I glared down at him. “Drover, is your leg actually hurting or is this another attempt to weasel out of an assignment?”
“No, it’s real this time. Honest. I guess you’d better go on without me. I just hope I can live with the guilt.”
“Hmmm. Well, all right, if you’re being sincere about this.”
“Oh yeah, very sincere. I don’t know when I’ve had so much pain and guilt.”
“All right, soldier. I guess we’ll have to leave you here and go on with the mission. Good luck. We’ll see you on the other side.”
Pretty sad, huh? You bet. I felt sorry for the little guy. I mean, what lousy luck that his leg had quit him just before an important mission. I could see the deep hurt and regret in his eyes, as he realized that he had missed his chance to perform heroic acts, but . . . well, some of us plunge on to new heights of bravery and some of us fall by the hayseed.
I had no choice but to leave Drover where he fell, twisting in pain and guilt. One of us had to mish on with the mushion . . . mush on with the mission, let us say, to free Sally May from the frozen snow bank.
I turned my nose into the . . . yipes . . . cold north wind and set a course that would take me directly to the snowbound car. I could hear the whine of the tires as she switched from Forward to Reverse in an attempt to rock the car out of the snow. It wasn’t working, of course. I could have told her that. If she would just sit still and be patient, help was on the way.
Geothermal Energy. It’s pretty impressive that a dog would know so much about heavy-duty scientific stuff, isn’t it? You bet. A lot of your ordinary mutts would have just stood around saying, “Duhhhhhh,” while the Lady of the House was trapped inside a snowbound car. Not me, fellers. On this outfit, any time we can apply science and mathematics to the daily problems of life, we do it.
It didn’t take me long to reach the stranded vehicle. I marched up to the right rear tire and . . . SPLAT! She was still spinning her tires in the . . . SPLAT! You know, if she would just shut off the motor and sit still for a few . . . SPLAT!
On the other hand, if I skipped the rear tires and concentrated my efforts on the front tires, I would reduce the risk of getting plastered by flying snow, right? No problem there. I simply made a little detour, trotted around to the left side of the car, and marched up to the left front wheel. Pretty shrewd, huh?
I eased up to the tire and gave it a routine sniffing, checking it for scent. This wasn’t really necessary but it’s something we always do as a precautionary measure. Against what? We’re not entirely clear about that, but the point is that dogs have always done it this way and that’s what we do.
I finished the Snifferation in a matter of seconds, then went straight into the Geothermal Positioning Procedure. Here, a dog must position all four feet on the ground, so that the weight of his enormous body is equally distributed. Put too much weight on one side and it can throw the whole deal off kilter.
See, before we release the Geothermal Energy Fluid, we must be sure that the Launching Platform, so to speak, is perfectly level, square, plumb, and so forth. It’s a lot of trouble, keeping things square and level, and a lot of mutts wouldn’t go to the trouble, but with me it’s a matter of routine.
It took a while but I got everything lined up, and then I was ready to move on to the next phase of the procedure. In this phase, we use huge hydraulic pumps that actually raise one of the legs of the Launching Platform. No kidding. In this case, it was the right rear leg of the . . .
HUH?
A woman was standing over me. She was wearing a heavy coat and a fur hat. Her nostrils were flared out like the head of a rattlesnake and her teeth were clenched like . . . gulp. I had seen this woman before . . . not so very long ago, in fact, and I had a feeling that it was . . .
“Get away from my car, you oaf! Haven’t you done enough?”
Okay, it was Sally May. Did you think it was Monster Woman? So did I, just for second, but then I knew it must be Sally May. She had two kids, right? There were two children inside the car, and in fact, one of them (Little Alfred) was sticking his head out the window and . . . well, grinning about something.
Why was he grinning? Was I grinning? Heck no. I could see at a glance that Sally May was . . . well, in a pretty serious frame of mind, shall we say. Maybe she didn’t understand that I had rushed back to melt the snow away from her . . .
