"Well Mrs. Suit, as these wonderful aromas rise up to meet me, I cannot but think that perhaps a little light exercise might be beneficial before I partake of this delightful repast. Gentlemen, would you care to join me?" Mozzie asked the two men relaxing on the sofa. Peter rolled his eyes and raised his beer bottle to him, "Knock yourself out, Mr. Conspiracy." "Sorry Moz but you know I cannot be out in public, Satchmo looks like he's your best bet." Neal added, sipping his wine and relaxing back into the sofa cushions. "Ah, how easily they follow along my path," Mozzie thought to himself, "Sometimes it is just too simple to take pride in."
"Come on, dear Satchmo, let us stroll together and visit with the lovely ladies of the Doggie Park!" he said to the golden Labrador retriever, reaching for the leash hanging beside the door. "Mozzie, wait a moment, let me get you a waste bag." Elizabeth called out from the kitchen. "No need, Mrs. Suit. I come prepared!" Mozzie replied, patting his jacket pocket. Neal raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Mozzie was such a germaphobe he could not imagine a scenario in which he would willingly become involved in anything remotely like scooping poop. As the door closed behind man and dog he turned to Peter and said, "Well, that was unexpected." "Yeah," Peter replied. "That man never ceases to amaze me. Take good care of him, Neal. He's a one-of-a-kind." Neal turned to look him directly in the eye. "Why Peter, I do believe that you have finally fallen under the Haversham spell." He laughed. "I wouldn't go that far." Peter replied, smiling. "But I must admit, there's a lot more to him than initially meets the eye!" "Oh, you have no idea …" Neal added as he got up and went to join Elizabeth in the kitchen. "I don't think I want to know any more than I already do." Peter thought to himself.
At the park, Mozzie knelt to let Satchmo off the leash, "Go for it, Mr. Satch. The world is your oyster!" he joyfully declared. Satchmo enthusiastically complied, running back and forth across the park. Mozzie waited patiently following Satchmo's trail with an indulgent smile. Once the hound had performed as expected Mozzie removed a gallon-sized baggie from his jacket pocket, together with a pair of purple plastic gloves. Utilizing a nearby twig he rolled the deposit into the bag, which was already half-filled with pale gray ashes. He tossed the twig aside, removed the gloves and added them to the bag, carefully sliding the seal across the top. With Satchmo safely back on the leash, they headed over to the waste station. Mozzie lifted the lid and dropped the bag inside. It landed with a dull thud.
With a wry smile Mozzie tipped his baseball cap and said, "Sayonara, Officer Olsen."
TBC
This is the penultimate chapter. I welcome your feedback and will (per Mozzie) take it under advisement.