I have always adored that phrase. The plot thickens, like a delicious stew, all warm and meaty and ready to eat. The plot thickens, so it will require a lot more complex straining to get to the bottom of it. The plot thickens, which means there must be a lot more ingredients involved than identified at first glance. I just love a good, thick plot.
Well, most of the time. Frankly, this one is starting to freak me out a little bit. Back in April, I wrote a blog entry called The Great Banana Mystery, about the bananas that were inexplicably showing up in my back yard, only to be proudly delivered to me by my dachshund, Quagmire.
Well, last night at 2 a.m. I was sitting in bed, surfing the internet, when I heard a crunching sound coming from the living room. This was especially alarming because I thought both my dogs were in bed with me, burrowed under the blankets. Fortunately (or unfortunately as the case may be) I discovered that Quagmire was absent.
Okay, so at least now I knew the source of the crunching. Some strange beast hadn’t gained access to my house. That was a relief.
But now I had to worry about what he’d gotten into, because it was way, way, WAY past dinnertime, so whatever late night snack he’d rustled up was not authorized by me. And the possibilities were endless. The crunching continued.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out that Quagmire was munching out on a slice of watermelon. And he seemed to prefer the rind to the actual juicy center. He was not pleased when I confiscated his prize. In fact he was extremely pissed off.
But his level of “pissed-offedness” didn’t even come close to my level of confusion. Up to this moment, there had been no watermelon in the house since last summer. And lest we forget, it was 2 a.m. Even if I were craving watermelon myself, I wouldn’t have a clue where to get one at that hour.
So where is all this fruit coming from? I can’t even begin to imagine. And I find it quite interesting that my dog Devo has yet to be involved in this little caper. He’s always been one to have an unbridled curiosity. He’s my intrepid explorer.
I worry that the next little gift could be something that is toxic to dogs. I don’t like the concept that I have a lot less control over their diet than I should. And I really don’t like the idea that someone or something else is introducing strange things into my environment.
My home is supposed to be my castle. But the figurative alligators in my moat appear to be slacking off. Somewhere there’s a security breech. And I suspect that I’ll never know quite where. I find this rather troubling.