It was the middle of the night on a tiny farm in Placidville County and Dooley the Rooster was sleeping soundly when suddenly he awoke with a very sore throat. “I hope I’m not getting a cold” he thought to himself but since roosters can’t chew cough drops he just tried to go back to sleep hoping that he would get better before morning. After all, Dooley had his job to do as the official alarm clock of Small Town Farm. He couldn’t imagine what farmer Jones would think if Dooley didn’t crow in the dawn with his loud but scratchy “Cock A Doodle Doo”.

In fact sometimes Dooley was cock a doodle doodaling before Chester the rooster at the next farm would even be awake. Dooley heard that Chester was a bit lazy and though Dooley had never actually met Chester, the hens told Dooley that they had heard Chester wasn’t nearly as good at alarm clocking as Dooley.

But Dooley’s soreness kept getting worse and worse until when Dooley tried to clear his throat…nothing happened! No sound came out of his upturned beak…not even a whisper. “Oh My!” thought Dooley…because the sun was just inches from breaking above the Eastern horizon and his sore throat was as silent as a pile of dirt!

In two minutes the sun peaked its orange round head up over the Eastern fields and Dooley got up on the roof of the henhouse and threw back his head and opened his beak and tried as hard as he could but absolutely NO sound came out! Though Dooley tried and tried just silent air came out of his beak. Dooley attempted to Cock A Doodle Do for nearly an hour until he finally was so tired that he had to lie down on the roof shingles and he quickly fell asleep.

It was almost nine AM when Dooley woke up to the sound of farmer Jones yelling “DOOLEY…DOOLEY…what’s the matter with you rooster? We’ve all overslept because of you and the pigs didn’t get fed and the cows didn’t get milked and Ma Jones didn’t make me breakfast and…and…I’m really upset with you!”

Dooley tried to cackle down to farmer Jones but nothing came out again…but farmer Jones looked up to see Dooley trying to cackle or cluck or whatever roosters say when they aren’t Cock A Doodle Doodling and he said “Oh Dooley…have…you…LOST your voice?”

So Dooley pointed his right wing at his throat and tried again but just quiet air came out! Then off in the distance Dooley heard old Chester from the next farm over…crowing. “Lot of good that old rooster does crowing at 9 AM…But…well…at least Chester CAN crow.”

Dooley felt really sad now and slowly came down from his crowing place on the roof and farmer Jones picked him up and said…”Dooley…I think you have rooster laryngitis…I don’t know how long that lasts but I do have a great idea!”

Well, the farm day went by and then night time came and then all of the animals and farmer and Mrs. Jones went to bed and so did Dooley. About 4 AM Dooley woke up and tried out his Cock A Doodle Doodling voice but he still had rooster laryngitis or whatever farmer Jones called it, but as the sun peaked up over the Eastern fields Dooley remembered farmer Jones’ great idea…grabbed the battered old brass trumpet the farmer had given him and blew a song called ‘Reveille”.. Toot Toot Tooty Toot…and the lights went on in the farmhouse and the cows mooed and the pigs grunted and the hens cackled and the whole farm and EVEN the neighbor’s farm lit up and began their day right on time thanks to Dooley and his big brass trumpet.

Dooley eventually got his Cock A Doodle Doodling voice back but still blew the trumpet on special mornings…and Small Town Farm never woke up late again…EVER!

“No “FOR SALE” signs. No Real Estate Agents. No Open House events with cookies and personal tours. (LOVE cookies by the way) But on the plus side, my new house will be free…NO MORTGAGE!”
Actually my “House” is more like a camper. I started out small with a shell previously owned by a snail. But I soon outgrew it and had to find a bigger one. I’m on my fifth home now and I’m getting a little cramped.”
“And by the way. I don’t mean to disparage molluscs, but some of those previous owner snails really leave a messy shell. I ALWAYS do my housecleaning when moving on.”
“Ah….there….over by the turfgrass. WOW…what a beautiful golden brown color with tiny dots of dark brown. Let’s see. Looks pretty clean in there. Has to be a caring Hermit crab.”
“UGH! Wouldn’t you know it. Just a wee bit too tight. That is indeed a shame. I loved that Metropolitan style of the shell. Oh Well…the search goes on.”
“But wait. There over by the path. That one isn’t quite as stylish but it is HUGE!”
“HELLO…Hello…hello” Man it even has an echo!” I’ll just do a walk through….Gosh it’s roomy in here.” I think this one is perfect…well, except for the dull grey color….but maybe that’s good for camouflage.”
“Oh I LOVE IT…I’ll just….WAIT….this thing is heavy….WAY too heavy. I don’t want to have to carry this load around all day and running? Forget about that!”
“Shame.” Well I guess I have to go to the last resort and see my former owner Mary. She released me back into the “wild” when she left for college.”
“Mary will be able to solve my “Goldilocks” problem.”
“How can Mary help you may ask. She sells sea shells by the s

