Me just a worthless coyote,
And me ain’t nobody’s fool.
And while they sang, old Wallace was just a-fuming. “Y’all better hush up that noise and go on back where y’all came from! Now, I’m gonna get mad here and I can’t be responsible for what happens! I’m a-warnin’ y’all!”
You know what a buzzard does when he gets mad? I didn’t know either, but I found out. He throws up on the party that made him unhappy.
That would be bad enough if he ate decent food. But buzzards don’t eat decent food. When one throws up on you, what you’re getting is dead skunks, dead rats, rot and corruption and I don’t want to talk about it any more.
Let’s say that Wallace expressed his feelings to Rip and Snort. Let’s say that they quit singing very suddenly, even though they didn’t want to. Let’s say that they got the heck out of there and it became very still outside.
Then Wallace looked at me. “How ’bout you, pup?”
“I was just fixing to turn in, sir. I’m awful sleepy.”
Wallace burped and went back into the cave, grumbling to himself. “Danged drunks . . . guy can’t get a night’s sleep anymore . . . coyotes thinking they can carry on all night . . . huh!”
Chapter Six: A Happy Reunion with My Sister
The next morning I awoke to the sound of birds.
“Junior, git yourself outa that bed! It’s morning and we’re burnin’ daylight.”
“But P-Pa, I’m t-t-tired.”
“Well you ought to be, stayin’ up half the night. And you, dog . . .” I opened my eyes and looked into a face so ugly that it could have come straight out of a nightmare. “. . . and you, dog, it’s time for you to go on home. We ain’t takin’ you to raise.”
My first and most natural instinct was to growl at something that awful looking, and then maybe to attack. But I caught myself just as the growl was building in my throat. I remembered how Wallace had got rid of Rip and Snort the night before. I didn’t think I could stand that, first thing in the morning.
“Yes sir,” I said, “matter of fact I was just fixing to leave. Adios Junior, see you around.” In a flash, I was out of the cave.
“B-b-bye D-Doggie,” Junior waved his wing.
Wallace followed me out. “One of these days maybe we’ll have you for supper.”
I didn’t wait around to find out how he meant that. I vamoosed, found a cow trail that led out of the canyon, and headed for town.
If you ever have a chance to wake up and see a buzzard first thing in the morning, you’ll want to avoid it. That’s what you call a rude awakening.
Once I had climbed out of the canyon and hit the rolling prairie country to the north, I had smooth traveling all the way to town. I reached the city limits about one o’clock that afternoon and traveled down alleys until I found the place where my sister stayed.
Hadn’t seen the gal in a couple of years and I was kind of looking forward to the reunion.
She stayed around an old two story house on the south edge of town, had a big backyard and several vacant lots around it. If a guy had to live in town, it wasn’t a bad place.
The back gate was shut and a lot of dogs would have turned around right there and gone back home, but a locked gate never meant much to me. All you need is powerful back legs and remarkable athletic ability and you can hop over any gate that’s ever been built.
I cleared that rascal with six inches to spare. I mean, you’d have thought I was a deer the way I soared over it. Didn’t see the tricycle on the other side until it was too late. Kind of banged me up when I lit in the middle of it. Got a handlebar right on the end of my nose.
I made a pass around the yard and sniffed out the whole situation—trees, shrubs, posts, flowerbeds, tool shed, lawn chairs, barbecue grill, the whole deal. This was a habit I’d built up after years and years of dealing with outlaws, wild animals, and dangerous characters. A guy never knows what he’s getting into until he knows what he’s getting into.
My motto has always been, “Don’t take anything for granite because that’s what tombstones are made of.”
Anyway, I sniffed out the entire yard and left my signature on a couple of shrubs and a clothesline pole, just to serve notice on the local mutts that criminal activity was liable to be dangerous for a few days.
