Chapter Ten: I Give Pete a Crushing Defeat
The story should have ended there, but stories don’t always stop where they’re supposed to stop. So if you want the whole truth, we’d better keep going. Things might get a little shaky, but . . . I can’t reveal any more. What do you say? Stop here or run the risk of hearing the truth?
I agree. Let’s take a deep breath and plunge on into the unknown.
Okay, right there in the backyard, Sally May and I healed old wounds and ended years of misunderstandings and bad feelings. She was in such a splendid mood that she allowed me to remain in the yard whilst she planted her bazoonia flowers. Putting on my very best behavior, I sat beside her for two solid hours and watched.
Guess who else was watching. Pete. Her precious kitty. I saw his cunning little eyes peeking out of the iris patch, and I could read his mind. He hated this! It ate his liver and gizzard that I had been invited to stay in the yard, and that I was sitting in the Position of Honor beside our beloved ranch wife.
He watched until he couldn’t stand it any more. Out he came, purring and rubbing the paint off the side of the house. I’ll admit that my ears leaped up and I felt a growl swelling in the depths of my throat, but with lightning reflexes, I began throwing switches and got everything shut down just in the nickering of time.
He gave me a haughty smirk, flicked his tail across my nose, and began rubbing on Sally May—and we’re talking about rubbing the threads right off her blue jeans. He rubbed and purred, pranced and prissed, and missed no opportunity to beam hateful looks in my direction.
My finger twitched on the trigger of my mind, and you probably think that I launched the weapon and ruined everything. Nope. This time the cat had matched wits with an older dog, a wiser dog, a dog who had learned Life’s Lessons the hard way.
Get this. I sat there like a granite statue made of marble. I hardly moved a hair or a muscle, and I even gave the little fraud a pleasant smile.
Hee hee. It drove him crazy! There he was, using all his kitty tricks to get me inflamed, and I was ignoring him. That’s the second-best thing you can do to a cat, don’t you know. If circumstances don’t allow you to beat him up and park him in a tree, ignore him.
Cats hate being ignored. It makes ’em purr louder and rub harder. They get careless and before long, they start making mistakes. Hee hee. Sally May was doing her very best to get the flowers in the ground (don’t forget, she had people coming to a picnic), and kitty was crawling all over her like a boa constrictor.
She took it as long as she could. She gave him fair warning, but cats don’t take hints. At last, Kitty Precious made the mistake of snapping off one of the flowers. Hee hee. It was delicious. Sally May leaped to her feet, snatched old Pete off the ground, and airmailed him back to his iris patch.
CRASH!
Wow, what a throw! She could have played shortstop on anybody’s softball team.
Well, this was a very important event in ranch history. Do you see what it meant? Someone besides me had pushed Sally May into a Volcanic Moment, and I felt that we needed to celebrate the occasion with a few rounds of Robust Barking.
“Hank, don’t start that again!”
Or maybe not. As I’ve said before, it’s often best to celebrate our little victories with a moment of, uh, silent meditation. Silently and meditatively, I recalled every delicious detail of Pete getting tossed . . . and loved every second of it!
Boy, life is good when the cats get in trouble.
At that moment, Loper came through the yard gate. “Hon, you’d better start getting ready.”
She glanced at her watch. “I told everybody to come at six.”
“Yeah, but you know Ken and Sandra: always early.”
Sally May scowled. “They wouldn’t dare.”
“They’re always early.” His gaze drifted over to . . . well, to ME, it seemed. “What’s Bozo doing in the yard?”
Sally May dusted off her hands. “Well, he’s decided to become a good dog.”
Loper laughed. “Miracles happen, I guess.” He headed up the steps to the porch. There, he stopped and looked at Dink. “He is kind of pretty.”
In a tender gesture, Loper extended his right index finger to rub the bird on its head. Dink bit him.
“Ow! Why you little . . .” Loper snatched his finger away and turned to his wife. “If he ever bites me again . . .”
