dog saga-
guns, knives, saving lives,
cars, trucks, wayward ducks,
gangs on choppers, helicopters,
house dogs, cats, winter hats,
and tourists.
When Sandy was done wagging his own tail he looked up at ARC9 who chirped “and robots”

Sandy gazed at a BBQ across the park. He had not had a steak in weeks. If ARC9 could sound an alarm the coast would be clear.
ARC9 also chirped in a hypothetical. "If I were to acquire you a steak would you go to the groomers?"
Sandy groaned.
A street dog has standards

Knowing Sandy could benefit from a blind eye, ARC9 occasionally accepted jobs with local PD. Sandy understood the game and usually played along.
Clearing out North St tested his resolve, however. He had caused trouble there in his day. Maybe there was another way

The chase was on! Sandy darted up a gravel path through a gathering of trees into the park. Picking up speed he bounded into the tall grass his tail a golden plume surfing the green sea.
Sandy stopped to let the rabbit catch up. You go first now he waved with his paw

Autumn’s colder neighbor arrived early causing commotion among squirrels, chipmunks and hanger-on leaves. Sandy wasn’t happy either, his winter coat still in storage. But ARC9 assured him this was only a visit. The street dog was less certain with the geese moving out

ARC9’s first year with Sandy would normalize many things the robot had been programmed to prevent— j-walking, digging holes in the governor’s yard, sleeping during the day… The street dog was not always the best role model, but he did have a good heart

ARC9 did not understand shame, most mistakes being logical miscalculations. Misjudging Sandy’s recent tolerance of house dogs however stumped the robot. Apparently old dogs can learn new tricks?

The constable did not consult with ARC9 before showing Sandy the April Lane photos. Predictably the street dog turned and sprinted from the station before a plan could be set.
"Robot?"
"He sheltered at that soup kitchen for six months"
"oh"
"We need to go Constable"

“What kind of dog is Sandy?”
ARC9 carefully considered the reporter’s question before answering.
What breed?
Temperament?
Function?
Origin?
The robot blinked twice, then looked down at the street dog.
“Companion”

Sandy’s philosophy nap contemplated when “do what you love” and “help others” conflict. Tabby the house cat was stuck in a tree. Maybe he had chased her there? Maybe he should fetch ARC9?
Wind began to tickle his nose…
A younger Sandy would wait.
Woof Woof

ARC9 repeated the police dispatch one more time “man shot spouse missing”
Sandy scowled still not sure who they were looking for. The robot agreed punctuation would have been helpful

Sandy was proud but knew excessive pride was a vulnerability. So he frequently sought opportunities to test his modesty. Cornering a skunk behind Fink's tavern was such an opportunity.
ARC9 intervened "You may not care but I do"
The street dog paused. Was mercy weakness?

The duo followed the tracks to a small log cabin, empty save a wooden table and chair, the remnants of a frugal lunch and a felt hat covering a worn leather journal.
ARC9 scanned the last entry, alas, not finding “rob governor’s house.”
Sandy sniffed the lunch for clues

Sandy rested peacefully heaving deep breaths into the crisp November evening. ARC9 kept a watchful eye.
Just when the robot had begun to worry the tryptophan nap had gone on too long, Sandy abruptly woke from his dream.
“No you did not miss pie” HappyThanksgiving

Finding a few quick barks insufficient, Sandy rose, trotted briskly across the pier to nip Hunter in the ear, steering him away from the girls in heat. Hunter was full grown, but clearly nobody had giving the house dog “the conversation”

Somewhat hypocritically Sandy bristled at ARC9’s blatant rule breaking. It was still November yet the robot had switched his LEDs to green and red.
Sensing trouble ARC9 chirped “Don’t worry, I won’t start carols until next week”
Sandy backed down, crisis averted

The graffiti beautifully depicted cherry blossoms in full bloom abutting a duck pond guarding a small cemetery. ARC9 studied the text on the headstones: 100 names, but only 99 dates. The robot wondered if the scene celebrated Gable J’s life?
Sandy thought it a warning

Selective breeding was bad enough. Now genetic screening? Sandy scoffed at the idea stubbornly insisting house dog clones would not be far behind.
ARC9 not comfortable with this line of inquiry, quickly changed the subject

A ribbon of ducks beat their way upriver to Lake Friend. From there, guided by a street dog and his robot companion, the ducks would portage through Summer’s Notch, pick up the mighty Karl taking them safely south.
“Shall we begin?” chirped ARC9.
Sandy looked for salmon

Despite a soft upbringing- couches, blankets, organic food, Sandy felt Hunter a worthy trail mate. The house dog worshipped him, naturally, was a quick study, and had a naïve fearlessness that came in handy when a decoy was required.
ARC9 could be a bit dry too

No oracle would have predicted what Sandy found inside ARC9’s chest cavity. A nesting bird! So that’s where all the chirping came from…
The robot remembered saving it from a storm. A habit apparently

ARC9 watched Sandy dream run for several minutes followed by lip licking and a look of conquest. The street dog then took several deep breaths and slipped into a deep sleep of contentment. Few pleasures rival dreams of beating house dogs to the grill

