"'The palest ink is better than the best memory.'"
-Chinese proverb

The clock struck 6:30, as the old man left. To some, he was a quiet neighbor, to others a great mind, and yet to her she was his teacher. Who was she? She was my teacher. I didn't know that being brought to the ASPCA a week before had meant a better life ahead. I didn't know as the balding man walked into the building that he was coming for me-to take me home. But that is how it went, and that is how it still is.

He was still driving as it began to rain, and I sat in the back of his car, laying on some blankets, my leash and collar hanging off the side. I panted softly, watching the rain drops hit the window, every once in awhile I turned my head to look at the road ahead, wondering what would happen.
As we drove up to the house, the old man let me out, and lead me into the house. As we opened the doors and stepped in, there sat my future teacher. Her eyes twinkled-but it was not a twinkle of love. It showed that of an observer, of a philosopher. The old man took my collar and leash off, and walked over to his desk, saying no more to us. Tess looked at me, she had blood-red eyes. She spoke with no emotion at all though.

"I see you have gone through some sort of physical torture? Mistreatment?"
I was amazed, but nodded, "Yes, how-how did you know that?"
"Your fur. It is glossy-it is groomed. Not raggedy or otherwise at all imperfect. No dog, not even myself, has ever had that sort of fur outside. You've been groomed and treated so that you show not one impurity to those who'd like to adopt you. I also guessed you were coming."
I was now less amazed-and more critical. She was playing with my mind, "And how? It is impossible."
"But not improbable." She replied. "My bed-the red pillow next to my teacher-"
She spoke in such an omnicent way, I was almost forced to make her stop. "The teach-"
"No questions!" She stated, and then continued, "it is newly cleaned-the pillow. I am not one to get dirty often. Nor am I one to need to be cleaned often-but often is not always-do not twist my words. Now, because it is hardly ever cleaned, and that when it is he gives a reason, I could only guess he had cleaned it for a reason that a new scent would be added. How so?"
"By a-dog?"
She nodded. "I am Tess." she bowed, quickly introducing herself, "and you?"
"I am Delta." I said, "And, what else are you? A genius dog?"
Tess's ears flicked. "What do you mean?"
I scrambled to find the words, "I-uh-er-"
"Do you say I am, different then other dogs? State what you mean or state nothing at all!"
"Well, yes, I guess-how?"
"My teacher;" she nodded to the old man, "he and his books have taught me the way I am. They have molded my mind. I am what one would say, an observant philosopher."
"Alright-you can read?"
"Yes. I have studied the books on the shelf, and because he is up most of the day and night-and is so in tune with his work, that he does not notice me taking the books off of that bookshelf. I should teach you sometime, with how easily you are amazed. Do you by any chance know a Sherlock Holmes?"
"No." I said, with such sureness. I thought the question was another one of her tricks, but she was playing her game, and I was moving all of the pieces the way she wanted me too-without my knowing.
"I thought so. He-" she gently set her paw on a great big book, and slid it off the shelf, "was a detective. One of the smartest minds there were-but a literary character he was. There was one before him-one I may say was better-but not enough books exist about him to learn his thoughts-to mold ones mind to shape their own, like I have. Most of my mind follows his. Not all, mind you. I am what one would say, The Irene Adler of the canine world."
The literary reference did not help my mind at all. I was absolutely baffled. "Who is Irene Adler?"
"The only woman to beat Sherlock Holmes at his own game, that is who she is, but not who I want to be."