She laughed. “Oh, you just don’t have the right touch.” She went up on the porch and started speaking baby-talk to the bird. “Him’s a nice birdie. Him just doesn’t like big ugly cowboys.” She extended her right index finger to rub him on the head . . . and Dink bit her, too.
Loper doubled up with laughter. “Him likes to bite, doesn’t him?” Still laughing, he went into the house.
Sally May muttered something to the bird, then opened the gate and told me to leave the yard. I did, and she gave me a pat on the head. “Hank, you’ve been a good dog. When you do as you’re told, we can get along just fine.”
Yes ma’am. The hours we’d spent together, planting flowers, had restored my faith in . . . well, just about everything: the human race, life, dogs, the world, relationships. Sally May and I had shared some precious moments together, and they would become our pattern for the future.
She headed for the house. On the porch, she paused and scorched the parrot with a stern glare. “If you ever bite me again . . .” She went into the house to get ready for the company.
I stood there for a moment, warmed by the memories. Sally May adored me. At last she realized that cats are selfish, ungrateful little snots, and that parrots bite their friends. That left . . . well, ME, you might say, to be her loyal companion through thick and thicker.
I heaved a sigh of satisfaction, turned, and headed back to the office. I had gone maybe twenty yards when I heard Sally May’s voice. “Hank, I need your help. Will you please dig up those flowers?”
What? Dig up the flowers?
“Hank, come here!”
Yes ma’am.
I headed back to the yard gate, double-quick. I had some serious questions about her orders, and I mean SERIOUS questions, but now that we’d patched things up, I sure didn’t want her doubting my loyalty. Don’t forget her parting words to me: “Hank, when you do as you’re told, we can get along just fine.”
When I reached the yard gate, she was nowhere in sight. Dink sat on his perch and Pete’s yellow eyes were peering at me from the iris patch.
Hmm. Sally May must have called out her message through the kitchen window. I did a quick scan and, sure enough, the window above the kitchen sink was open, but she wasn’t there. What was the deal?
Hey, she’d spent most of the afternoon planting those flowers, working in the hot afternoon sun. I’d sat right there beside her and watched the whole thing. It made absolutely no sense . . .
“Hank, do as you’re told!” Again, it was her voice.
My gaze leaped around, looking for her. Where was she? I’d heard her voice, loud and clear, but saw no sign of her. Did I dare enter her yard and begin the process of . . .
Oooo boy, this didn’t sound right. I mean, it sounded crazy. Dig up her flowers? For a moment, I was paralyzed. For one of the few times in my career, I had no idea what I should do.
Then a thought came to my mind. We had one witness in this case, a loafer who had been on the scene and whose testimony could set the record straight.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. This wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant. “Pete? Could we have a word?”
I know, I know. You should never build your case on the testimony of a cat, but what other choice did I have?
Pete slithered out of the iris patch and came rubbing down the fence. He was dawdling, taking his sweet time—exactly what you’d expect a cat to do in a moment of urgency. My wild instincts told me to scream
at him, but I had to maintain a pleasant appearance.
He stopped about ten feet from where I was . . . well, where I was boiling and about to explode. He gave me that smirk that drives me nuts and said, “Well, well! It’s Hankie the Wonderdog. What brings you back to the yard?”
I was trembling all over. “Pete, I would rather eat worms than ask you for help, but . . .” I swallowed hard. “I need your help.”
“Ouch! That hurt, didn’t it?”
“You’ll never know how much. Okay, bottom line. You heard Sally May’s voice, right?” He nodded. “Tell this court exactly what she said.”
“She told you to dig up her flowers.”
“See? That’s what I heard, but it just doesn’t make sense.”
He sat there for a long time, drumming his claws and flicking the end of his tail. “Hankie, you’re in this thing so deep, you don’t even know which way is up.”
“Explain that.”
“It’s the parrot, Hankie. He’s playing you like a fiddle.”
“The parrot! You’re saying . . .” I moved closer. “Forgive me for being suspicious, but why would you tell me that?”
“Not out of brotherly love, Hankie. Actually . . .” He fluttered his eyelids. “I had a deal in mind.”
