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On the sunny pond, Boondock Bill sits mid-rowboat, eyes wide as water seeps around his boots, while Opal stands at the bow barking toward shore; sparkling daylight reflects off rippling water and the oar gripped in Bill's hands.
Boondock Bill rowed across the pond with Opal sitting proudly at the front. Suddenly, water pooled around his boots. "Hokey smokes captain tootsie!?" he exclaimed. The boat was sinking! Bill paddled faster toward shore. Opal barked nervously. They reached land just in time. Bill flipped the boat over and gasped. "Holes! Someone drilled holes in my boat!" Opal sniffed the damage. This was no accident. This was sabotage! Bill stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Who would do such a thing?"
Inside the rustic cabin living room, Boondock Bill raises photos of the hole-riddled boat under a warm lantern glow while Appaloosa Amy, helmet on, studies them and Calamity Kelly leans excitedly over the table.
Back at the cabin, Bill gathered his children. "Kids, I need your help solving a mystery," he announced. Appaloosa Amy adjusted her equestrian helmet. "What happened, Dad?" Calamity Kelly bounced excitedly. "Is it a real case?" Jungle John revved his imagination. "Are we detectives now?" Little Backwoods Brad ran in from riding Cactus the pony. "I wanna help too!" Bill showed them photos of the damaged boat. "Someone sabotaged my duck boat. We need to find out who." The children looked with concern. The investigation was on!
At the sunlit kitchen table, Calamity Kelly points an accusing finger across scattered sketches while Jungle John throws up his hands defensively and Backwoods Brad vigorously shakes his head beside him.
The family gathered around the kitchen table. "I bet it was someone who hates hunting," Bill said seriously. Amy nodded. "That makes sense, Dad." Calamity Kelly pointed at her brothers. "I think Jungle John and Brad did it as a prank!" "Did not!" John protested. Brad shook his head hard. "It wasn't us!" Jungle John's eyes widened. "I bet it was Three Fingered Willy!" "That's just a story," Amy said. Opal barked from under the table. Everyone had different ideas.
Along a dusty rural road under bright afternoon sun, Appaloosa Amy sits tall in the saddle, helmet gleaming, as her horse trots past split-rail fences and distant barns dotted across golden fields.
Appaloosa Amy mounted her horse, adjusting her helmet. "I'll check with the neighbors," she declared. She rode down the dirt road, passing farms and fields. At the Bosson's farm, she asked, "Did you see anyone near our pond yesterday?" Mrs. Bosson shook her head. "Sorry, dear, I didn't." Amy visited three more neighbors. Nobody saw anything suspicious. She rode back feeling discouraged. Maybe this mystery would be harder than she thought. But Amy wasn't ready to give up yet.
By the shaded creek bank in late afternoon, Calamity Kelly straddles her flame-painted bicycle, brows furrowed, while Jungle John holds up Polaroid pictures from Dad's old camera displaying fish photos and Backwoods Brad nods anxiously beside a bucket of water.
Calamity Kelly hopped on her bicycle. Smoke poured out from the tires as she pedaled fast toward town. "I'm gonna prove those boys did it!" she muttered. She found Jungle John at the creek. "Where were you yesterday afternoon?" she demanded. "Fishing with Brad right here!" John said. "The whole time?" Kelly asked suspiciously. Brad nodded from behind a tree. "We caught three fish. See?" He showed photos from Dad's old camera. Kelly frowned. Their alibi was solid. Maybe she was wrong about her brothers. "I'm gonna solve this case!" Calamity Kelly shouted is she rode of in flames.
Outside the decrepit sawmill Jungle John sits on his dirt bike with a panther painted on the gas tank holding a pocket knife while Backwoods Brad sits on his pony Cactus looking scared
Jungle John rode his dirt bike to the old mill. The panther on his gas tank gleamed in the sunlight. "If Three Fingered Willy is real, he'd hide here," John whispered. Brad followed on Cactus the pony. "I'm scared, John." "Don't worry, I brought my knife. I'll protect you." They searched the abandoned building. They found old tools, dusty floors, and spider webs. But no Three Fingered Willy. "Do you think he's real?" Backwoods Brad nervously asked. "He's real alright. Frankie saw him down by Ice Pond eating a catfish while it was still alive!" John reported. Brad looked at the ground in fear. "Well, he's not here now", John stated and they headed home empty-handed.
Inside the brightly lit environmental center lined with wildlife posters, Boondock Bill leans on the front counter, face puzzled, as a uniformed ranger shakes his head behind a stack of permit folders.