The governor's mantle hung limp behind the office desk, a coarse sign of his disappearance. Although no ransom note had been found, kidnapping rumors were mounting. ARC9 and Sandy took note his house dog was also missing. That trail would be easier to follow

Sandy lamented the increased case load had lead to a shift from relaxing to working on the weekends. He liked being busy, but did also like taking naps. ARC9 noted criminals seemed to work on the weekends too

The parade brought Sandy and ARC9 back to the pier and tantalizing amusement park. Sandy drooled through the fence at The Raptor's gravity defying loop-to-loop.
"I'll ask again"
But the street dog had already retuned to the boardwalk's food trucks.
The dream was enough

The graffiti wall at the city boathouse gave evidence the governor’s disappearance may have been voluntary. Not the beautiful pictures that mesmerized ARC9, nor the crude language, but the p-mail. Sandy sniffed the governor’s dog excitedly bragging “and we’re outta here”

ARC9 carefully scanned the steep dew coated steps leading to the floating docks; eventually concluding the job required four paws.
Down Sandy scampered, finding the governor's sloop empty at its mooring. House dog scent, however, painted Misty B's vacant zodiac berth

ARC9 located Misty B's boat adrift in a constellation of islands south of the mainland. The robot landed the sea-plane next to the boat; Sandy boarding starboard fore, working aft. No sign of either missing human could be found. A house dog was quite relieved, however

Sandy had stopped listening to the governor’s dog— all the thank yous, the drama… it was too much. The house dog was not going to starve and isolation is good for dogs. Helps clear the mind.
ARC9 needed help clearing the sea-plane; to make room for the new passenger

Sandy was getting tired. ARC9 had steamed Elf and Christmas Vacation and had started in on the street dog’s favorite but it was getting late. Mclane and Gruber had not yet started to tussle when Sandy let out a yawn. Did the robot have a pause button?

Sandy was the second string shortstop for the North Beach kickball team. He would have been the starter but he did not always show up for practice, and that mattered optically. ARC9 was third string catcher. Though the robot was primarily used as score board

With clouds parting, Sandy headed over to the resort pool hoping to take in a vacation day in style. He needed ARC9, though; the street dog could not inflate the plastic pineapple float himself. Something about opposable thumbs.
Where was the robot? The arcade perhaps?

Convincing the governor’s niece to talk would take logic and charm. The constable wielded neither. Fortunately he had brought ARC9 and Sandy as backup.
Alas she was a cat person.
“Good day young lady” chirped the robot.
Logically, Sandy tried to look aloof

Fog evaporated any chance of following the thieves’ footprints through the lowlands. Even ARC9’s scanner was no use. When the constantable turned back Sandy barked and with a confident sniff assured them he could guide the search.
The thieves had stolen pie after all

Sandy positioned himself between the constable and the governor’s niece; ears up, tail down. ARC9 had not anticipated conflagration risk, but the street dog’s instinct should not be questioned. Everyone waited.
The robot blinked first ironically asking “who is hungry?”

Felicity's foul mood improved not from the constable's platitudes nor ARC9's dulcet singing. No, her enemy was Sandy's big eyes and obvious plea to play fetch on the beach. As the street dog's wet nose nudged her towards the door a smile emerged. Sandy had his ways

The High St farmers market had no CC-TVs, making Sunday prime time for illicit transactions. ARC9 took note of those giving sideways glances; Sandy hobnobbed with the country dogs. In the end neither learned much of the governor or his mistress, but they did acquire pie

At the tick of midnight, Sandy mysteriously sat up, fast asleep. Lifting his nose, he then launched a barrage of dream-howls at the moon- not wolf like, but a high static rumble.
A murder of crows looked on.
ARC9 understood. The street dog often dreamed of space travel

Suzy sat squarely on ARC9’s lap, the red cloth softening the robot’s metallic legs.
“Are you really santa, or a robot in disguise?”
Sandy gave a cautioning glance.
“And aren’t you a little small for a reindeer?”

“Citizens will obey the evacuation order Constable, not because of your badge, but because it’s the logical choice”
The constable smiled at ARC9’s optimism.
Taking matters into his own hand, Sandy began to run the beach barking loudly. Waves were already gaining height

For dogs with exceptional hearing quiet is a present. For some an uncomfortable present but not Sandy who had spent enough time in the country. He relished it.
ARC9 with exceptional noise canceling circuits delivered it.
The street dog soundly slept dreaming of stars

“…and the sheep dog found the manger hay soft and comforting…”
Sandy appreciated ARC9 would include the dogs in the retelling of holiday origin stories. The robot did not always get the breed right, but Sandy found no reason to correct him

Sandy eagerly watched ARC9 open the street dog's present: a new drone, hopefully useful in their rescue cases. A flashback to last year's holiday, and an angry miliner, however, made the robot nervous.
Sandy wagged. He'd made a deal with the Constable. ARC9 was chirpless

As Sandy headed down the back stretch he felt counting “dog years” a bit insulting, unless he was entitled to a birthday party seven times more often, naturally.
ARC9 blinked quietly as the sun crossed the sky. They celebrated the street dog’s life most every day