As I was signing the clothesline pole, I noticed something odd. There was a houseshoe on the bottom of it, you know, a kind of slipper. Well, that was one of the strangest things I’d ever seen. I mean, I know I’m country and not in touch with your latest trends and fashions in town, but still . . .
Why would anybody put a houseshoe at the base of a clothesline pole? There was something peculiar going on around that place, and I figgered that after I signed the pole I’d better conduct a more thorough investigation.
I mean, my sister was living in that yard, and I’ve always been kind of protective of my sis.
All of a sudden I heard a scream. This next part will be hard for a lot of people to believe, so before I go any further I’ll need to establish my credibility as a witness. My years of security work have trained me to be a keen observer and a thorough investigator. I never exaggerate the facts and I’m not easily fooled.
In other words, I’m putting all my reputation behind this next part. I swear it’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You can take it or leave it.
Okay, here’s what happened. As I was putting my signature on the clothesline pole, it turned into a human leg. The leg was attached to a woman and it was she who let out the scream. I was stunned by the scream, don’t you see, well, you can imagine what a shocker that was, a clothesline pole turning into a woman.
Just for a second I stared at her and she stared at me. Then she hit me over the head with a clothespin bag and squalled: “Get out of my yard, you nasty dog!”
She swung at me again. No ordinary dog could have dodged that second shot. I did but it was nothing in the world but exceptional athletic ability that saved me. And then I made a dash for the fence.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Maggie—that’s my sister—saw Maggie coming out of her doghouse. “Henry, is that you?”
“Hi Mag, how’s it going, yeah I . . .” A rock zinged past my ear. “. . . check you later, Sis.” I vaulted the fence and took cover in some weeds.
I stayed hid for half an hour, figgered that would give events enough time to settle down, then I went back to the fence. But this time I took no chances. Before I jumped back into the yard, I checked things out through a knothole. I wanted to be derned sure that neither of those clothesline poles was wearing a slipper.
I hopped the fence again and sneaked over to the doghouse. Mag was out front, sunning herself in the . . . well, in the sun. She saw me coming and walked out to meet me.
“Well, Henry, it’s been a long time.” All at once she wrinkled her nose and backed away. “What’s that horrible smell?”
I froze. “Don’t move, Maggie, let me check it out. It could be something serious.” I lifted my nose and took an air sample. “Okay, relax, I don’t smell a thing.”
“You don’t smell that?”
“What? No, I did a test and it checked out negative. I don’t smell a thing.”
She lifted her nose and sniffed the air. She took two steps toward me, sniffed, and coughed. “Oh, it’s only you.”
“What do you mean, it’s only me? What did you expect?”
“The odor, Henry. You smell a little ranchy.”
“Oh.”
“What a wonderful surprise, Henry. Uh, what was your difficulty with Mrs. Gregg?”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Gregg, the mistress of the house, our dear friend and benefactor, the wonderful lady who chased you out of the yard half an hour ago.”
“Oh, her. Say, that was a crazy deal.” I told her about how the clothesl
ine pole had turned into a woman.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh Henry, how could you be so crude! Oh, I’m so glad the children weren’t . . .”
“Too bad the kids weren’t here to see that. What a story! I’ll be sure to tell ’em about it. Say, where are the kids?”
“They’ve gone to obedience school. They’ll not be back until late, and they’ll be so sorry they missed you.”
I went over and flopped down in front of the doghouse. “Well heck, I can stick around for a while. As a matter of fact . . .”
Maggie rushed over to me. “Oh no, Henry, we understand how busy you must be. We mustn’t be greedy with your time, I mean we understand that a dog with a position as important as yours . . .”
“It is an important position, Mag. I mean, just stop and think about one dog running a six thousand acre ranch all by himself. It’s a twenty-four hour a day job, and danger is never far away.”
“Indeed, and it would be irresponsible for us to keep you away from your work. No, we just couldn’t ask you to stay, as much as we would like to.”
“Well, if it really means that much to you . . .”
