And the adventures of Mr. Latvian Door and Olaf the Super-Pup continue! Because I'm just silly like that. Hope everybody's been having a decent week. Mine, as you may have noticed if you read Wednesday's blog post, has been a bit frustrating, but I'm finding ways through it. Like talking to plants, and writing exceptionally silly things.
Some of the silly things I'm writing are only in my head, because they need a bit of the silliness wrung out of them before they're fit for you, O readers. For instance, I have a story which seems to want to be told from six points of view, all at the same time, and as Archibald Asparagus of VeggieTales would say, "Stop, stop, stop! That's just too silly!"
However, today's super-spy adventure is, if I do say so myself, just the right level of silly. What kinds of information is Mr. Latvian Door collecting? What is he going to do with it all? Has he now met all his informants, or will there be more? Read on, but keep an open mind, for in the world of super-spies and super-dogs, nothing is as it seems. (Except for doggie appetites. Those never change.)
Thanks in advance, O readers, and I'll see you whenever I happen to post again! I'm hoping for Monday but who can tell? Life has many strange twists and turns.
"So, where are we going next?" Olaf the Super-Pup yapped, as he and Mr. Latvian Door the teenage super-spy came out of Latvian Super Speed on a crowded city street.
"We're going in there." Door pointed at a tall skyscraper which resembled nothing so much as the official frozen treat of the dark side. "Which means you, my fluffy white friend, need a costume change."
"Costume what? No, hey, stop that!" Olaf yipped in distress as Door deftly snapped off his thin blue cape with its red edging. "Gimme back my super suit!"
"You want to go with me inside there?" Door held up a bright orange vest with reflective bars. "You have to wear this."
"Fine," Olaf grumbled, grudgingly squeezing shut his bulging Pekingese eyes as Door popped the vest over his head and secured the hook-and-eye straps under his belly. "What's it for, anyway?"
"It says you're a Safety Dog. Which doesn't really mean anything, but they'll think it does, and they'll let me take you inside there where regular dogs—or Super-Dogs," Door added hastily as Olaf began to bristle, "aren't allowed to go. And my next contact is in there, so if you want to be a part of this..."
"Whatever." Olaf shook all over, settling the vest into place, then strutted ahead of Door into the lobby of the Black Glass Popsicle.
After a brief conversation with the security guard, Door and Olaf went past the turnstiles, chose an elevator bank, and were whisked upward to one of the floors. Door was about to make another quick phone call from the glassed-in lobby when Olaf saw someone walking by. "Hey!" he yapped, standing on his hind legs to plant his front paws against the glass and wagging his tail for all he was worth. "Hey! Hey! Let us in!"
"Oh, would you look at that!" The older woman, her hair a mix of silver and blonde, opened the door and immediately went down on one knee. "Hi, there! What's your name?"
"Olaf," said Door, as Olaf himself was too busy wagging his entire rear end and licking the woman's face to give an answer (talking dogs, as the pair had discovered, also tended to freak out ordinary citizens). "Thanks for letting us in. We're just here to see somebody."
"That's quite all right." The woman scratched briefly behind Olaf's ears, then got to her feet. "You don't have to tell me. I can see it right on your face. Down that way." She nodded to her right, then continued the way she had been going.
"What can she see on your face?" Olaf asked curiously, but stiffened before Door could answer. "I smell something. Something amazing. Something wonderful. What is it? I want it, I want it, I want it now!"
"Olaf, calm down." Door sniffed the air himself. "That's called coffee. And you can't have any."
"But it smells so good!" Olaf yanked on his leash, trying to pull Door down the hallway in the same direction the woman had gone. "I want to try it right now!"
"Absolutely not." Door picked Olaf up, ignoring his indignant yelp, and tucked him under one arm. "The last thing you need is caffeine, little dog. Now, let's see here...ahhh." The sound he made was one of great satisfaction as he turned his head to his left. "The desk with the food. This is it."
"Food?" Olaf immediately forgot his obsession with coffee at the sight of the enormous jar of pretzels. "Food! I want some! Gimme some! Gimme some now!"
"Maybe if you behave." Door glowered at his tiny partner and stepped up to the desk which had a counter running its length, housing the jar of pretzels along with a cut-glass bowl of small candy bars. "Excuse me," he said to the young woman sitting behind the counter. "I'm looking for some information."
"One moment, please." The young woman finished typing a phrase into her computer, then looked up, straightening her glasses. Her light brown hair, parted off to one side, neatly framed her round, amiable face. "Fifty-four," she said in a low tone. "Therefore, sixty-one."
"Fifty-four, therefore sixty-one," Door repeated. "Thank you. May I have some?" He tapped the jar of pretzels.
"Of course, take what you'd like. And for your companion..." The young woman smiled and reached into the blue plaid lunchbox sitting on her desk behind her. "Would he like a carrot?"
"Carrot!" Olaf squirmed in delight. "Carrot, yes, oh, yes, please, carrot!"
The young woman laughed and held out the baby carrot, which Olaf delicately took from her fingers and chomped messily to pieces. Door rolled his eyes and set his sidekick down on the counter to deal with his treat while he himself used a paper cup to scoop some pretzels out of the jar. "How did you know he likes carrots?" he asked.
"Oh, I have Safety Dogs of my own. A little bigger than yours, of course." The young woman's eyes narrowed. "Though I do have to say that looks an awful lot like one of their vests yours is wearing..."
"Gotta go!" Door scooped Olaf off the counter once more. "Say goodbye, Olaf!"
"Goodbye, Olaf—hey, wait a minute." Olaf squinted at a framed photograph behind the young woman. "How come she's got a picture of you on her desk? You and the Latvian Lady? Hey, what's going on here—hey—hey!" His protests got only more vociferous as Door carried him back down the hall and into the elevator lobby.
"I can't take you anywhere," groaned Mr. Latvian Door when the pair were safely back in the elevator.
"Yes you can. I'm just embarrassing once we get there." Olaf snickered. "But who was that mysterious woman, anyway? And how come she knows everything?"
"It's her job to know everything." Door checked his appearance in the mirrored elevator doors, carefully straightening his hair, which was a remarkably similar color to that of his latest informant. "She's...The Assistant."