Sandy and ARC9 booked tickets on the Majestic Southerner hoping to escape the New Years cold. The street dog loved the Southerner for the conductor encouraged him to ride up front with the engineer and stick his nose into the wind.
ARC9 had to keep to the passenger cars

“…my companion’s excellent sense of smell placed the thief at the crime scene…”
ARC9 took most interviews keeping Sandy out of the spotlight. The street dog believed a low profile helped with deep cover work. The robot knew street dog scent discouraged future clients

The Constable was worried scent evidence was circumstantial. He needed motive. ARC9's law circuits agreed. Sandy, however, was not convinced. An unguarded pie case- a moral imperative as it were- was motive enough in his book.
Unfortunately he was not the one on trial

Sandy and ARC9 discovered the holiday cottage they had reserved was a mere bundle of sticks lashed together by palm shoots.
The robot began reviewing the refund policy while the street dog eagerly anticipated star gazing through the grass thatched roof

Sandy and ARC9 were becoming famous. Slightly uncomfortable with the situation, they both agreed to keep their heads down for the remainder of the year and return to sleuthing again only after a healthy sleep (and some pie). happynewyears

For ARC9 the mystery solved was reward enough. Sandy wasn’t a glory hound either, but apprehending a pie thief should result in something, he mused, licking his lips

ARC9 reviewed all the streaming services up for renewal. Surely they no longer needed “cat fancy in 8k.”
Sandy shook his head in disagreement. Last year’s resolution to practice tolerance was still relevant

On holiday Sandy drifted into the philosophical, Zeno’s Paradox giving ample reason not to move from the shade.
“But each half step contributes to the sum” ARC9 retorted. “As N approaches infinity the total distance equals 1”
Unless N starts at Pi then you get Pi. Yum!

As companions Sandy and ARC9 took pleasure in each other’s strengths. The street dog was jealous, however, that ARC9 could directly observe solar eclipses. Fortunately the robot’s replays were excellent, often including soundtracks from Holst

Sandy and ARC9 had similar hearing, the robot superior vision (helped by height) and the street dog a better nose. As detectives the differences were complimentary. When the robot viewed Hull pond tranquil Sandy sniffed murder just below the surface. ARC9 saw the sniper

The road to a street dog’s heart is curvy with signs often pointing in contradictory directions. ARC9 learned this early on. Sandy does love pie, but do not reward him for a task any house dog could have done. Leaving a pie out to be stolen is a good compromise, however

ARC9 understood Sandy's appreciation of the grit most street dogs possessed, but did not fully understand his blatant distrust of house dogs. A situation does not always define one's character? The robot had once worked in a house after all

ARC9 sometimes had difficulty distinguishing pre-loaded memories from events actually experienced. Had the robot actually been to the moon?
The MRU cache was full of street dog imagery, so those were real. Or were they?
Sandy wanted to go to the moon after all

A case requiring intimate methods crossed the duo’s plate. Sandy leaned in close, his tongue’s perspicacity finally unraveling the mystery: a scentless secret ingredient in the lamp post p-mail.
Yes the pie thief had been this way.
ARC9’s torch unstuck the detective

Sandy and ARC9 came upon a girl reading alone in North Park; a dozen colored index cards, a yo-yo and a string of LED lights on her lap.
As they approached she produced a tennis ball from her pocket.
She gave it a good throw then returned her attention to Robot Hypnosis

The girl then looked up from her book. “I’m glad I found you. I need help rescuing my father”
Before ARC9 could ask the obvious question, she gathered her effects and stood up. “but first we need to steal supplies”
Sandy dropped the ball, his amorous eyes super novas

ARC9’s infatuation with butterflies began in The Manor's garden during the solitary years before Sandy. Flight patterns satisfyingly complex; all the colors of the spectrum.
“The tattoo?" tilted the girl. "Got it years ago. Mother hates it. Father? That's another story”

The street dog respected the girl’s determination, not a glimmer of retreat in her plan, each objection simply brushed aside.
“Don’t worry Robot I will return the cloaks”
(Producing scissors from her bag)
“I agree Sandy let's lengthen the hem”
The disguises looked good

“You say you want to keep a low profile but that jig is up I'm afraid”
ARC9 did not follow the girl’s slang.
“You see, there are not many street dogs in the newspaper, except maybe in the comics. Sandy you are famous”
Then how come only they got disguises, he wondered

A watermelon sky pelted the docks with seeds of hail. Not he best conditions for sailing Sandy thought, poking his nose out of the boathouse.
“Robot when will the storm abate?”
“Radar indicates tomorrow, Gena”
The young girl let out a forlorn sigh.
ARC9 whistled softly

The three rescuers spent the off day in the bustling markets south of downtown acquiring supplies for the upcoming trip. None enjoyed the haggle dance, but the fresh meats and vegetables did serenade the street dog’s nose.
Gena found a hat; ARC9 WD40; Sandy a frisbee

“It’s after midnight” Gena exclaimed. “I forgot to update my journal!”
With discovered energy she hurried across the room to her knapsack.
The street dog rolled his eyes.
Gena smiled. “Don’t worry Sandy, I won’t mention the incident at the pie shop”
ARC9 set a timer

