As regular blurb lurkers know, my Jorgi dog Milly and I scour our neighbourhood for things that puzzle, amuse and bemuse us. This is even more convenient if they're on the way to the post office, corner shop or school and sighted during a Flemington Association letterbox drop.
For Milly our investigative process normally means using her wet nose to sniff and hopefully work out which dog left their liquid mark on a nearby tree trunk or tyre and for me it means using my much-larger protuberance and a business card with a message scrawled across it to produce the answer to our present problem.
However, this is an unusual one, because our next chosen subject firstly wanted - no, insisted and very firmly I might add - that we solve another mystery before they would cooperate with our request to reveal their secret in full. To be fair, she sounded worried and anxious.
"Kath, before I meet with you, I need you to do something for me."
"Excluding storage of anything illicit up my colon, just name it," I replied.
"W-e-l-l, a few of us in my street are really worried because these .....
.......... have popped up everywhere."
"Ah, yes," I said, smugly. "I do know what they are for, actually. And maybe you were thinking that you were being marked for a future robbery, a future rape-n-pillage party hosted by overly-medicated fairies or ~shudder~ a televised visit from David Koch?"
"Yes, something like that," she said, voice quivering over the phone. "Can you help me?"
Maybe. If I feel like it. If you bend to my (increasingly nosey) will.
Can you, dear readers?