♫I'm so excited♫
♫And I just can't hide it♫
♫I'm about to write a story♫
♫And I think you'll like it!♫

Writing bad fiction might turn out to be harder than it looks.

Never fear.  I work hard to write badly.

HIGH STAKES

Chapter 1

    The dog in the mirror smiled rakishly back at me as I straightened my collar. “You’re a handsome devil, you are,” I told him, and he agreed with me wholeheartedly. I paused and studied my reflection more seriously. I had been regarded as the breed-standard Whigle for four years now, and I was still wearing it well. Bright, honest eyes, jaunty set of the ears, and a dazzling smile. But the show dog lifestyle was never one for me. Unfortunately, whatever the perfect lifestyle for me was always seemed to be subject to change. Its current incarnation: detective work. That’s me, Lyle P., private eye. It probably sounds more glamorous than it actually is. What it amounts to most days is a little sniffing around regarding domestic disputes and that sort of thing. “My owner came home smelling like another dog!” and “I think the other dog is getting more treats than me!” It pays the bills.
    I had always imagined a life filled with action and adventure. Somehow I had thought that detective work would fit the bill. So far the closest thing I’d encountered to a real adventure was a missing-dog case that led me to a very slow poodle groomer. Still, there was always the possibility that something exciting could turn up at any moment.
    As if on cue, Morgan, my receptionist and sometimes-assistant buzzed in on the intercom on my desk.
    “Mr. L? There’s someone here to see you.”
    “Send them in,” I called back. Moments later, there was a tentative knock at my door. “It’s not locked,” I said. “Come on in.”
    The door opened and in walked a leggy blonde. Her tail swished nervously. “I need your help,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
    I couldn’t see anything wrong with her from her tail to her shoulders, so I figured the problem had to be in her head. “Have a seat, Miss…” I paused for her to add her name.
    “Matches, Miss Matches,” she replied. “Thank you so much for seeing me. I do hope you can help. I’m in such a bad spot!”
    “Dalmatian trouble, then, is it?”
to be continued...