You won’t believe what she did. I was shocked to the bone. She snatched the hat off her head and threw it at me!
“Get away from here! Scat! Shoo!”
Gee whiz, I’d only been trying to . . . fine. If she wanted her car to stay in the snow bank for the rest of the day, if she didn’t want my help, I could scat. But the next time she ran off the road and got herself stuck in a snow bank . . .
Sniff, sniff.
You know, that hat of hers had a pretty interesting smell. It reminded me a whole lot of . . . rabbits. Have we ever discussed Rabbits and Bunnies? We’ve got quite a number of bunnies on our ranch and I’ve made countless attempts to catch one, but with no success. They’re clever little snots and experts at hiding in pipes and lumber piles.
But here was a nice little rabbit skin hat, lying in the snow. Heck, if she didn’t want it . . .
“Put down my hat! Come back here, you . . . Hank, GIVE ME THAT HAT!”
Holy smokes, she was chasing me again!
Anyway, I didn’t have the slightest interest in chewing on her ugly old hat anyway, so I, uh, dropped it and ran, one step ahead of . . . OOF! . . . a snowball that she launched in my direction. Actually, I was about half a step too slow and she nailed me right in the ribcage. Did it hurt? You bet it did. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that Sally May’s a bad shot with a rock or a snowball. She can knock the eye out of a potato at twenty yards.
Beyond that range, she’s not so great, but she connects often enough to be considered dangerous. My best advice is . . . don’t ever give her a shot, she’s liable to drill you.
Anyway, I was saddened by this latest turn of events, and I must admit that it made me wonder all over again . . . WHAT DOES A DOG HAVE TO DO TO PLEASE THESE PEOPLE?
You try to give ’em an escort off the ranch and they get mad. You try to free their cars from a snow bank and they get mad. You pick up an old hat they’ve thrown away and they get mad.
I don’t know. It’s very discouraging.
Chapter Eight: Pete Captures the Deep Freeze
You probably think that Sally May’s car remained stuck in the snow bank for the rest of the day and that she never made it to town, right?
Well, it could have turned out that way, and maybe even should have turned out that way, since she had screeched at me and rejected my offer of help. But she got lucky. Just as I was leaving the scene, guess whose pickup came down the road. Loper’s.
He’d been feeding alfalfa hay to the cows on the north end of the ranch and he’d come back to load up some more hay. Sally May saw him coming and waved her arms for help. (Notice that she didn’t screech hateful words or chunk snowballs at him.)
Loper drove up to the car and got out. Sally May began talking and making bold gestures with her hands and arms. I couldn’t hear every word of their conversation, but I did manage to pick up a few clues. Several times she jabbed a finger in my direction and when she raised her voice, I heard her say something about “that dog.”
Do you see the meaning of this? She was blaming ME! Did it ever occur to her that the mastermind behind the whole incident was her precious kitty? Of course not. In her eyes, Pete could do no wrong and I could do no right. It made everything easy for her, don’t you see. Any time something went wrong on the ranch, she never had to waste time looking for the villain. She always knew she could pin the blame on Old Hank.
Grumble, mutter. Oh well. I would settle my accounts with Mister Perfect Kitty. I wasn’t sure yet what drastic course
of action I would follow, but he would pay. You can fool Hank the Cowdog once in a row, and sometimes even twice or three times in a row, but sooner or later, the chickens will come home to root.
Rot. Roast.
Roost. The chickens will come home to the roost to rot.
The chickens will come home to ROOST. There we go.
I lingered and watched. Loper hooked a log chain onto the car and the pickup, put the pickup in four-wheel drive, and dragged the car back into the road. Sally May thanked him with smiles and happy words, and drove on to town.
There were no smiles or happy words for me, of course, but I can’t spend my whole life brooding over all the injustice in the world or feeling sorry for myself. Yes, by George, I can!