“I’ve partnered with you on several deals, and I always get stung.”
“This one will be easy.” He leaned closer and whispered behind his paw. “You knock over the perch, and I’ll eat the bird.”
My mind was swirling. I marched a few steps away and tried to clear my thoughts. Then I whirled back to the cat. “Okay, it’s all coming clear now. You and Drover are in this together, aren’t you?”
“Drover? Not likely.”
“He was the one who first planted this rumor that the parrot can talk.”
“Drover is smarter than you think. So is the bird.”
“Drover is a traitor, you are a little schemer, and the parrot is dumber than the perch he’s standing on. Sorry, Pete, it won’t work. You’re dealing with the Head of Ranch Security, not chopped liver.”
His gaze drifted up to the sky. “This is going to be very interesting.”
“You bet. Now, step aside. I’ve got orders to dig up some flowers.” I leaned toward him and added, “Orders from the same woman who pitched you across the yard. There, chew on that.”
Heh heh. Told him, didn’t I? You bet. I went into Deep Crouch, leaped over the fence, and marched straight over to the flowerbed. Behind me, I heard the parrot squawk, “Good doggie! Brave doggie! Awk!”
Hey, did you hear that? Maybe old Dink was smarter than I thought.
Chapter Eleven: Company Arrives
It had taken Sally May most of the afternoon to plant the flowers. You’ll be proud to know that it took me only three minutes to unplant them. I mean, when you need serious backhoe work, call Hank the Cowdog.
Pete sat and watched the whole thing, wearing his usual smirk. When I was done, I pointed to my work and yelled, “There! That’s what I think of you and your sneaky tricks.”
Kitty seemed impressed. “Nobody puts on a better wreck than you, Hankie. I’m sure Sally May will be impressed.”
“You bet she will. Now go chase your tail, before I . . .”
At that moment, my ears picked up the sound of an approaching vehicle. I rushed to the north side of the yard and peered off into the distance. A white SUV had turned at the mailbox and was coming toward the house. The first of the picnic crowd had just hit the ranch.
Oh yes, in the process of doing this scouting work, I accidentally bumped into the cat and stepped on his tail. “Reeeer!” Tragic situation. Hee hee. I felt terrible about it. Old Pete shot me a killer look, snatched up his tail, and scampered back to the iris patch.
“Sorry, Pete. I guess I wasn’t paying attention to my business.”
Well, I had used up all the time we had allotted for cats and it was time for me to go into Escort and Greeting. A lot of your ranch dogs won’t do E & G. I guess they figure that, because they’re trained for cattle, any other kind of work is beneath their dignity.
Me? I’ve always tried to offer a broad package of services. I can work cows with the best of ’em, but I also do Traffic, Cats, Backhoe, Investigations, and, when the need arises, Escort and Greeting.
In this modern economy, a dog has to be versatile. When you get too proud of yourself, you can lose your job. Let’s face it, dogs can be replaced. It happens every day.
So I dived over the fence and dashed around the north side of the house, arriving just in time to greet the first of our guests, Sandra and Ken Splawn. They were loyal members of the church choir. I’d heard it said that Mrs. Splawn had a lovely soprano voice, while her husband sang monotone.
Mrs. Splawn had gotten out of the car by the time I arrived, and was reaching into the back seat for a food dish she had brought. This gave me an opportunity to do a Scent Check on the legs of her blue jeans.
Hmmm. That was interesting. She owned a poodle. Did you realize that a highly trained dog can recognize the scent of a poodle? We can. They leave a distinctive signature, kind of a “town” smell, and most of your ranch dogs don’t care for it. In fact, a lot of times we’ll mark it out with a substance called Poodle Blocker.
I hoisted up my right hind leg and was about to . . .
“Don’t you dare!”
Huh? Okay, some folks don’t mind going around with poodle scent on their clothes. It’s a big world and everybody’s different. Me, I just try to fit in and get along.