Boondock Bill drove to the environmental center in town. "Has anyone been protesting hunting lately?" he asked the ranger. "No, sir. It's been quiet for some time. You really shouldn't bring your gun in the office." the ranger replied. Bill checked with the game warden next. "Any recent complaints about duck hunting?" "None at all, Bill." the game warden replied. Bill scratched his bald head. "Well somebody drilled holes in my boat. Opal and I almost sank in it!" Bill insisted. "Glad you're okay! We'll keep our ears to the ground." This theory wasn't panning out either. Everyone in the area loved hunting season. Nobody had complained. Bill drove home, puzzled. Who could the saboteur be? The mystery deepened.
In the lamplit kitchen at dusk, Boondock Bill leans over blank notepads with a weary sigh while Appaloosa Amy and Calamity Kelly sit opposite, hands folded and brows knit, the mystery board blank beside them.
That evening, everyone reported their findings. "The neighbors saw nothing," Amy said. "The boys have an alibi," Kelly admitted grudgingly. "Three Fingered Willy wasn't out at the mill. Still coulda been him," John shared. "Maybe those guys from Put Lake who smashed all those mailboxes," Brad added. Amy reminded him, "The neighbors would have seen or heard something, Brad." Bill sighed deeply. "We're back to square one, kids." Opal whined softly under the table. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong places," Amy suggested. "But where else can we look? What if we camped out by the pond to see if they come back?" Kelly wondered. The family sat in silence, thinking hard. The mystery remained unsolved. For now.
In the misty morning woods beside the pond, Opal stands alert at the base of a tall pine, head tilted, while two red-crested Pileated Woodpeckers hammer the bark overhead, chips flying in soft dawn light.
The next morning, Opal trotted to the boat by herself. She sniffed the holes carefully. Something smelled like wood and trees. She heard a sound: tap-tap-tap-tap! Opal's ears perked up. She followed the tapping to a nearby tree. Two large birds with red crests pecked at the bark. Tap-tap-tap! They made the same sound! Opal barked loudly. The birds flew to the boat shed. Opal watched them peck at the wooden walls. Tap-tap-tap! "Woof! Woof! Woof!" Opal ran to get Bill.
Outside the wooden shed on a bright mid-morning, Boondock Bill crouches beside the punctured boat, mouth agape, while Appaloosa Amy points laughingly and Calamity Kelly claps as two Pileated Woodpeckers peck the hull.
Opal pulled Bill's pants leg urgently. "What is it, girl?" Bill followed her to the shed. Tap-tap-tap! He heard the sound immediately. Two magnificent Pileated Woodpeckers were pecking the boat! "Well, I'll be!" Bill exclaimed. He called his children over. They watched the large birds work. "They think the boat is a tree!" Amy laughed. "Woodpeckers drill holes for insects," John said. "Mystery solved!" Kelly cheered. Brad giggled. "Birds did it!" Bill chuckled. "Opal, you're the best detective!"
In the sunny yard beside the open garage, Boondock Bill steadies a tall stripped log while Jungle John hammers it into the soil and Backwoods Brad watches wide-eyed; two woodpeckers circle above, the now-safe boat resting behind them.
"We can't be mad at birds just doing what birds do," Bill said wisely. "But how do we stop them?" Amy asked. Bill thought carefully. "We'll move the boat inside the garage. And we'll put up a proper dead tree for them nearby." The family worked together, moving the boat to safety. John and Brad helped Bill install a tall wooden post. "Now the woodpeckers have their own place to peck," Kelly said. The birds flew to the new post. Tap-tap-tap! Everyone clapped.
On the glittering pond beneath clear morning sky, Boondock Bill rows the freshly repaired duck boat while Opal balances at the bow, red collar gleaming; behind them two woodpeckers perch on the tall post near the grassy shore.
A week later, Bill's boat was repaired and waterproofed. "Ready for duck hunting, Opal?" Bill asked. Opal wagged her tail excitedly. The children waved from shore as Bill rowed out. The woodpeckers happily pecked their post nearby. "We made pretty good detectives," Amy said proudly. "Even though we were all wrong," Kelly laughed. "Opal was the real hero," John added. "I'm just glad it wasn't Three Fingered Willy" Brad whispered. Jungle John held up three fingers bent crooked, "Don't let him getcha little bro!", he said in a sinister voice. "John stop!" Brad screamed. "Both of you, knock it off!" Amy demanded. Kelly shook her head, "Boys...". Opal, the little black Labrador barked happily. Sometimes the best detective has four legs and a wet nose!