Short. Stubby. Sad. Sentimental. All the wrong words, and yet here he was, looking for the killer.
Albert was a cut above the rest. Skill wise. And yet, if you took a look at him, he was cuts below the size the rest of his more popular crew was. That's where the difference was most visible.
His training was peculiar, in the sense that he always had multiple trainers. His colleagues always stuck to one trainer who eventually would be their partners, or buddy's. He however was hated. No one wanted him, and as a result he kept changing hands. He was, how do you put it? Eccentric.
It took just one case to prove that he was anything but bloody brilliant. And had a penchant for carrots.
Today's task was a challenging one. He was always brought in, when the rest had given up. He moved slowly around the floor, looking disinterested. Hardly a place to be interestingly yapping around though, this murder scene. Signs of violence all around, blood across multiple spots, clothes messed up. In other words, the usual.
What was different, was that the body was small. The clothes were on the body, splattered with blood. The Left sneaker was off the foot, the other presumably strewn across a cupboard or table. A young one. Golden hair now red. Blue eyes still open, in terror. Fist clenched, holding on to critical evidence - a piece of cloth. A heinous crime it was, killing a child with multiple stabs of a butcher knife. Which was also lying around.
Smelt like man slaughter. Life Term.
If the Murderer was ever caught, that is. But that was his job. His fellow inspector's watched him with great attention. Albert went around the corpse, hardly even taking a proper look. He stopped and looked around. It was a stab wound, there was no signs of the body being moved around, the wounds were mildly deep, making of an unsure or a first timer. But the sneaker was missing. Why was one sneaker missing? Understandable if there was a chase, a strangling, self defense. And it was brutal. 23 Stabs. On a 18 year old.
He went around the house. Followed keenly by an entourage. Nothing.
The Garage. Nothing
The Basement. Nothing
He began to sniff around in the vegetable patch, and his ears perked up. He started running around in crazy Zig Zag motion, and frantically picked up pace. In a second he was off, chasing wildly on to the pavement right to the Garbage Bin. With one smooth motion he *whammed* right into the Bin, knocking it over.
By the time the entourage of inspectors and fellow canines caught up with him, he was busy lying in the shade, panting. Waiting for the rest of them to find his clue -
Another left foot sneaker, the same style, the same brand, just blood stained.
Albert climbed back into his kennel, and grabbed a carrot. He was the top dog after all.
Albert was a cut above the rest. Skill wise. And yet, if you took a look at him, he was cuts below the size the rest of his more popular crew was. That's where the difference was most visible.
His training was peculiar, in the sense that he always had multiple trainers. His colleagues always stuck to one trainer who eventually would be their partners, or buddy's. He however was hated. No one wanted him, and as a result he kept changing hands. He was, how do you put it? Eccentric.
It took just one case to prove that he was anything but bloody brilliant. And had a penchant for carrots.
Today's task was a challenging one. He was always brought in, when the rest had given up. He moved slowly around the floor, looking disinterested. Hardly a place to be interestingly yapping around though, this murder scene. Signs of violence all around, blood across multiple spots, clothes messed up. In other words, the usual.
What was different, was that the body was small. The clothes were on the body, splattered with blood. The Left sneaker was off the foot, the other presumably strewn across a cupboard or table. A young one. Golden hair now red. Blue eyes still open, in terror. Fist clenched, holding on to critical evidence - a piece of cloth. A heinous crime it was, killing a child with multiple stabs of a butcher knife. Which was also lying around.
Smelt like man slaughter. Life Term.
If the Murderer was ever caught, that is. But that was his job. His fellow inspector's watched him with great attention. Albert went around the corpse, hardly even taking a proper look. He stopped and looked around. It was a stab wound, there was no signs of the body being moved around, the wounds were mildly deep, making of an unsure or a first timer. But the sneaker was missing. Why was one sneaker missing? Understandable if there was a chase, a strangling, self defense. And it was brutal. 23 Stabs. On a 18 year old.
He went around the house. Followed keenly by an entourage. Nothing.
The Garage. Nothing
The Basement. Nothing
He began to sniff around in the vegetable patch, and his ears perked up. He started running around in crazy Zig Zag motion, and frantically picked up pace. In a second he was off, chasing wildly on to the pavement right to the Garbage Bin. With one smooth motion he *whammed* right into the Bin, knocking it over.
By the time the entourage of inspectors and fellow canines caught up with him, he was busy lying in the shade, panting. Waiting for the rest of them to find his clue -
Another left foot sneaker, the same style, the same brand, just blood stained.
Albert climbed back into his kennel, and grabbed a carrot. He was the top dog after all.
Cool!!!
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