The Case of the Three Rings

by John R. Erickson

  She came over and spoke to Slim. “That was a pretty fancy ride you made through my laundry.”

  “Sorry about that, but the power steering went out on my horse.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Oh, no. It was just another day at the office.”

  “Well, it’s a miracle. I’ve been telling that hard-headed old man that something like this was going to happen, and sure ‘nuff, it did.”

  “Yes ma’am. Some men need a bigger hammer used on ‘em than others. I’ve got a sixteen pound sledge at the ranch if you need to borrow it.”

  She laughed. “I may need it. Tell Loper I’ll call the insurance company Monday morning and we’ll make everything right. And we WILL find a new home for that buffalo!”

  Slim went into the barn and led Socks outside. The horse came out looking for boogers and when he caught the scent of the buffalo, we almost had another runaway. But at last Slim got him loaded in the trailer and we began the trip back to the ranch.

  For the first mile or two, he didn’t say anything, but I knew it was just a matter of time. Sure enough, his eyes swung around and stabbed me. “You just had to bark, didn’t you?”

  Oh brother!

  After a while, he grinned and chuckled under his breath. “But just between you and me, it was pretty funny, and I predict some good will come from it.” He lifted a finger in the air. “I figure it’ll be a long time before Loper sends me off to help Uncle Johnny with some ‘little job.’ Heh. Right now, old Johnny’s reputation is in worse shape than mine. Or this pickup.”

  Okay, it was funny, just as long as he didn’t try to hang all the blame on me. That happens a lot around here, you know. When anything goes wrong, blame Hank.

  Chapter Eight: I Charm Some Lady Dogs

  Several miles east of Johnny’s place, we reached the main highway. Slim came to a stop and we sat there for several minutes. He seemed to be lost in thought. “She sure has a pretty voice.”

  What? Who?

  “I think I decided to marry her the first time I heard her sing ‘The Water Is Wide.’ Remember that?”

  Oh, Viola. Of course I remembered it. She sang it at a picnic and I was sitting at her feet, staring into her eyes.

  Slim smiled and sighed, then he sat up straight and glanced at the clock on the dash. “I’ve got an idea and I think we’ve got just enough time.”

  Instead of going east, he turned left onto the highway and picked up speed. Hmmm. This highway would take us into Twitchell, and why would we be doing that? I had been under the impression that he was in a fever to get back to the ranch so that he could make his six o’clock supper date with Viola—on time. I mean, she’d been pretty stern in telling him that if he didn’t show up…she didn’t say what might happen, but it seemed foolish of him to run the risk of being late.

  But, of course, he didn’t ask my opinion. They never do.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were rolling down the main street of Twitchell, Texas. On an ordinary day, I would have been excited. If you’re a ranch dog who spends most of his time out in the country, going to town is a big deal. You get to see cars and stores and people, two traffic lights, the livestock auction, the pictureshow, the saddle shop, Waterhole 83, and the Dixie Dog Drive In.

  Oh, and there’s always the chance that you might see some lady dogs, and that is a very big deal. The ladies are always impressed by a dog who cruises around town in a big three-quarter ton, four-wheel drive ranch pickup, pulling a stock trailer with a horse inside.

  But as we made our way down Main Street, I noticed that people were staring at us…and laughing. And I began to understand why: we looked ridiculous, driving through town in that wreck of a pickup.

  The hood was a rumpled mess. The door on Slim’s side was smashed and we had no windshield. Lucky for us, the day had turned out fairly mild and it wasn’t snowing. Even so, the wind roared through one gaping hole and back out another, causing straw and dust to swirl through the cab.

  And above it all, everyone in town could hear that squeal under the hood, which sounded like a sack full of unhappy cats.

  I, uh, found myself moving away from the window and shrinking down into the floorboard. I scrunched down and became an invisible dog. Slim noticed. “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

  Yes, that was it. A touch of indigestion. Nothing major, but I felt better, uh, sitting on the floor. No kidding.