The lightning cast weird shadows on the rain streaked window in Cathy’s bedroom. She was alone until her parents would return from their community meeting in town, but after all, she was twelve years old and very mature. Cathy had been alone for short periods of time before, but the storm with all of it’s sounds of thunder made things seem, well, a bit more loud and wet and just a bit more scary! “I sure would like to have a nice cup of Mom’s hot chocolate…ummm, and maybe with some whipped cream or marshmallows!” thought Cathy. Suddenly, there was a great BOOM!! outside near the house…and then Cathy heard the creaking and cracking sound of a large tree limb. Running to her window, Cathy looked out through the rain just in time to see a great limb fall to the ground and split in two near the back fence. The lightning crashed even more loudly now and the rain was splashing at her windows as if it were trying to get into Cathy’s bedroom and drench her! Then Cathy heard a loud BAM! and all the lights went out and her clock radio started blinking “12:00” Cathy tried to switch on her lights and turn on her radio but the electricity was completely out! Cathy was trying to stay very brave and calm but the more she thought, the more she started to become just a little bit scared! Ally, the family cat was under the bed and wouldn’t come out even though Cathy called and called to her. Actually Cathy wanted to hold Ally and hug her instead of just being alone,watching and listening to the fierce storm. Cathy jumped as the phone rang and she stared at it for a couple of more rings before she picked it up and pressed “talk”. “H-Hello?” she whispered. “Cathy…Dear…it’s Mommy, are you all right?” “Oh…Hi Mom…s-sure everything’s fine Mom…” “Well the storm has knocked down some trees in the road and the firemen are clearing the street so we have to wait for them to finish before we can get home…OK Dear?” “Ah…sure Mom…don’t worry…I’m a big girl, I can handle everything here…but Ally is pretty scared but I’m comforting her…don’t worry!” “OK…I’ll call back in a half hour or so.” “Ah…sure Mom

CHAPTER ONE Attic Treasure

I found an old photo in Aunt Edna’s attic. It was a head shot with vertical bar shadows striping the subject’s face but I couldn’t tell if the man pictured was inside or outside of them.
Black and white and yellowed with age it was intriguing to a 10-year-old impressionable boy.
Uncle Phil used to kid me, warning about looking up ancestors because…”There might be a few horse thieves among the family tree branches my boy..especially on Aunt Edna’s “Conrad Family” side!” Then he’d have a big laugh and my Aunt would throw a pillow at him.
But although the photo had been kept among the family albums no one knew, or would at least admit to knowing, exactly who the man in the picture actually was.
The barely legible stamping on the back of the picture read “Argonia Sun imes”. I assumed the “T” that was missing of course, but I couldn’t find any listing of what I guessed was a newspaper, anywhere on the internet.
No one in the family knew what the Argonia Sun Times was either and didn’t even hazard a guess. BUT, they all DID change the subject quickly to..” Want some cookies, just baked ’em?” or “Hey let’s take the Porsche out for a spin. Whaddya say kid?” whenever I brought up the question of who exactly was in that photo.
I looked up Argonia and found a town of 501 population in Kansas but there was no Sun Times.
But one afternoon while Uncle Phil and I were on a “change the subject” Porsche ride he said something that really made me super curious. “My advice is to stay away from that attic kid. Nothin’ good can ever come of it.”
I was startled but I managed to ask “Can’t you tell me anything…I mean ANYTHING?”
He just stared at me for the longest time after he had pulled the car over to the curb.
“There could still be folks that are carrying a grudge about all that stuff back then and it’s best not to stir the pot, so to speak.”
Uncle Phil should never have said that and he knew it but then I saw a very tiny smile at the corner of his mouth and that told me that the man in the photo was definitely related to Aunt Edna’s side of the family!