Have you ever imagined a robot, a teenage girl and street dog playing leap frog? You have now.
Team building, I suppose.
(Your trusty narrator has been sworn to secrecy on whose idea it was originally)

“Do not daisy chain all the LED lights Gena” ARC9 cautioned. “A fault in any string will cut off the tail. I suggest running them in parallel”
“But Robot, there is only one outlet”
ARC9 opened a panel on his hip that even Sandy had not seen.
“Not to worry”

The rescuers approached The Center from the rear wading through brackish marshland and a thicket of bushes that left thorns in Sandy and Gena’s coats.
But the indirect route was worth it. They arrived without setting off the siren.
Unfortunately luck was about to change

A string of bad weather kept the rescuers holed up for days. Sandy had difficulty judging time and quietly slipped into prolonged naps. Gena, however became quite bored.
“Any arcade games robot?”
ARC9 fired up DigDug, the street dog’s favourite

“You believe the senator is a liar?” ARC9 repeated, clarifying what was said.
“That’s right robot. My father was not shot down. I can prove it.”
Sandy found the point obvious, but also unimportant. Breaking into The Center would reveal something interesting either way

“Ok robot” Gena said, pulling her new hat tightly over her ears. “I understand rain gets into your bits but Sandy and I are going stir crazy”
ARC9 was unfamiliar with the expression.
The street dog understood, however, grabbing his new frisbee and heading to the door

Gena thumbed through ARC9’s deck stopping at a creature in a pointy hat covering up what could be horns.
“robot, is this a joker or a devil?”
“I know of no devils” ARC9 chirped. Then looking down at Sandy “but plenty of jokers”
The street dog wagged his muddy tail

Gena woke to ARC9 and Sandy barking together in harmony. She had heard the robot “talk” canine, but a Down By The Bay duet was something all together magical.
“My turn!” she yelped unabashedly. “Have you ever seen a frog...”
Sandy turned, blinking large warm eyes

Sandy patiently sat watching Gena cut her dinner of grilled meats, hoping something would fall to the floor. This was a new game for the street dog used to ARC9's deliberate approach.
Gena not new to the game smiled without looking down.
“Relax Sandy, I see you”

Scratching her scalp, Gena turned to ARC9. “Robot, any idea who ‘she’ is?”
After a moment of processing the robot replied “I have found two theories. Christ and a train.”
“I’m going with train obviously” she laughed.
Sandy was more interested in where the mountain was

The crisp winter night, black as a new chalkboard, saw stars poke through one at a time. Sandy gazed wantingly, fixing on a slow blinking light crossing the sky.
“That’s not a star” Gena began, “maybe a satellite”
ARC9 nodded.
A dreamer’s beacon, thought the street dog

Sandy had not yet returned as expected. ARC9 still learning how to worry, began blinking rapidly.
“Robot stop. You are making ME nervous” Gena pleaded.
ARC9 stopped blinking and started chirping instead.
“Breathe!”
They both started to laugh.
So did the street dog

Sandy appreciated Gena too was a tinkerer. The perfect cherry pie could not be found in a book or ARC9’s “world’s best recipe” search. It took tinkering.
No, not rhubarb.
The street dog’s eyes told her to keep trying. He would wait.
He respected the process

“Robot slow down” Gena panted, Sandy already out of ear shot. “I know I suggested we take a short cut but the hills are killing my knees”
ARC9 stopped as requested, activating a scanner. And after eventually processing her expression chirped “I prefer flat concrete too.”

Reunited, the travelers huddled together on top of Mason’s hill, Sandy curled into the nook of Gena’s legs, sharing warmth.
“Robot, tell us a traveller’s tale”
Basked in ancient starlight, ARC9 began “Speak to me, Muse, of the adventurous man who wandered long...”

Gena and ARC9 were tired, Sandy hungry. So they returned to the pier seeking a little downtime, only to find a battle of the bands final pitting the Storm Troubadours vs the Revel Alliance. Nobody won

Gena chased Sandy down the narrow street while ARC9 stopped abruptly.
“Tap into your godforsaken literalism Robot, we ARE only going one way”
ARC9 observed the rule-flouting duo for a moment, then twisted the sign 180 degrees

Gena sat legs hanging from the dock, absently kicking imaginary stones down a dusty road. She enjoyed independence but also missed her old life. Sandy knew the look, at times also lovelorn for a distant litter.
He pawed her hand.
ARC9 reeled in a fishing line

Sandy and ARC9 stood watch, day after day. night after night. A month passed, and then, suddenly, a glimmer of light emerged. An exit from the madness.
Everyone slept in their own beds.
And sleep they did

An overnight dusting of snow quickly turned to puddle in the morning sun. Sandy, an expert at mud redistribution, took this opportunity to remind ARC9 why springtime was so much fun.
“you can stop shaking now” the robot grimaced, activating a wiper

ARC9 blinked seriously. “Sandy this examination is important. They won’t let you in to the park unless they think you are smart”
The street dog blinked in return.
The gate attendant turned towards the duo. “Begin please”
“Sandy sit”
Sandy SAT