  He thought about that for a moment and a grin spread across his mouth. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

  Well…that sounded harsh, but…yes.

  He laughed. “Well, ain’t you Mister High Hat! You’d better get used to this pickup, pooch, ‘cause we might not get it fixed for six months. And in the meantime, don’t be putting on airs.” He leaned toward me. “You’re just a dog.”

  I was aware of that.

  “And you ain’t Mrs. Astor’s poodle.”

  I never pretended to be a POODLE and he didn’t need to start slinging insults. Any dog with an ounce of dignity would have been embarrassed to be seen in such a junkyard pickup.

  His smile faded. “Come to think of it, I’ve got to drive this thing down to Viola’s place this evening—looking like the Grapes of Wrath. Won’t her daddy be impressed?”

  Exactly my point! Riding around in a junk-heap pickup was embarrassing.

  In the middle of town, he pulled over to the curb and, thank goodness, shut off the noise factory. He gave me a stern glare. “Now, I’ve got to run into the store and get something. I won’t be long, so don’t wander off.”

  Yes sir.

  He stepped out and hurried into the store. Now that the pickup motor was no longer screeching, I figured it would be safe for me to come out of hiding. I hopped up on the seat and, through the open window on the driver’s side, caught sight of…my goodness, a couple of very fetching lady dogs, standing near the curb. They were talking in whispers, looking in my direction, and smiling.

  Well! They’d noticed me. I moved over to the window, stuck my head outside, and gave them a chance to, you know, check out the merchandise. Heh heh. See, the ladies need time to shop, so to speak. They don’t like a dog who rushes into things. You have to be patient.

  I gave them several minutes to take it all in: the ears, the nose, the noble profile, the adorable eyes. Then I swung my gaze around, displayed a look of surprise, and addressed them in a sultry voice.

  “Oh my. Look what I see before my very eyes, such loveliness! Have you been there long?” They giggled and nodded. “Well, do you see anything you like?”

  I wiggled my left eyebrow four times. It’s a little trick I learned several years ago, and it works every time. I’ve never figured out what’s so exciting about it, but they always go for it.

  Again, they giggled and whispered, then one of them said, “Would you mind if we asked you a question?”

  “Mind? Ha ha. Certainly not. In fact, I’d enjoy the challenge. What would you like to know about me? My name is Hank the Cowdog and I’m in charge of security on an enormous spread south of town, half a million acres of ranch land.”

  Okay, that was a slight exaggeration, but hey, I would never see these gals again, and besides, they were impressed. I mean, they gasped, so I went on.

  “Ladies, I have to supervise twenty-five cowboys and ten thousand head of cattle. As you might guess, providing security for an operation of that magnetron is a daunting tisk of a task. Yes, we have savage animals on the ranch and I often find myself going into combat against them. You’re probably wondering how I do it.”

  They giggled and whispered, then one of them said, “No, actually, we had another question.”

  I winked and gave them a wolfish smile. “Let me guess. You’re wondering if I’ve ever had to go up against cattle rustlers?”

  “No, we were just wondering…how many people were killed in
that wreck?”

  “Uh…which wreck are we talking about, my little cherry blossom?”

  They looked at each other, squealed a laugh, and said in unison, “YOUR PICKUP!”

  Huh?

  Never mind. You know, girl dogs who spend their entire lives in town tend to become shallow, immature, and disrespectful, and I’ve never cared one hoot about them. If they ever met an important dog, they’d be too dumb to know it. They’re a dime a dozen and I didn’t have the slightest…phooey.

  I went back into hiding. My face burned, my ears burned, my reputation lay in shambles all around me. I don’t know how long Slim was gone, probably not long because he hated shopping, but it seemed like hours to me.

  When he climbed back into the pickup, he seemed to be in a happy mood. Good for him. I was RUINED.

  He saw me huddled on the floor. “You want to see what I bought?”