CHAPTER TWO Investigation

When I included Uncle Phil in my little circle of investigators of missing picture man, the group now included two.
“Don’t tell Aunt Edna that you’re keeping the photo and trying to find out the whole story.” cautioned Uncle Phil.
“Good idea.” Staying positive with Uncle Phil was a must to pursue the investigation.
My first challenge was to find out about the Argonia Sun Times.
I discovered that the Times Sentinel now served the town of Argonia and so I decided to contact the editor about past history which hopefully included old photos and files from the Sun Times.
No luck. Nobody at the Times Sentinel knew anything about the old newspapers of the small towns nearby.
Then a thought hit me. Check the jails and prisons and sheriffs and local police.
After sending a digital picture of the photo to every law enforcement entity that I could find…no luck!
Then I got an email from the Times Sentinel editor John McClellan. He offered to run the photo as a “WHO IS THIS MAN?” article and local contest.
“GREAT!” I responded and told him everything that I knew of the situation.
The prize for successfully identifying the man in the photo was a “Free Night In Jail”. I figured that it was just a joke and it was me who would be the subject of everyone’s laughter.
But I was wrong. The response was overwhelming! 486 citizens offered guesses but no proof until after two weeks one single respondent offered proof of the true identity of the man in my photo.
There was to be a special edition of the newspaper naming the “Mystery Man” and the story behind the photo.
In addition, a picture of the winner would be featured in a headshot with the same shadows of bars across their face.
I was so excited to find out who the man in the photo actually was, but I confess I really did not care who the winner was.
Mr. McClellan sent me a pre-published proof of the feature article naming the man as Jasper Conrad a one-time prison guard and the bar shadowed photo of the winner was a smiling Aunt Edna.

Actually, “M” didn’t really have a name. But in the interest of keeping the story easier to follow and for the sake of alliteration, I named him “M”.
Many…and I mean many many years ago when I was even younger than you are today, my parents had a radio that was as large as a big flat screen TV. At night after supper (dinner…not sure) there used to be radio shows that ranged from mysteries and dramas to comedy and also there were programs consisting of classical music.
My Dad loved classical music and my Mom loved the story programs but we would all sit in the living room and listen to and “Watch” the radio.
Yeah, I know… but we did and I still don’t have a very plausible explanation for it but we weren’t the only family that did that.
Well, when the mysteries and comedies were booming out of our large speakers there was never a sign of him. But when the classical music came on, in just a minute or so…he would sneak out from somewhere behind the radio, look around and then settle down and….you guessed it…LOOK at the radio and enjoy the music.
Occasionally “M” would come out briefly when swing music was playing (before Rock and Roll kids) but “M” quickly decided that it wasn’t classical and then he’d disappear back to wherever he’d come from behind the radio.
One time as he was leaving due to swing music being played, I’m certain and so was my Mom; he looked at us and glared as he vacated his listening spot.
This whole series of appearances only lasted a few weeks (neighbors had a cat) but the thing that is the most amazing about this entire story is that it is TRUE.

“Now Tommy, put your hands over your ears “ Tom’s Grandfather didn’t place his hands over his own ears, but Tommy, being the dutiful namesake grandson that he was, complied.
At precisely eight PM, it seemed as though Grampa Carson’s entire house clanged, gonged, dinged, chirped, and rang out with numerous other sounds.
After the cacophony from too many clocks, or as Grampa referred to many of them as timepieces, Tommy released his ears.
“Wow, Grandpa!”
“Yes, wonderful wasn’t it?”
Tommy Carson the Third, seldom visited his Granddad since his family moved to Wisconsin six years before when he was one.
“Well, they are pretty loud when they…ah, go off, aren’t they?” Tommy asked.
“I’m used to them and would miss it if I silenced them. I do have silent ones, four in fact. My sundials! Ha! But I admit one of my sundials has been running a bit slowly lately!”

Grandpa Tom looked at his grandson out of the corner of his eye to see if Tommy realized that sundials can’t run slowly.
“Oh, it isn’t slow Grandpa, it’s just because it’s nighttime!”
Grandpa Tom hugged his “boy’s boy” as he sometimes referred to him and asked if Tommy wanted to see his “clock shop.”
“I’d love to. Could we eat potato chips and drink a coke while we do that?”
“Ha…sure we can. I’ve got pretzels too!
“Like chips better, but bring ‘em anyhow!”
There was a shed out in back of Granpa Carson’s house and it had a sundial right in front and a large black and white clock hanging on the side wall which, by the way, was showing the wrong time, one hour earlier.
“That clock is wrong Grandpa!”
“Well, it actually isn’t. It always shows the time at YOUR house!”

