As a veterinarian, she’s more experienced with paw prints than fingerprints. But thanks to her dogged persistence and her knack for landing on her feet, Jessie’s got murder on a very short leash. The sun is barely up and the day is already going to the dogs. Literally. As Dr. Jessica Popper embarks on a house call to a local horse farm, her one-eyed Dalmatian, Lou, and her tailless Westie, Max, stumble upon something unexpected: a corpse half buried in the woods. As Max happily digs up the dead canary planted near the body, Jessie realizes that this corpse was clearly about to sing. But about what? Or whom?Enlisting the aid of her on-again, off-again lover, PI Nick Burby, Jess applies the stubbornness of a bloodhound and the agile moves of a cat to identify a menagerie of suspects…including one who wants her off the case badly enough to kill again. As a veterinarian, she s more experienced with paw prints than fingerprints. But thanks to her dogged persistence and her knack for landing on her feet, Jessie s got murder on a very short leash. The sun is barely up and the day is already going to the dogs. Literally. As Dr. Jessica Popper embarks on a house call to a local horse farm, her one-eyed Dalmatian, Lou, and her tailless Westie, Max, stumble upon something unexpected: a corpse half buried in the woods. As Max happily digs up the dead canary planted near the body, Jessie realizes that this corpse was clearly about to sing. But about what? Or whom?Enlisting the aid of her on-again, off-again lover, PI Nick Burby, Jess applies the stubbornness of a bloodhound and the agile moves of a cat to identify a menagerie of suspects including one who wants her off the case badly enough to kill again. As a veterinarian, she's more experienced with paw prints than fingerprints. But thanks to her dogged persistence and her knack for landing on her feet, Jessie's got murder on a very short leash.The sun is barely up and the day is already going to the dogs. Literally. As Dr. Jessica Popper embarks on a house call to a local horse farm, her one-eyed Dalmatian, Lou, and her tailless Westie, Max, stumble upon something unexpected: a corpse half buried in the woods. As Max happily digs up the dead canary planted near the body, Jessie realizes that this corpse was clearly about to sing. But about what? Or whom?Enlisting the aid of her on-again, off-again lover, PI Nick Burby, Jess applies the stubbornness of a bloodhound and the agile moves of a cat to identify a menagerie of suspects...including one who wants her off the case badly enough to kill again. Cynthia Baxter is a native of Long Island, New York. She is the author of the Reigning Cats & Dogs mystery series, featuring vet-turned-sleuth Jessie Popper, and the Murder Packs a Suitcase mystery series, featuring travel writer Mallory Marlowe. Baxter currently resides on the North Shore, where she is at work on her next mysteries in both series. Chapter One "A bird in the hand makes a bit of a mess."—Anonymous Birdcatcher If I hadn't forgotten to seal up the package of English muffins, if I hadn't instantly become addicted to The Crocodile Hunter the minute it came on the air, if two of the beasts in my possession hadn't developed a Batman-and-Robin complex, that bleak Tuesday in November would have probably turned out to be just another day. I had a sense it wasn't off to a good start as soon as I opened my eyes and saw my alarm clock. For normal people, 5:45 is their cue to roll over and go back to sleep. But that's for normal people. For me, those numbers got the same reaction as if somebody casually mentioned they'd put a boa constrictor in my bed. I let out a cry that sounded like something a terrified animal would make. Then I leaped out of bed and immediately began hopping around the house, trying to keep warm. Chilly mornings are one of the few negatives of living in a stone cottage built back when Andrew Jackson was president. Meanwhile, I struggled to figure out how I would explain to the folks at Atherton Farm why I was so late for my six a.m. appointment to treat one of their horses for what I suspected would be a serious throat condition called strangles. My two trusty sidekicks, Lou and Max, were already in high gear. Both thought all this shrieking and leaping was a game. Of course, both think just about everything is a game. You'd think that a three-year-old, one-eyed Dalmatian and a two-year-old Westie with a stub for a tail would have developed some sense along the way. But you'd be wrong. Their reaction was to do some leaping and shrieking of their own, which prompted my parrot, Prometheus, to put in his two cents. From the living room, he squawked, "Crikey! Crikey! Awk! Crikey!" doing a perfect imitation of the great Croc Hunter himself. If there was anything more annoying than two dogs who acted as if they'd just overdosed at the espresso machine, it was a Blue and Gold Macaw who affected an Australian accent. "Give me a break, guys," I