Sandy's ears perked at the mention of Box-of-Qrayon, an exurb west of The Heights known for diversity and colorful p-mail. ARC9 had never been and could not confirm canine population data, but did note the absence of leash laws. The street dog would fit in, naturally

Another unexpected snow storm left the duo’s plans altered. Were it not for the smell of wet fur from the last storm, ARC9 would extol the benefits of a day off. But there was no staying inside.
Sandy for different reasons was already porpoising

ARC9’s word choice sometimes made witnesses uncomfortable.
“What was your location at twenty one hundred UTC yesterday?” beep beep…
That the robot did not know when to blink would exacerbate the problem. Fortunately Sandy knew just when to wag

Sandy had watched plenty of three card monty on the boardwalk, but even he was fooled by ARC9’s switcheroo. The steak was beyond delicious

Both street dog and robot spotted tracks in the mud; and both knew they were coyote. ARC9 paused suggesting caution.
Sandy pushed on.
The tracks were uneven, steps long and short, stops and starts.
A hungry coyote conserves energy.
This canine wanted to play

In a parallel universe Sandy was full of mechanical parts and ARC9 had a wet nose. Neither knew what to do with the stolen pie

The master baker emerged from the kitchen inner sanctum to thank the detectives for catching the thief. He carried a cherry pie.
“A mop please” ARC9 quickly asked, anticipating Sandy’s awestruck piddle

ARC9 knew the definition of imagination. The robot wondered what it would be like to have one

Even after a fine brushing Sandy was still hot. Glancing at the hydrant at Oak and Main he sighed woefully. ARC9 sized up the bolt then reconsidered. The robot instead walked towards the boardwalk.
The beach was closed but the robot could muster plausible deniability

ARC9 waited on the boardwalk while Sandy followed the detective down to the beached corpse. The woman’s sea foam lipstick glistened in the moonlight. Her hair a sequine tangle of shells.
The street dog sighed. He would not un-smell the scene for years

With damp matted fur and sand caked pads, the street dog scowled. ARC9 would have none of it, however. Compared to the paperwork the detective was facing, not to mention the corpse's predicament, Sandy was leaving the beach relatively unscathed.
Sandy wanted brisket

Sandy backed up sensing ARC9’s momentum growing.
“What happened?” the robot began. “In the beginning…”
The hapless reporter blinked nervously. It was too late to reconsider asking the question.
With a wag Sandy headed to the park. There would be plenty of time to nap

ARC9 accumulated street dog approved accessories— the latest a fishing pole that cast three lines at once.
Sandy smiled eagerly, dreaming of surf and turf

Sandy felt melancholy. The street dog knew ARC9’s power pack would outlive the planet. How many friends had the robot already watched pass on?
Do robot’s have friends?
ARC9 turned the steaks on the grill

The duo, neither human, considered whether such a change would ennoble or degrade their core existence. ARC9 had trouble with this question, which in itself suggested opportunity. Sandy dreamed of roller coasters

Sandy heard the buzzing before he saw the swarming bees above their hive. The pattern of the swarm, like dancing fireflies, was new to the street dog more accustomed to garbage bin chaos.
He looked to ARC9 for interpretation.
“They are celebrating the queen’s birthday”

ARC9 weaved a vine through frond after frond sealing the top of the debris hut before the storm arrived. Sandy fetched bamboo for the door. The street dog was not sure why they did not head to the caves instead. Would have been less work.
“Pirates” beeped the robot

ARC9 and Sandy came upon a burial site not of the present. Flesh and cloth had long departed; only finger tips preserved by a shellac hiding neon not seen since the demise of formica and middle school slime. The robot scanned for radiation; the street dog vintage kong

Sandy crouched under a makeshift lean-to, ARC9 holding a driftwood roof firm against the wind.
How far past the sea wall would the water come?
The robot blinked, then dragged the structure two meters back.
The wind howled in protest.
Sandy followed his sturdy companion

Like a grandfather clock the pedestal teetered back and forth—Tick.. Tock— the street dog’s paws unable to settle the motion.
“Sandy…!”
ARC9 was too late. The platter crashed to the floor.
Sandy was more than willing to help clean up the scattered steak

ARC9 usually presented the evidence. The robot was unsure how Sandy would behave when cross examination.
"Objection!"
"On what grounds?"
"You didn't swear the dog in"
Sandy looked to the judge and smiled unconcerned. Nobody knew the whole truth anyway

The prosecution asked Sandy about what he saw, not what he smelled. This made little sense. The thief had clearly swept away every grain of crust, every drop of jam. But the scent of cherries, that he could not hide.
ARC9 nudged the street dog sensing an upcoming yawn.

ARC9 tried to explain the court proceedings but once again Sandy failed to grasp the distinction between fact and speculation.
Everybody likes cherry pie. Fact.
The robot solemnly blinked twice.
Sandy's sadness was sudden and full of understanding.

The cherry pie moon bubbled under the Sun's gaze, space ants circumscribing the crust. Would the ship's hydraulic fork be strong enough?
"Sandy wake up"
What, that was a dream?
weird. It seemed so real.
ARC9 nudged the street dog a second time.
Sandy licked his lips.