It wasn’t fair!
There, I’ve said it. My words have been entered into the Record Book of Life.
I marched away from the scene with my head held high. I had nothing to be ashamed of and my conscience had been cleared of all wrongdoing. I went in search of Kitty.
Near the front of the machine shed, I encountered Company B of the Security Division’s Elite Guards—Drover. Do you think he was still lying in the snow, wounded and suffering with his bad leg? No sir. He was on all four feet and looked as healthy as a horse.
He greeted me with his usual silly grin. “Oh, hi. Did you get Sally May out of the snow?”
“Drover, it makes me suspicious when I return from a dangerous mission and find that your leg has been miraculously healed.”
“Yeah, it’s much better now, and thanks for asking.”
I narrowed my eyes at the runt. “I didn’t ask but maybe I should have. How do you account for this dramatic improvement?”
“Well, you know the old saying.”
I waited. “I probably do know the old saying, but maybe you could refresh my memory.”
“Oh, okay. Let me think here.” He wadded up his face in a display of great concentration. “You know, I can’t remember, but it was a really neat old saying.”
“Great. There’s an old saying that explains how your leg healed itself and you can’t remember it? Think harder, I want to hear this.”
“Okay, let me think here.” He squinted one eye and rolled the other one around. “Wait, I think I’ve got it: ‘The hills of time are wounded.’”
I ran that back and forth through my mind. “That doesn’t make sense. Think harder.”
“Well, okay.” He squinted and grunted and probed the thimble of his mind. “Here we go: ‘The wounded heels of time are . . . blistered.’”
My eyeballs rolled up inside my head. “Drover, is it possible that you’re trying to say, ‘Time heals all wounds’?”
His face bloomed into a smile and he began hopping up and down. “That’s it! How’d you know?”
“I know because I know all wise old sayings. Here’s another one for you: ‘He who fakes a wounded leg will get a knot upon his head.’”
“I never heard that one.”
“I just made it up and I suggest you start thinking about it.”
His gaze drifted up to the clouds. “He who fakes a wounded leg . . . will get a knot upon his head. You know, it doesn’t quite rhyme, does it?”
I stuck my nose in his face and gave him a snarl. “Forget rhymes. Forget your counterfeit leg. Where’s the cat?”
“The cat?”
“Yes, the cat. You remember cats? Meow? Hiss? Purr?”
“Oh yeah . . . cats. You know, we’ve got one here on the ranch. Old Pete.”
“Right. And where is he? I’m fixing to make hamburger out of Old Pete.”
“Boy, I love hamburger.”
“WHERE IS HE?!”
Drover shrank back and gave me a wounded look. “Gosh, you don’t need to scream.”
“I’M NOT SCREAMING!” I screamed. “For the last time, where is the hamburger?”
“Well . . . I think Sally May keeps it in the deep freeze.”
“Thanks. That’s all I need to know.” I whirled away from the little dunce and began marching toward the . . . I whirled around and marched back. “Did you say that Pete is hiding in the deep freeze?”
“No, the hamburger.”
“Pete is hiding hamburger in the deep freeze?”
“No, Pete’s hiding . . . Sally May keeps . . .” Suddenly he burst into tears and collapsed on the ground. “I don’t know what I was saying! I’m so confused! I can’t think when you scream at me!”
I gave him time to sniffle his way through this latest crisis. “All right, son, I’m no longer screaming. I’m speaking to you in a calm tone of vone. We can discuss this like grown, mature dogs.”
He peeked out from behind his front paws. “What’s a vone?”
“It’s an electrical device that transmits a human voice from one place to another. Are you saying the cat has been using the phone?”
“Well . . .”
“Because if he has . . .” I began pacing, as I often do when . . . we’ve already discussed that. “Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. According to your testimony, Pete has been hiding in the deep freeze and he’s making secret calls on Sally May’s phone. This is very important information, Drover, and it throws the case in a whole new direction.” Drover let out a groan. “Please don’t groan in the middle of my interrogation.”