When his Grandpa opened the double doors there were so many parts of clocks on benches and large springs hanging on the walls and small, medium and large numbers, both Digital and Roman were everywhere.
“Do you build clocks too Grandpa?”
“Well, no, but I fix them.”
“Could you teach me how to fix clocks?”
“It takes a lot of time and you would have to really love clocks to put all of the time into it! Pardon the pun!”
Then Grandpa Carson explained to Tommy exactly what a “pun” was.
“I’m working on a Cuckoo clock right now. The little bird is a bit shy and I think also oversleeps too!”
“Is that a PUN Grandpa?”
“No, that was a poor joke.”
“How long does it take you each day to wind all of your clocks Grandpa?”
“It takes about an hour by the time I finally wind up!”
“THAT was a pun, RIGHT?”
“Yep!”
“Who winds all of your clocks when you go on vacation?”
“Nobody. That’s why I don’t go away much.”
“When I grow up and you go away, I’ll come and wind ALL of your clocks and keep them right on time, even the sundials!”

Daytime:   Swam around to the left. Swam around to the right. Nibbled some algae off of the green rock. Swam around…(I forget which way.)

Nightime:   Swam a little. Stayed still at the bottom of the deep part of the pond.

Daytime:   Swam around to the right…BACKED UP and then swam to the left. Bumped into the shubunkin…(didn’t see him until too late)

Nightime:   Swam a little. Stayed still at the bottom of the deep part of the pond. Looking forward to Daytime.

“It’s raining Mom…YEA!!! Can I go out with my new boots and raincoat?”
“Well…Ok I guess Billy but if it starts to thunder you come right back in!”
“All right Mom.” Billy quickly pulled on his rubber boots and black toggled yellow “slicker” as his Grandmom called it when she gave it to him for his eighth birthday.
“And don’t go past the end of the block Billy…and don’t go into the street…and….”
“I KNOW I know Mom….I’ll be VERY careful”
“Well Ok.” Billy’s Mom patted Billy on the top of his hood as he ran out of the door and jumped straight into the puddle of rainwater that had formed in front of their door.
Billy was having so much fun jumping from puddle to puddle and making a splash higher and higher as the puddles got deeper. Then on the fifth puddle Billy’s boots kept going down, down, down sinking straight into the puddle that was so deep that he couldn’t touch the bottom.
As Billy’s head went under the water’s surface he yelled “MOM!!!!” but then instantly was totally submerged looking up to the light at the top of the deepest puddle that ever was.
Billy kept sinking and holding his breath until finally his boots hit bottom.
Billy was very mature for an eight year old but had to admit that he was more scared than he had EVER been in his whole life. Then he noticed a strange thing. He could breathe…WAS breathing even though he was deep under water. And it was very bright down there not dark like you might think that it would be and as he was looking around at the sides of the “puddle” a long thick squiggly “thing” swam by. “Hey Billy…nice slicker!”
“What….how….did you know my name….and…..what ARE you anyhow?”
“I’m what’s called a puddle jumper…my kind live in rain puddles. You can call me “PJ”
“But what about when the puddle dries up after the rain stops? Where do you go then?” asked Billy.
“We wait in the ground until another one comes along.” explained the puddle jumper.
“So….that means you love puddles just as much as I do!”
“Yep…maybe even more!”
But suddenly Billy looked very sad and “PJ” said “What’s the matter Billy aren’t you having fun in this greatest of all puddles?”
“Well…yeah…kinda but how do I get out….go home? I kinda like jumping “through” puddles not deep “into” them?”
“Oh I see….yeah this is home to me but for you it’s like a trap isn’t it?”
“Uh huh…I wanna go home…ah….my MOM will be worried.” Billy said with a sad tone in his voice.
Then suddenly there shone a very bright light from above and both Billy and PJ looked up.
“Ah….that’d be the sun. Rain’s over….this puddle is gonna be drying up soon… gotta make my way home.” Said Pj quickly squiggling around and starting to swim away.
“WAIT….what about me….I wanna go home now….help me PLEASE PJ.”
OH…yes….quite….well…stand stiff and still and I will vault you up to the surface. Ever been vaulted?”
“Ah….no I don’t think so PJ.”
The puddle jumper wriggled itself under Billy’s new boots and on the count of three suddenly arched up against the soles of Billy’s boots, shooting Billy quickly up to the top of the puddle and out through the surface, landing on his walkway dripping wet.
As he tried to squeegee the excess water off of his raincoat his Mother was standing at the doorway with her arms folded in front of her and looking very angry. Then his Mom threw him a towel…”Wipe that water off before you come inside the house.”
As Billy dried himself off his Mom turned and went back into the house. And as she did Billy thought he heard her mumble “Those pesky puddle jumpers!”

