Zackrat and The Case of the Missing Munchies

    Zackrat had been in the business a long time, longer than a spaghetti that refuses to wind up on a fork.  He was tired, and his left foot tingled with the onset of arthritis.  Long hours of waiting in the rain, watching in the fog, tracking in the snow had soaked his feet in too much wetness.  A body can't keep up forever with the heart and mind.  His birthday was coming soon.  Time to retire he squeaked to himself.  But then MacGregor came.

    "Look, Zacky," MacGregor said, "it'll be simple for you.  Just find out who's been nabbing goodies out of my cellar this time.  That's all.  I'm too big and noisy and slow.  I can barely catch a cow tethered in a stall."

    "I'll give it a try," said Zacky, smoothing his whiskers with his hands as he sat on the oats bin in front of the farmer.  Working for Farmer MacGregor had its perks.  Zacky had the go-ahead to nibble at any grain he could reach, and when he was on the job MacGregor kept the barn cats locked up in the shed.

    "There's a hole dug right through the wall," said MacGregor.

    "Let's go take a look," said the black-hooded rat as he climbed up onto MacGregor's shoulder.

    At the scene of the crime Zacky ran around over the floor, sniffing among the bins of potatoes, carrots, turnips, rutabagas, and cabbage.  He clambered up the posts to the drying racks hung with basil, oregano, chrysanthemum, chamomile, and lavender, all neat and tidy like a hula-dancer's skirt.  Wafting through all the smells and fragrances was the odor of the thief.  Zacky sat on a beam and bruxed in satisfaction.

    "Okay, MacGregor, I've got it.  I'll track down the culprit and work him over a little bit."  He scrambled down and sniffed around the hole dug through the earthen wall before plunging into the dark.

    Quickly enough he resurfaced into the grass, just as he knew he would.  The thief had made the tunnel only to get into the cellar.  The first good rain would collapse it.  Zackrat gazed over the wide field of dry pasture.  He loved country jobs, but he knew in his gut that this one would end in the city.  The long days and nights as an agent had sharpened his instincts to match his nose.

    The track zig-zagged over the countryside and up to another hole in the ground on the outskirts of a little town.  Zacky stopped at the entrance.  He sniffed.  Yep, the culprit was home.

    "Hey, Peter," he called down the hole.  "The jig's up.  Did you get all you need?"

    From down the hole a voice echoed up.  "Hey, Zack, is that you?  Come on down buddy.  Is MacGregor really mad?  I didn't take all that much."  A large twitching nose, bright eyes and long floppy ears pushed into the light.

    "Nah, he's not that mad.  But this may be my last job, and I have to give him good results.  No doubt he suspects you.  Maybe you two could work a deal?  He leaves a few things out for you, and you don't go digging holes into his cellar any more.  How about that?"

    "Zacky, that would spoil the fun and you know it."  The rabbit shook his ears in indignation.

    "Well, okay, but if I retire MacGregor might get someone else to investigate, someone who doesn't know you, and that could be, umm, shall we say, curtains?"  Zacky did not want anything to happen to his cotton-tailed friend.

    "Retire, my foot!" said Peter as he thumped a great hind foot on the ground.  "I'll take my chances that you never retire."

    The two pals sat and gossiped for a few minutes in front of the rabbit's den.  "Hey, you must be hungry," said Peter, remembering his manners.

    "A little.  Well, a lot.  It's hard work going after you.  MacGregor didn't give me quite enough time to nibble.  And I really don't have the stamina I used to.  You know, In a couple of days I'll turn two."

    Zacky jumped up onto Peter's back for the ride to get some eats.  The rabbit loped easily the short distance to town and headed for McDonald's restaurant.  "French fries and coffee for me and my pal," he said to the clerk.

    They sat on a table in a booth by the window talking and laughing about the many adventures they had had.  Peter lifted up his cup of coffee.  "Here's to my buddy who's always making peace between me and farmer MacGregor.  Happy Birthday and many more, old friend."

    Zackrat's face grew red right through the black fur until it looked like a piece of glowing coal.  "Thanks a lot.  Maybe I won't quit the business after all."  And his left foot no longer ached.