“Help!”
“Your information has raised two crucial questions, Drover. How did Pete get into the deep freeze, and to who or whom was he speaking on the phone? If we can come up with answers to those two questions . . .” I noticed that Drover was staring down at the ground, shaking his head, and muttering under his breath. “Now what’s wrong?”
“This is crazy. I don’t know what we’re talking about. I never said any of that stuff.”
“You didn’t say that Pete has been . . .”
Suddenly it occurred to me that this whole conversation about the cat was . . . well, pretty ridiculous. Think about it. A cat living in a deep freeze? And talking on the telephone? It made no sense at all. Yet somehow . . .
I eased my way over to Drover’s side. “Drover, we need to have a little talk. I feel that we’ve been having trouble communicating. Have you noticed that?”
He bobbed his head up and down. “Yeah, and it’s starting to worry me. I hope we’re not the cause of it.”
“We? You mean, you and I?”
“Yeah. If we’re the cause of it, then maybe something’s wrong with us.”
“Explain that.”
“Well, I’d hate to think that we’re just a couple of . . . dumb dogs.”
“Dumb dogs?” Those words sent a jolt all the way out to the end of my tail. I paced a few steps away from him. “Well, I . . . I must say this takes my breath away, Drover. To be honest, I’d never even considered such a possibility.”
“Yeah, me neither, but now I’m beginning to wonder.”
There was a long moment of silence, as each of us grippled with this grappling dilemma. Was it possible . . . could it be . . . ? My gaze drifted around ranch headquarters and came to rest on Pete. He was perched on top of the gatepost. He seemed to be watching us and listening. He smirked and waved a paw at me.
A thought began to take shape in the back of my mind.
“Wait, hold everything. I’m beginning to see light at the end of the turnip. It’s not us, Drover. It’s Pete!” I marched over to Drover’s side. “Don’t you get it? He’s the cause of this!”
“He is?”
“Yes, of course.” I began pacing again. “How could I have been so blind? He’s been setting us up, Drover, using us, manipulating us, putting us into awkward situations that cause us to babble and talk nonsense.”
“You mean . . .”
“Yes. He’s been using cattish schemes and dirty tricks. First the phony Escort Service and now thi
s crazy story about him living in the deep freeze and talking on the phone. Where do you suppose it’s all been coming from?”
“Well, I think you . . . ”
“It came from Pete. He planted that story about the deep freeze, hoping it would throw us off balance. And you know what? It almost worked.” I whirled around. “But we exposed him just in time, and now we’re ready to strike back. I’ve had it up to here, Drover.”
“You have?”
“Yes. Here, listen to this song.”
Right there, before his very ears, I performed a song.
I’ve Had It Up To Here
I really don’t enjoy this stuff.
I think I’ve had about enough
Of Mister Kitty Cheater’s brand of fun.
The little scrounge plays dirty tricks,
I fall for them like a ton of bricks.
Old Pete must think that I am really dumb.
I’m here to tell you that I’m not,
Although my life has gone to pot.
The kitty has enjoyed a string of luck, that’s all.
How hard is it to fool a dog
Who’s trusting almost to a flaw?
An honest dog is just a sitting duck.
That deal he hatched with Sally May,
I fell for it, to my dismay.
She screeched at me and drove into the ditch.
I’ve tried and tried to win her heart,
Events keep pushing us apart.
And Sally May has changed into a witch.
I’m sure she didn’t really know
That I was worried ’bout the snow.
I mean, that icy road was slippery.
I was scared to death she’d have a wreck.
Sure ’nuff, she did, then what the heck . . .
She tried to make a wreck out of me!
There’s something very much amiss
When I get blamed for stuff like this.
It’s very hard for me to understand
How a sneaking, sniveling little wretch
Keeps having such a great success,
The Case of Twisted Kitty Page 5