ARC9's base package included eagle, falcon, gull, crow but not pigeon. There are too many local dialects explained the robot.
Sandy was surprised. The utility would outweigh the storage cost he thought.
"They only talk about food, I've been told" the robot explained.
That would be useful, Sandy concluded with a smirk.

Sandy nosed open a grate exposing an air duct leading to the back of the bunker. The passage was fine for a street dog, but the robot would have to crawl. ARC9 hesitated.
Sandy proposed the robot stand guard instead?
No sooner agreed, sirens let loose. Retreat!

With a nod Sandy thanked the full moon for illumination though he followed the trail mostly by scent. He left the other lupine ceremonies to the romantics; ARC9’s howl remedied by lubricant.
Ahead stood a 3M tall bear that would spoil only the street dog’s concentration.

Having seen the elevator’s maw grab a handbag, scarf and sloppy shoe lace, Sandy approached nervously tail tucked firmly between his hind legs. ARC9 also nervous scanned for wireless controls.
“Going down?” laughed a hidden voice.

A dark pond looked refreshing to the street dog after miles of gravel and trail dust. But what was under the blue surface? ARC9 suggested caution. Sandy spotted a frog then jumped right in, later teaching the robot about good omens.

Organ music flooded from the carousel on to the boardwalk. Carnys dueled for ear-space-- "Step right up! Step right up!"
ARC9 chirped "Sandy it's bring your dog to the carnival day"
The street dog jumped front paws on to the robot.
"No, you still can't ride the kraken"

With each hour the raft consumed another kilometer. ARC9 took advantage of the gentle pace to further Sandy's education.
Pointing towards the west bank, "Before the rise this area was called Oak Street"
The street dog noted a steel pole poking through the blue glass.

Sandy found the ugly muddy swan far more interesting than the preening white primadonna. It clearly knew how to enjoy the river.
"That's a duck, you know" corrected ARC9.
Sandy ignored the robot and dove headfirst into the water, kicking up a flume of mud.

Sandy appreciated ARC9’s expert knowledge, extraordinary strength and what seemed like infinite credits. But most importantly, he appreciated the robot had no ego. There could only be one top dog after all.

Sandy had an excellent hiding spot-- gold coat blending in to a pile of autumn leaves.
Turning off the temperature scanner, as was only fair, ARC9 bleeped
"Ready or not, here I come"
The street dog struggled to stay still.

Sandy's favorite time of day- except for dinner time- was story time. ARC9 knew a hundred lifetimes worth of stories. Tales of adventure, intrigue and canine romance.
Sandy curled up at ARC9's feet wondering if someday the robot would tell the story of their adventures.

Sandy believed the spirit of the law was "don't annoy the tourists" not, "dogs are never allowed on the beach". A dumb law anyway. Who would want to be around tourists? Maybe house dogs.
But early morning gull-chasing? For the greater good.
ARC9 looked the other way.

Three humans crouched against the city’s winter wind, huddling together, tattered clothes pulled tight. Sandy felt immediate compassion for the trio, turning to ARC9. The robot understood the street dog’s pawing.
“I can not make them a new coat, but I can fix their fire”

With a flick of the wrist Jess sent the disk flying down the field. Rex turned, sprinted 20 meters, and lept into the air snagging the disk in his jaws, landing squarely on four paws. Sandy and ARC9 were impressed.
"It's not magic" Jess chuckled. "Hard work and practice"

ARC9 insisted that no present was necessary; but the street dog would not cave. Surely there must be something the robot wanted?
Feigning humanity, ARC9 gently scratched their head. “Let’s see-”
Before the robot could finish, Sandy began hunting a proper deerstalker hat

Finding a gift for the street dog was easy-
between steak and pie ARC9 had plenty of options. The robot showed true friendship instead.
Sandy played joyfully on the Governor’s lawn while the night watch conveniently looked the other way

The usuals at the shelter patted Sandy on his head and thanked him for bringing holiday cheer.
A young couple with a small child hid in back.
Sandy glanced at ARC9, then began to tap his paws.
“Pa rum pum pum pum” echoed the robot.
The child smiled

Sandy halted- the third diode on ARC9’s left chest plate had begun to glow amber suggesting elevated radioactivity. The robot banged the plate sharply. The light dimmed. They really should get it fixed mused the street dog, resuming his trot into the abandoned warehouse

Ever since the splinter incident, the site of ARC9’s hydraulic tweezers made Sandy wince.
But he would not let the porcupine win.
“Good boy” quoted the robot approaching Sandy’s violated nose.
Just hurry up, growled the hound, a knotted rope clenched firmly in his jaws

“Yes the grey gang reboot has Clyde but we don’t know who's in charge”
Must be Sully, Sandy mulled, remembering the lieutenant’s cunning.
“Perhaps Sully?” chirped ARC9.
“Best we know she fled to the hills”
“With her dogs?” continued the robot.
“Yes”
Sandy licked his lips

Sandy and ARC9 boarded the One Sock Sally expecting to find pirate opulence but instead were greeted by a vast hand-drawn panorama featuring children feasting at a sumptuous banquet- a dog and robot depicted at the head of the table. Had their reputation preceded them?

