♫Do your ears hang low?♫
♫Do they wobble to and fro?♫
♫Can you tie them in a knot?♫
♫Can you tie them in a bow?♫
♫Can you throw them o'er your shoulder♫
♫Like a Continental Soldier?♫
♫Do your ears hang low?♫

♫Do your ears hang high?♫
♫Do they reach up to the sky?♫
♫Do they wrinkle when they're wet?♫
♫Do they straighten when they're dry?♫
♫Can you wave them at your neighbor♫
♫With an element of flavor?♫
♫Do your ears hang high?♫

♫Do your ears hang wide?♫
♫Do they flap from side to side?♫
♫Do they wave in the breeze♫
♫From the slightest little sneeze?♫
♫Can you soar above the nation♫
♫With a feeling of elevation?♫
♫Do your ears hang wide?♫
 

High Stakes

Chapter 2

    The blonde launched into a story that had nothing whatsoever to do with Dalmatians. I’ve always thought a spotted dog makes a story more interesting, but hers seemed to be without.
    During my fairly brief tenure as Lyle P., Private Eye, I had finely tuned my listening skills. Often, clients already have all the information they need to solve their problems, and if you pay close attention, they’ll tell you everything you need to know. Of course, I still sniff around for a while because my biscuits are charged by the hour.
    So I was listening to her tale unfold, or I would have been, had I not been so mesmerized by her long blonde ears. Every time she came to what must have been an important point in her narrative, her ears would perk up in a most agreeably distracting fashion. They had just jumped forward again when she said, “Do you think you can help me?”
    I knitted my brows in an effort to look pensive. I reached in my desk drawer for my pack of rawhide sticks. I offered her one, but she refused. I slid one out of the pack for myself and took a moment to chew thoughtfully on its end. “Well, Miss, ah…”
    “Matches,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly.
    “Right, of course. Miss Matches, your situation is a difficult one. I have found that from time to time my little grey cells benefit from hearing the problem more than once. Let me call in my receptionist to take notes for us.” I hit a button on the intercom. “Morgan, could you come in here please?”
    “I have to tell you the whole thing again?” Miss Matches asked, looking slightly annoyed.
    “It’s all part of the process,” I reassured her. “This time, you’ll be speaking to a different audience. New details may emerge.”
    Morgan entered the room, notepad and pen already in her paw. She gave a sidelong glance to the blonde, her gaze pausing momentarily on the long beautiful ears. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling and then landed hard on me. “I imagine you want me to take notes, Mr. L?”
    Morgan is a very perceptive lady, which is why I’ve asked her to lend her insight on a particularly knotty case or two. She settled in to the chair next to the client and readied her pen.
I closed my eyes and chewed on the rawhide. “From the beginning, then, please, Miss Matches.”