“It does, Henry, it really does, but I do understand . . .
“. . . I could probably stick around for a couple of days.”
“Of course there will be other times, won’t there? And we mustn’t grieve, must we?”
She smiled at me and I smiled at her. “No, we mustn’t grieve, Maggie.”
“No indeed.”
“Life’s just too short for that.”
“Yes it is.”
“Let’s leave grief to the grievers.”
“Well put, Henry. I’m so sorry.”
“And so am I.” We hugged each other. “I’ll stay, but only for a couple of days and only because it means so much to you and the kids.”
Her smile wilted. She stared at me with wide eyes, and then a strange thing happened. She placed a paw over her forehead and rolled over on her back. And she moaned.
I rushed to her side. “Maggie, what is it, speak to me, I’m right here at your side!”
She opened her eyes. “It’s these headaches. Nerves, tension, too much company. I just need to be absolutely still for two days and it’ll go away. Maybe it would be better if you came back another time, Henry.”
“And leave my sister alone on death’s door? A lot of dogs would do that, just walk away from hard times, but you’ve got a different kind of brother.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And if I have to stay here a whole month, I’ll see you through this crisis!”
“Oh my heavens!”
Just then we heard a bunch of little feet on the sidewalk, and a little voice called out, “Hi Mom, we’re back!” I looked around and saw my nieces and nephews, four of the cutest little cowdog pups that was ever built.
When they saw me there beside their ma, they stopped and stared. Then Roscoe, one of the boys, cried out, “It’s Uncle Hank! Oh boy! Hi, Uncle Hank, can you stay the night?” They came at a run and swarmed all over me, licked me on the face and all that stuff.
“Will you tell us a story, Uncle Hank?” asked Spot, the other boy. “Please?”
I turned to my sis. “Well Mag, I guess that settles it. I really should get back to the ranch, but dadgone it, a guy just can’t walk away and disappoint these kids. I guess I can stay a couple of days.”
The kids cheered. Maggie covered her eyes with a paw.
“How’s the headache, Sis?”
“I think it’s just beginning,” she said.
Chapter Seven: Garbage Patrol
Me and Maggie was both ranch-raised but we went in different directions when we reached maturity. I stuck with the ranch life and went into full-time security work, and she moved to town.
For some reason she never took to ranch life. Growing up, it seemed that everything we pups did was either too loud or too dirty for her. Just to give you an example, we never could get her to go into the sewer with us. She just didn’t take to it.
She never cared a lick about chewing on smelly old bones either, or playing in the mud or digging holes. She didn’t even have an interest in cow work.
Moving into town was a good thing for her. She found a good home and staked out her own version of cowdog life, which always seemed a little strange to me but I wouldn’t want to judge anybody else.
Oh, and she never went in for nicknames either. The blessed woman will go to her grave calling herself Margaret and me Henry. She always thought Hank sounded undignified or something like that.
But even though me and Sis went our different ways, we remained close over the years, and she was always delighted when I dropped in for a visit. She kind of looked up to me as her big brother, see, and I think it kind of tickled her for me to drop in and talk to the kids about the old cowdog ways—you know, show ’em how country dogs lived and tell ’em some stories, that kind of thing.
Oh, every now and then she’d put on like she didn’t want her young’uns exposed to such crude ways, but I knew that down deep, where it really counted, she was glad to have me there with the kids. Who wouldn’t be? It ain’t every town kid that has an uncle who runs a six thousand acre ranch and fights . . . I guess I’ve already mentioned that. Anyway, her kids were pretty lucky.
Well, poor old Mag had that headache problem and had to go to bed with it. I stuck my head in the doghouse door and told her not to worry about the kids, I would take care of everything. She let out a groan. I guess that old head was really throbbing.
Well, I went out and called the children in from their play. “All right, kids, let me have your attention for a minute or two. Your ma has asked me . . .”