Our guests had parked in front of the house and the picnic ground was down below the house, under those big elm trees. I led the way, choosing a route along the north side of the house.
As we were passing the backyard, the door opened and Sally May emerged, all fresh and clean and ready for the picnic. I gave her an adoring gaze and went to Broad Swings on the tail section.
She welcomed the Splawns to the ranch and noticed that Sandra was carrying a metal pan that was covered with alumimum foil . . . alunimum foil . . . covered with a strip of tin foil. “What did you bring?”
Mrs. Splawn said, “A chocolate sheet cake, my grandmother’s recipe. It’s yummy. I think you’ll like it.”
Chocolate cake? Is that what she’d said? I switched on Snifforadar and began pulling in air samples. Yes, by George, there it was, the heavy, creamy, bodaciously delicious smell of chocolate.
Have we discussed chocolate? Maybe not, because, well, we dogs very seldom get a chance to eat the stuff. I won’t say that our people are too stingy to share it, but sometimes it appears that way. But show me a normal, healthy American dog and I’ll show you a dog that loves chocolate cake.
I, uh, went to Hydraulic Lift on the hind legs and hoisted my nose to the level of the pan in Mrs. Splawn’s hands. Wow! I’d never met her grandmother, but I liked her already. You talk about a yummy chocolate smell!
Mrs. Splawn gave me a hard glare and said, “No!”
Me? Hey, I hadn’t done anything. I was just checking things out. That was my job, after all.
Then she noticed Dink sitting on his perch and turned back to Sally May. “You bought a parrot?”
Sally May’s face darkened. “We didn’t buy it. Someone gave it to Loper, and we’re not sure how we feel about that. It bit me this afternoon.”
Dink seemed to be listening and he squawked, “Bought a parrot, bit the girl, chocolate cake!”
Sally May thought that was cute, and smiled, and she was about to say something when her gaze landed on the flowerbed.
Uh-oh. Right away, I knew we had a problem. I saw it written all over her face. She didn’t have to say a word, but she said it anyway, and it was the word I had come to dread: my own name, screeched in an angry tone of voice.
“Hank!”
Oh brother. I had no idea what kind of crisis we
had entered. My life with these people had taken on the pattern of a yo-yo. They were happy, they were mad, they were petting me, they were screeching. A dog never knew from one minute to the next whether he was a prince or a toad.
Sigh. Well, I didn’t need to stick around for the rest of it. I already knew that, for reasons unknown, I gotten myself back on her List. I ducked my head, drew my tail up between my legs, and vanished behind a clump of sagebrush that happened to be growing nearby. There, I melted into the scenery and flinched at the howling voice that was coming from the porch.
“He destroyed my flowers! I spent all afternoon planting them and he dug them up, every last one of them! Disobedient hound! Where’d he go? Loper, you need to have a talk with your dog!”
You know, I like my people, I really do, but sometimes they just seem . . . I don’t know how to say this. Irrational, I guess. You follow their orders, then they blow a gasket and start screaming. First it was Loper, now Sally May.
The minutes passed. Sally May and the Splawns drifted down to the picnic ground. Other guests arrived and I could hear the sounds of laughter coming from down below. Everyone was having a wonderful time—pitching horseshoes, playing games, singing, talking.
Me? I was having anything BUT a wonderful time. It appeared that my career was over. I might as well pack up and move out, before this poisonous incident grew even poisonouser.
But then, as I was in the midst of the darkest of dark thoughts, something very unusual happened. I heard Sally May’s voice, and you won’t believe what she said. She said, “Hank, come down here and eat this chocolate cake!”
You probably think that I sprang to my feet and highballed it down to the picnic ground. I mean, most dogs don’t need more than one invitation to eat a chocolate sheet cake, right? But I didn’t move. See, the bond of trust between me and Sally May had been damaged beyond repair.
Might as well be honest. I no longer trusted her. Maybe she wanted to heal our wounds by giving me a chocolate cake, but what if I ate it and she changed her mind? It just wasn’t worth the risk.
The Case of the Mysterious Voice Page 6