Inspector! The facts will not sway my confusion!

Sunday was a hot swampy day, devoted to redundant labor, leading to gross fatigue.
Before we began to settle down, to start dinner preparations, we made one last sweep through the yard, stocking away the various oddments left behind by the kids when their attention was ripped astray by some alternate, abstracted adventure.

The various items were socked variously into the pool box, house or garage, where, a misplaced, pink, Styrofoam noodle annoyingly lay.

It was torn and somewhat frayed, so I kicked it towards the compiled trash then noticed, as I did, a large carmine splatter on its side.

That led to consideration of the adjacent floor, and sure enough, a trail of the same – occasionally in large concentration – led out the garage door, across the patio to the sliding patio doors, in front of which was one of the largest single, dried droplets.

Of course the first thought through our minds was take stock of the children; that one of them was gushing unawares, blood from some appendage or possibly a nose.

They were fine so we turned to the dog. He was uncooperative but unstained.

We re-traced the trail from its apparent origin at the patio door, across the alphabet strewn patio,

the stoop aside the garage and back in,
across the floor to the point where the evidence of a crime was first noted and too, concluded – just before the heap of trash, containing a four foot square slice of plaster board conveniently angled at a concealing 30 degrees.

The kids and dog seemingly safe, it didn’t seem unreasonable to suppose that either some creature had collided brutally with the glass or, that the dog crossed with some creature resulting in gross injury, though, the latter exceedingly unlikely as the dog, while adorable and wonderful companion is not considered particularly quick witted or footed, attaining the nick-name, carpet.

Supporting the quest to uncover the source, Jen began slowly backing toward the house as I grabbed a long-handled coal shovel so as to lift the plaster board and generally explore any place in the garage that would conceal some reasonably sized, bleeding animal.

There was none. And no further trail or pools were found.

We re-crossed the children, whereupon Jared, as he does, said, unremarkably, “It’s not blood.”

I was convinced it was, consistent with previous observations, with a fairly consistent spacing and occasional concentrations of drops where, I imagined, the wounded beast paused to re-group or change direction in its search for shelter. Plus, the color was dead on.

Jared furthered that William had earlier gotten a “Dora” ice cream, much of which he absorbed with his belly. Why children want to eat the faces off their favorite cartoon characters I can't understand, always beginning by biting off the eyeballs..

Jared was certain, so we secured a solvent and treated several spots. Mopping the compound, the absorbed media (matched with green from algae on the pavement)featured deep merlot, not the orangey yellows associated with hemoglobin.

Jared’s preternatural powers of observation (and deduction!), continue unmatched.

Case, sweetly, closed.