Little April, one of the girls, held up her paw. “Uncle Hank, Mom doesn’t allow us to call her ‘Ma.’ She says it sounds crude and backward. She says only dog trash uses that word.”
“I see. Well, by George if that’s what Mom says, that’s the way it’ll be. Your Mom has asked me to teach you little rascals a dab or two about your cowdog heritage.”
Roscoe stared at me with big eyes. “OUR MOTHER said that? Cowdog heritage?”
“That’s right, son, those were her very words, as I recall. I spoke with her only moments ago.”
“Wow! We thought she was ashamed of her family.”
I reached down and patted the lad on the head. “My boy, your ma . . . mother . . . mom, whatever she is, has always looked back on her cowdog heritage with enormous pride, and of course we all know what she thinks of your Uncle Hank.”
Four pairs of eyes stared up at me. It got very quiet.
“Anyway, at your mother’s request, I’m going to give you kids a few lessons in Cowdogology. I want you to pay attention and follow directions. Any questions?” One paw went up.
“Yes.”
It was Barbara, the other girl. “What does ‘ignert jackass of an uncle’ mean?”
I pondered that. “A donkey is a four-legged beast of burden, sometimes referred to as a jackass. If a guy had an uncle who was a donkey, he might refer to the uncle in that way. Any more questions?” The same little girl raised her paw. “Yes?”
“Are we kin to any donkeys?”
I got a chuckle out of that. It’s amazing how town kids really don’t understand basic concepts of biology. “No, sweetie, it’s not possible. All right, our first lesson will be, how to dig under the yard fence.” The kids looked kind of shocked. “What’s the matter?”
“Mom said we should never ever dig under the fence,” said Barbara.
“That’s exactly right, honey, unless Uncle Hank’s here to supervise. Everybody ready? Form a line and let’s move out.”
We marched across the yard in single file. “Left, left, left right left! Left, left, left right left! Straighten up that line! Pick up your paws! Stick them tails up in the
air! That’s better. Left, left, left right left! Column . . . halt!”
They came to a halt in front of the fence and stood at attention. I walked down the line. “All right, I need four volunteers to dig a hole under the fence. You four right there. Stand by to dig . . . commence digging!”
Let me tell you, for a bunch of little town pups they did all right. There for a while the dirt was just fogging and it didn’t take them long to get a tunnel dug. Then I gave the order to commence burrowing. One by one, the kids dived into the hole and wiggled through to the other side.
I served as rear outlook while they went through, then I dived into the hole and joined them on the other side.
“All right, that was pretty good. I’m glad to see that we have some spirit in this outfit, some of that good old cowdog spizzerinctum. Now we’ll have a lesson on how to live off the land. We’re going to make a garbage patrol.”
I paced back and forth in front of them. “Suppose you were in a strange town. You didn’t know anyone, you didn’t have a place to stay, you didn’t know where your next meal was coming from. What would you do? Form a line and follow me. I’ll show you.”
We marched down the alley until we came to the first garbage can, which was a fifty-five gallon drum with the top cut out. I showed ’em how to go up on their hind legs, hook their paws over the edge of the barrel, and pull it over.
“All right, now you kids sort through that stuff and find some grub.” The boys gave a yell and went into the barrel, but the girls kind of hung back. “What’s the matter?”
April spoke up. “Mom says that playing in garbage is unladylike.”
Barbara nodded. “And we’re not supposed to get dirty. Mom said so.”
“Well, moms are always right, don’t forget that,” I said. “So go through that garbage in a ladylike manner and try not to get dirty. And don’t worry about your mom. I’ll take care of her.”
The girls looked at each other, grinned, and dived into the barrel with the boys.
They didn’t find much in that first barrel, just a couple of chicken bones and a whole bunch of newspapers, so we moved on to the next one. Same story there: corn cobs and potato peelings. By George, that was kind of a lean alley. We had to investigate a dozen barrels before we found a real treasure: a bunch of fish heads wrapped in newspaper.
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