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“Hiya fellas,” said the dog, who was probably three times my size. “How are things?”

“Things are… fine,” I said, looking up at the dog and wondering in what universe this Randy would be considered ‘little.’

“Are you sure that you’re a dog, Little Randy?” asked Dooley.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” said Little Randy. “Well, my mom is a dog, and my dad is a dog, and all my brothers and sisters are dogs, so odds are that I’m a dog, too, little buddy. So what’s your name?”

“Dooley,” said Dooley.

“Max,” I said.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Max and Dooley,” said Little Randy and glanced around. “Nice place you’ve got here. So this is my new home away from home, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” I said, glancing up at Odelia. She was giving Little Randy a look of uncertainty. Clearly she hadn’t expected this either.

We shifted our attention to Chase, and I saw that the cop had an expression on his face of absolute and pure rapture. He was staring at Little Randy, and I could tell that this was love at first sight. A smidgen annoyed, for he’d never looked at me or Dooley like that, I said, “Looks like Chase has already fallen head over heels in love with our new housemate.”

“Chase has always been a dog person,” Dooley said. “And now he’s finally got what he always wanted. A big dog.”

Some men love small dogs, like Kurt Mayfield, our next-door neighbor, and others love big dogs. Chase definitely is in the latter category, and it didn’t take long for him to approach our new friend and start patting his head and making his acquaintance.

“He’s amazing,” he gushed. “How long have you had him?”

“Just three years,” said Randy. “I mainly got him for security reasons, but we’ve become very close. He’s my constant companion. I don’t go anywhere without my Little Randy.”

“What kind of dog is he?” asked Chase, taking in the big mutt with a doe-eyed look in his eyes.

“Irish Setter. Real family dog. Very affectionate.”

“This is a very small place you got here,” said Little Randy. “Are you sure this is all there is?”

“We have some more rooms upstairs,” I said, “and there’s the backyard, of course.”

“Oh, great. I need my space,” said the dog, and tripped over in the direction indicated. When he caught sight of the modest patch of green we like to call the backyard, he frowned. “So where is this backyard? Is it behind those bushes over there?”

“No, those bushes is where Odelia’s backyard ends and the field begins.”

“Please tell me the field belongs to your Odelia,” said Little Randy, looking disappointed.

“No, it belongs to someone else. I’m afraid this is it.”

“This is your backyard? But it’s so tiny!”

“Yeah, it’s not much but we like it,” I said a little defensively.

“Okay,” said the dog, and seemed to have to make some minor adjustments to his expectations. “So you all live in this tiny house and this tiny backyard… and you never get claustrophobic?”

“No, as a matter of fact we don’t,” I said.

“Do you have a very big house, Little Randy?” asked Dooley. “And a very big backyard?”

“Yeah, Randy’s house is 23,000 square feet, and is surrounded by forty acres of land. When I go for a walk I never leave the property, and it takes me a while to get around.”

“Nice,” I said.

“Don’t you ever get lost?” asked Dooley, fascinated. “I think I’d get lost all the time, if Odelia lived in a house that big.”

“No, I don’t get lost, Dooley,” said Little Randy with a smile. “And nor would you, since you’re a cat, and you have an innate sense of direction, same way dogs have.” He sighed and stretched out on the carpet that Odelia placed in front of the window for Dooley and me to lie on. “This will take some adjusting on my part, you guys. Which is not to say that your Odelia doesn’t have a lovely, lovely place, because she has—but tiny. Very, very tiny.”

I’d never actually given the size of our home a lot of thought. It suited me just fine, but probably Little Randy was right: we do live in a modest home, with a modest backyard. Then again, I’d seen bigger places, when Odelia worked a case for one of the many celebrities that live in the big mansions spread out in these parts, or along the ocean, and frankly I preferred our cozy little house to those giant dwellings, to be honest.

“So were you there when your human was attacked?” I now wanted to know.

“They drugged me,” said Little Randy, a sad look stealing over his face. “Can you believe that? They actually drugged me and I didn’t even notice.”

“How did they drug you?” asked Dooley. “Did they put something in your food?”

“I don’t think so. I think they probably spiked my water bowl. Though I can’t be sure. And by the time Randy found out what happened—when they started sending him those messages—it was too late.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“My water bowl had already been rinsed and so had my food bowl.”

“Who did the rinsing?” I asked.

“Randy’s housekeeper.”

“Do you think she’s in on this plot?”