  No. Could we find a side street and sneak out of town?

  “It ain’t fancy, but it cost me a week’s wages.”

  Great. Could we leave now?

  “Don’t you want to sit up in the seat and ride with the executives?”

  No.

  “Fine, what do I care?” He gave his head a sad shake. “Hank, you get weirder every year.”

  Yes, and do you know why? Hanging out with you!

  He turned the ignition key, unleashing the shrieks of three dozen chickens under the hood. My humiliation had surpassed the ability of language to express it. I pressed myself against the floor and tried to remember that steel endureth longer than the mud that small minds flingeth upon it.

  Once we had made it out into the country, away from prying eyes and loose tongues, I sat up in the seat—confident that Slim would notice and make some smart remark. Sure enough, his eyes drifted around and landed on me.

  “You know, Hank, the saddest part of this job is that we can’t afford to haul you around in the kind of luxury you deserve.”

  I knew it. Here it came.

  “I mean, a Mercedes-Benz would be about right, or maybe a Rolls Royce with bunch of chrome on the radiator. And a chauffer to open the door and feed you clams while you rode around town.”

  Clams. I shook my head and stared out the window. He could be so childish!

  The man went on and on and wouldn’t shut up, and it got sillier by the mile. I had to listen to his mouth all the way to the ranch and I was never so glad to get out of a pickup.

  Drover was sitting on the porch, in the same spot he’d been occupying when we left, and he came scampering out to meet us. I must admit that I was kind of glad to see him. He’s the oddest little mutt I’ve ever known, but a guy can get attached to him.

  While Slim unsaddled his horse and unhooked the stock trailer, Drover and I drifted toward the porch. He was hopping around like a little kangaroo, sproing, sproing, sproing. “Gosh, I’m glad you’re back. Since Sally May gave me those worm pills, it gets kind of lonesome out here.”

  “What?”

  “All my little friends are gone and I feel…I feel so all alone.”

  “Oh brother. Drover, please don’t talk about your worms.”

  “We used to sing together.”

  I stopped and faced him. “You and your stomach worms sang together?”

  “Oh yeah. Boy, they had the sweetest little voices! The only trouble was, they were eating me out of house and home.”

  “Yes, and that’s why you’re such a runt. They ate you out of house and home and three years’ growth.”

  His eyes filled with amazement. “I never thought of that. You know, I don’t miss them any more. Thanks, Hank, I feel better now.”

  What can you say?

  We continued our stroll to the porch. Since Drover had spent such a boring day, I decided to tell him about my big adventure with Uncle Johnny’s buffalo.

  He was amazed. “The buffalo tore down the barn, no fooling?”

  “Yes sir, tore it down, laid it flat on the ground, and stomped on it. And then he ran Slim and Uncle Johnny up a tree.”

  Drover’s eyes grew wide. “So you were all alone with the buffalo?”

  “Oh yes, all alone. He turned and came at me like a train with horns.”

  “Oh my gosh! He honked his horns?”

  “Absolutely, but it didn’t do him any good. I bit him on the nose and amputated part of his ear. The big lug was so scared, he jumped up on the hood of Slim’s pickup.”

  He twisted his head to the side. “Aw heck. I don’t believe that.”

  “Look for yourself.” I pointed to the pickup, which was parked down by the saddle shed. Even at a distance, we could see the rumpled hood. “While he was up there, I made him do a tap dance.”

  Drover’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You know, my day wasn’t nearly as boring as I thought. I’m glad I stayed home.”

  At that moment we heard footsteps coming up behind us. It was Slim. He’d finished his chores and wore a satisfied look on his face. He stepped up on the porch and removed his chaps, then noticed Drover and me, sitting there and waiting for further orders.

  “Well, dogs, I’ve got time to take a nice long bath. I believe this day has turned out just about perfect.”

  Oh yeah? Boy, was he in for a surprise!

