Episode Report Card
Demian: B | 1 USERS: B-
The Hardy Boys Don't Want No Mean Mistreaters

...Dean emerging from the local "Animal Protection Agency," and I will bet you cash money right now that they're going to submit this episode to the Emmy nominating committees next summer, and between the dialogue-free pre-credits sequence -- during which the sound cues and the underscoring went a very long way to set each beat of the changing mood -- and the scene we just got through above and God knows what's coming during the rest of the hour, they'll probably end up getting another couple of nods for it, too. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. Dean crawls into the Impala's front seat beside Sam with yet another sheaf of paper to reveal the following: "Secretary's name was Carly. She's 23, she kayaks, and they're real." Heh. "You didn't happen to ask her if she's seen any black dogs lately, did you?" Sam peeves. Dean flashes the papers at Sam, noting they contain "every complaint called in this week about anything big, black, or doglike." "There's nineteen calls in all," Dean summarizes before plucking the Post-It off the top to add, "and I don't know what this thing is." Sam takes one look at the thing and giggles, "You mean Carly's MySpace address?" "Yeah, what the hell is that?" Dean asks. Eyeing Sam's broad grin, he hopefully guesses, "Is that, like, some sort of porn site?" Oh, Dean. "He really is quite the idiot sometimes," Raoul notes, somewhat obviously, if you ask me. "Endearing, yes, but an idiot most certainly."

Some time later, Our Intrepid Heroes approach the very large manor home of one of the complainants on the agency's list. "I swear," Dean begins with an aggravation indicating this is far from the first house they've visited, "if this is another freaking Pomeranian barking in a neighbor's yard...." He doesn't get to finish that thought, for Sam's knock has been answered by a tiny little woman of Asian descent. Guess what? She's the housekeeper. Oy. The LYING LIARS WHO LIE finagle their way through the front door by telling the housekeeper that they're from animal control, following up on Dr. Sylvia Perlman's report. Guess what, again, some more? Once the trio wanders back into the home's massive kitchen to kick-start the interrogation, a clock begins insistently tick-tick-ticking away underneath the dialogue. It's very subtle -- I had to crank the sound all the way up and listen for it specifically -- but it's there. Niiiice. Long story short, the good doctor (at 42, the youngest chief surgeon in the history of the local hospital, don't you know, and it's a position she scored ten years ago) has suddenly taken off for parts unknown for a couple of days, and the housekeeper herself never actually heard the dog the doctor lodged the complaint about. "I was almost starting to think the doctor was imagining things," she admits, "but she's not like that." Meanwhile, Dean's retrieved a photo from the fridge depicting three thirtysomething chippies hoisting a round of cocktails in a dimly lit bar. "Look at this," Dean offers, holding the photo in front of Sam's face. He then deliberately flips it around so we all might note the inscription on the back: "Lloyd's Bar, November 1996." Sam gapes as the camera pans slowly in on the middle chippie's unlined and smiling face until a set of police sirens yank us over to...

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