Sandy howled with delight at ARC9’s spectacular grand jete. Though neither lissome or acrobatic, the robot had lept with the precision of one who had meticulously studied a hundred hours of film.
Encore! Encore! pawed the street dog, never tired of Swan Lake

The constable pulled the chain tight, adding a second padlock. “Only dead people allowed”
Sandy sniffed the lock. It’s a shame he thought. Some of the street dog’s best ideas had come to life in that tomb.
ARC9 was on the policeman’s side of this debate, unsurprisingly

You can not see the cottage from the road; except perhaps in the dead of winter when all the leaves drop. The boy had said “go at nite, she reads by lantern and you might see the glow if you know to look”
Sandy and ARC9 stared patiently (as patiently as a street dog can)

ARC9 blindfolded the street dog and muffed his ears. Then with a tap, sent Sandy’s nose off to wander the burgled shop, searching for a misplaced scent.
Before the small hand traced 45 degrees, Sandy returned with a purple azalea petal.
So she had been there after all!

ARC9 suggested a change of scenery might rescue Sandy’s spirits. A rolling pasture; a meadow... Sandy understood the logic, for he did like those; but today he longed for the junk yard— where wild street dogs, not flowers, bloom. The robot secretly longed for a windmill

An elderly women opened the door, then paused, considering the proper way to greet a robot and street dog.
She waved them in, “so you are the ones who have finally found me”
ARC9 nodded “The ageless boy told us”
Her eyes lit up “He’s still alive?”
Sandy’s tail confirmed

The huddled crowd held their collective breath as the street dog’s nose scoured the crime scene. Had the Red Bandit been there?
Then a “bleep” broke the silence.
Stern looks.
ARC9 replied. “I’m sorry, but Sandy, you’ve got mail”

Long before the bells, Sandy felt a distant rumble in his front paws. The street dog quickly turned towards the robot.
ARC9 considered the gesture. "No train has crossed here in more than a century"
Sandy pawed the ground.
"I should clear the branches"
Bark.
"Quickly"

“if you find him, please bring him in, but don’t use unnecessary force”
Sandy curled his lower lip. How would the robot interpret the constraint? A glint formed in the street dog’s eyes. Perhaps we could use a tractor beam! Gravity is a necessary force, right?

Sandy barrelled through the garbage bins on Oak St, following Mully’s semi-sober trail with accuracy and speed.
“Slow down” ARC9 pleaded, to no avail. The specter of the robot finding him first had propelled the street dog into high gear

Mully stumbled “Mwarru’nt? w’uhrr’zz, wrrnt’ee.”
ARC9 could not load the semi-sober module, and looked to Sandy. The street dog cocked his head, lifted and rotated his right paw, then shook his nose side-to-side.
“If it wasn’t you” beeped the robot, “why did you run?”

Mully staggered, rubbed his eyes red, then coughed wildly but the acting could not mask his sobriety.
"Enough" beeped ARC9.
Sandy's nose had confirmed not a sip of alcohol had crossed the man's breath in days.
Mully shrugged. "It'a fooled detective"
The street dog nodded

The street dog's nose narrowed in on the scarlet shirt-stain placing Mully at the scene of the crime.
"I saw the perp. Smash and grab. But not me."
ARC9 robot frowned.
"The pie case was open. What would you have done?"
Sandy licked the shirt to be double sure

"Hurry up Mully" M. Song hollered to the bathroom. "You will be late for court"
Turning back to ARC9, she gasped. The robot was diligently dismantling Mully's cot.
"No no! Not AN iron shirt! Verb! Iron his shirt."
"You, tub!" she pointed at the snickering street dog

After ARC9 finished parading Sandy from exhibit to exhibit, the robot turned to the judge. "Satisfactory?"
The courtroom, already hushed, held its collective breath.
"In light of your demonstration, I will admit the street dog's nose as an expert witness"
Mully exhaled

Sandy had galloped thirty yards down the beach when a sudden gust of wind veered the street dog and flying disc left into a double-dog-sized wave. After the ensuing barrel roll, he turned to ARC9.
"Worse than the desert cactus?" the robot asked.
Sandy pawed 'no'. Again!

Sandy's Rules of The Street. Rule 6: The law is highly biased against those who get caught.
ARC9 frowned. "No, Schrödinger's Cat does not apply."
The police captain was sympathetic to the street dog's position, however.
Until a crime is observed there is no paperwork

Fort Construction Rules. Rule 3:
Although tempting due to height and perfect shape, do not use a robot's head to cap the entrance arch (Unless also removing power supply)
ARC9 laser-cut Sandy a stone.
The street dog sniffed the air.
Defense of Fort. Rule 1 Lasers

Sandy's Rules of The Street. Rule 8: Do not trust p-mail at a well-lit lamp post for it is most likely hearsay from a house dog tied to a human.
Before ARC9 could begin to contradict him, the wide-eyed street dog barked up and down. There were bunnies nearby!

