DRASTIC MEASURES

The old grandfather clock began to chime and Mr. Pritchard’s mouth stretched into smirk. Three-thirty in the afternoon. Normally he’d be napping now, but ever since Becky Vogel moved in with her noisy little Pomeranian, Yappers, he hadn’t had a decent rest. Neither had Casper. That annoyance was about to end.

“Time to see if our plan is going to work, Casper,” he said, rubbing his hands together. The Samoyed yawned and flopped his tail. “I’m tired too, buddy. Keep your paws crossed that the brat takes the bait.”

He hobbled over to the window and pulled back the drape just as Becky started to race down the street. Yappers perched in the bicycle basket, raising his usual ruckus. Mr. Pritchard cringed. Even Casper whimpered and buried is head under a pillow.

The bicycle screeched to a halt by the table he’d set up down the block. They stared for a full minute, then Yappers leaped from the basket and started chowing down on the mound of liver kibble. A moment later Becky grabbed cookies in each hand and gobbled so fast she started coughing.

“Good thing I left you a bottle of water, you greedy little imp.”

He pressed his face against the glass and laughed as the pair remounted and road away.

“Glad the kid can read the sign,” he said. “Free treats for kids and dogs. If you’re quiet between the hours of three-thirty and four-thirty, there will be more tomorrow.”