Everybody wants to live at the beach. Well, except for those who want to live in the mountains or in the desert or in big cities…well, anyhow…I want to live at the beach and I do.
I must admit that it gets a tad lonely in the freezing cold of winter…especially at night.
Lots of my friends only come around in late Spring and Summer but it does tend to get somewhat crowded then.
What? Who am I?
Maybe I’ll let you guess. I’ll give you a few clues.
I can’t fly, although I would LOVE to be able to.
I’m actually not even very good at swimming. Silly huh, living and loving the beach and all that.
I also love to play hide and seek but NEVER want to get caught.
Have you guessed what I am yet? Well, have you guessed what I’m NOT yet?
Right! I’m not a fish or a bird.
And I’m not a tourist because I live here and even though some tourists can actually swim none can fly, by themselves that is.
Another hint: I’m not a grain of sand…EVERYBODY knows that sand can’t talk!
And I’m not a pebble which has the same silent problem of sand.
I do like to play with the tide and the waves as they come into the beach and then go back out.
GOOD GUESS! When you hear the term “Happy As A Clam”…THAT’S ME!
Oops…gotta go and dig fast and deep…someone’s coming down the beach.
Next time you are here…look for a tiny hole and maybe a bubble near the water’s edge and say “HI” but no digging please.

“Here Nosy….sniff!”
Judson was holding his brother’s, shall we say, “soiled” sweatshirt in front of his new bloodhound puppy’s nose.
Nosy sniffed and sniffed and then barked a very immature sounding bark that would eventually mature into a deep loud one.
Nosy perked up his ears and looked around, then put his amazing nose to the ground and in a crooked, twisting path, sniffed his way to the laundry room and the laundry basket!
Even though none of Judson’s brother’s clothing was actually IN the basket that was “sniffed out” by Nosy, the tracking was deemed a victory.
On subsequent sniffing and tracking tests, Nosy however, was less successful. While attempting to sniff out a previously hidden used sock, Nosy “found” an unhidden plate of dark meat turkey that Judson’s Mom had placed on the table for lunch. Nosy never did find the sock.
On another occasion, Nosy found an opened box of chocolate covered cherries instead of Judson’s Dad’s baseball cap and was a very sick bloodhound puppy all afternoon.
After a trip to the local Veterinarian and a testing of Nostrildamus’ olfactory glands (his “smeller”) it was theorized that possibly Nosy was not “all” bloodhound but “could” have a bit of Beagle on his family tree. Not a bad thing, but not bloodhound.
“He may develop a better sense of smell later as he matures, but I wouldn’t count on it!” the Doctor sighed after the exam and test.
Judson was a bit disappointed at the news but vowed to keep “training” Nosy’s scent tracking abilities.
As Nosy grew older and larger, his percentage of “finds” as Judson called them, grew to about 10%.
There were also some unscientific successes which, although Judson considered a “find” his parents did not for the simple reason that food was always involved.
But one morning, a bright sunny day in August, the doorbell rang and when Judson’s Mom opened the door, a policeman was standing there with a torn piece of cloth in his gloved hand.
“M’am, I’m Sargent Cole of the local police department and we are on the lookout for an alleged thief that apparently tore an article of clothing, looks like a piece of shirt, during a small robbery and we were told that you own a bloodhound. Is that true?”
“Ah…why yes we do but you see…”
“GREAT! Can we borrow your dog to possibly track the alleged criminal?”
Judson’s Mom looked at Judson and at Nosy who was wagging his entire body and they both looked so excited that she just replied “Okay!”
Well, to make a long story shorter, Nosy tracked down the culprit hiding behind a holly bush over in the woods and the Police Department awarded Nosy a special ribbon for “Excellence In Police Work”.
After that, Nosy still wasn’t very successful tracking clothing objects from the family but, even though no one close to Nosy ever said anything to each other, they all felt that it was very lucky that among the stolen items that were taken by the sniffed out crook, was a large box of chocolate covered cherries!