"ARC9, please do the honors"
The robot scanned the clipboard.
"Towels & Linens: Jono. Dishes: Mully..."
Sandy crouched down but M. Song kicked the rear door shut before the street dog could slither away.
"Plush toys, wicker basket: Sandy"
The robot paused.
"Even the cat"

Long straight white tail, chocolate legs and paws, silver grey curly haunches, electric blue eyes (hidden)…
“What is that!?” Mully asked, staring down the beach in disbelief.
Sandy shrugged. Was new to him too.
ARC9 whirred momentarily. “A Cacophodoodle”

Rules of The Street. Rule: 9
Don't fling the scent if you can't walk the walk.
"Not sure that flows" said Mully. "Maybe bark the bark?"
Sandy scowled. Barking was for house dogs.
ARC9 was about to "beep the beep" when M. Song entered with pie. They would edit later

Most of the protestors were lost geographically and philosophically, allowing the purple-lilli gang to percolate up to the podium undetected.
A certain street dog with an excellent nose was in attendance as well.
"Are you certain?" asked ARC9.
Sandy charged the stage

"Mully sit still" ARC9 beeped. "I will x-ray your chest."
"No no!" Mully waved frantically.
"But your wheeze. It may be pneumonia."
"I want Song to send for Dr. Lang. She's..."
The robot paused, confused.
Sandy began to pant and wag his tail.
The street dog understood

ARC9 recognised Sandy’s melancholy starward gaze.
“Yes we are just a speck in the universe. But sometimes a spec can be significant.”
The robot recalled a grain of sand that once snuck on to a circuit board.
The street dog nodded, but also dreamed of something more

Sandy’s street dog haiku 34:
don’t drink the water
puddles are meant for splashing
even if parched
ARC9 patiently waited for one more syllable

Sandy the con-dog: Fake excitement at what the human at the buffet table is saying while "accidentally" wagging a bowl of chili to the ground.
ARC9 and M. Song had seen this ruse before but were in the other room.
Mully nodded, respecting the street dog's lithe tail

After a night of chili, pie and excessive p-mail gossiping Sandy needed a wholesome activity.
ARC9 suggested a bath.
The street dog instead opted for defending the shelter.
Sandy found it quite cathartic.
The mailman less so

Sandy cowered as ARC9 sealed Mully’s wound with a bead of glue. Fortunately for everyone no stitches were required.
“It’s ok ol’boy” Mully said. “i’ve had worse and i shouldn’a fought ye for that ribeye anyway”
The robot turned to the street dog. “Let’s see those nails”

Sandy was pacing for a reason nobody could explain. ARC9 had asked twice, but the robot would not probe any further.
Then the earthquake hit. Everyone in the shelter nodded with understanding except for the street dog, who darted under the banquet table

ARC9 scanned the muddy prints on the floor. Before Sandy could muster an excuse, the robot lit up. "There will be no pie tonight unless this shelter is put back in tip-top shape."
Mully affectionately patted the street dog's head.
"When is Song back from'er vacation?"

“Robot come here!” Mully shouted from the kitchen.
ARC9 entered to find Mully and our favorite street dog at the fridge, a fluorescent green fluid seeping through the rubber membrane around the door.
Maybe Sandy did enjoy super science saturday a little too much?

Sandy had to remind ARC9 of the three house dogs requiring taunting. Even though turning right on Main St. would chop six blocks off the trip back to the shelter, they should go up Oak and over Maple.
The robot often wondered what the street dog's true priorities were?

Sandy rubbed against ARC9’s leg, Mully’s leg and then the old couch in the rec room, dislodging the itchy parts of his winter coat.
The robot’s reply: form a brush from his saw attachment.
“Outside boys, unless you plan on vacuuming”
The street dog had already bolted

"You rat!"
ARC9 paused to process Mully's jab. "She asked if I knew who had left the dishes in the sink. I did."
Sandy knew better than to get involved. Instead, he put his nose to the kitchen floor.
Perhaps he could win brownie points, literally and figuratively

"You say Capitalism, Robot. All I hear is greed."
"According to my measurements, you should also hear the waves crashing."
Mully groaned.
Sandy shrugged.
As the street dog watched the rising tide gobble up the last few meters of beach, he wondered, were the waves greedy?

Sandy did not allow time, rain, or ammonia to fully erase the tales at the North St junkyard. The street dog would repaint- not because he was the hero- but because the coyotes must never forget.
As this saga predated ARC9's involvement, the robot only corrected grammar

"There are no sure things." ARC9 stated mater-of-factly.
But Mully ignored the robot and continued to pontificate. "Twelve-point home dog?"
He rolled his eyes. "I mean, come on. Lock of the year."
Sandy was not surprised he had lost it all in one shot. Bet on a house dog?

The librarian held her finger to her lips.
"Apologies," ARC9 replied. "But Sandy doesn't know how to whisper."
"Oh, I am not concerned about your dog. It's your hard drive. I think it's come unbalanced."
Not just his hard drive, Sandy barked in agreement

Sandy liked stories from the old texts, for ARC9's OCR mistakes sometimes added drama. "...a melody of harpies descended from the hill-top mausoleum scattering the street dogs..."

Sandy rejected the rocket, pirate ship, and roller coaster motif.
He did not understand why he needed a collar and, well, something celebrating an actual conquest would be preferable to some unattainable dream.
"BBQ tools?" ARC9 offered.
Sandy nodded and licked his lips