  Chapter Nine: Tub Time With Slim

  I wasn’t sure Slim wanted us to go inside the house, but…well, every house needs a couple of dogs, right? We crept toward the door, and when he opened it, we were in position to squirt through his legs and land ourselves inside.

  He growled and grumbled about “tripping over the dogs” every time he went into his house, but I knew he didn’t want us wasting away on the porch.

  Inside the house, he pealed off his jacket and vest and pitched them onto a chair. Then, balancing himself like a tightrope walker, he hooked the heel of his left boot into the boot jack, gave it a pull and a grunt, and slipped it off. He did the same with the other boot, stripped off his socks, and dropped them on the floor.

  This was Typical Slim, dropping his socks as though they were hot coals and leaving them wherever they fell. I decided not to scold him for leaving a trail of dirty clothes all over the house. The man was old enough to know better. I mean, didn’t he remember that every time a visitor came to the door, he had to run through the house, scooping up socks and underpants?

  His dogs knew it, because we’d seen it happen over and over. I had a feeling that if he and Viola ever got married, she would introduce him to the dirty clothes hamper, and it wouldn’t take long.

  Humming a tune, he went into the bathroom and turned on the bathtub spigot. I heard his jeans hit the floor with a clunk and his shirt went flying out into the hall. A moment later, water splashed in the tub (he’d crawled into the water) and he let out a growl of satisfaction.

  I turned to my assistant. “Let’s move into the bathroom.”

  “How come?”

  “Because that’s where he’s taking a bath.”

  “Yeah, but you know about me and water. I hate it.”

  I heaved a weary sigh. “Drover, dogs are supposed to follow their people around the house. When they change rooms, we go with them. It’s one of the things dogs have always done.”

  “Yeah, but what if he splashed water on us?”

  “Drover, you are the most…” I rose to my feet. “Just skip it. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’ll take this shift and you can stay here and…I don’t know, sing to your worms.”

  I left the little slacker and made my way into the bathroom, where I saw Slim’s face showing above the rim of the tub. His eyes were closed and he had a big smile on his face. He was submerged all the way up to his ear lobes and little plumes of steam rose out of the water. I noticed that he had left his clock sitting on the sink, where he could check the time. It said 5:03.

  I stepped a
round his jeans (he’d dropped them right in the middle of the floor) and took up a position beside the tub. There, I sat down and gave my tail several thumps on the floor, as if to say, “Great news. I’m here!”

  He heard my tail-thumps and cracked his eyes open. “Hey pooch, watch this.” He made a fist with his right hand and lowered it into the water. Opening and closing his fist in the manner you would use if you were milking a cow, he caused a jet of water to go flying into the air. He looked at me and grinned. “What do think of that?”

  Well, it was pretty impressive. It was something a dog could never do.

  “Reckon I can hit the ceiling? I’ll bet you a turkey neck I can.” It took him four or five shots to do it, but by George, he actually spurted water all the way up to the ceiling, and he was proud of himself. “Heh. You owe me a turkey neck. Now, come a little closer and I’ll show you another trick. You’ll like this ‘un.”

  You see what Drover was missing? He was missing out on Tub Time, one of those special events that come along without warning or planning. If you’re there at the right time, you get to share precious moments with your master.

  I mean, how many people or dogs in the world knew that Slim Chance could entertain himself in the bathtub by squirting water on the ceiling? Viewed from one perspective, it was kind of silly, a grown man doing such a thing, but I took a longer view, a deeper view. To me, it was one of those special Bonding Moments when I was allowed a glimpse of…

  SPLAT!

  …a glimpse of what a goose he could be. I couldn’t believe it! You know what he did? After winning my trust and luring me closer to the tub, he turned that thing on ME and shot water in my face!

  What a cheap trick! Drover was right. Slim Chance was a joker right down to the marlowe of his bones and he just couldn’t pass up an opportunity to pull childish pranks on his dogs. We give them the best years of our lives and that’s what we get.