The Case of the Vanishing Fishhook

by John R. Erickson

  Okay, I was as ready for it as I ever would be. It was just soap, right? A squirt or two of soap and then it would all be over. I figured I could handle it. What was a little dab of soap in the mouth? No big deal, and a whole lot better than a fishhook. Yes, I was ready.

  I heard the wheeze of the squeeze bottle, and felt something soft and warm upon my tongualary region. This wasn’t so . . . but he kept shooting that stuff into my mouth, and all at once . . . hey, that was enough . . . all at once my mouth began picking up the taste of . . .

  THAT STUFF TASTED HORRIBLE!

  Hey, forget this. I thought we’d been talking about a little dab of soap, but he just kept pumping it in there! I began flicking my tongue back and forth, in a desperate effort to get that nasty stuff out of my mouth, but you know what he did? He clamped my jaws shut and held on!

  I couldn’t spit. My mouth was filling up with . . . with slimy soap and bubbles and yucky foam, and all at once I was having trouble breathing and . . . okay, I had to swallow it, just to get it out of my mouth so I could breathe!

  I swallowed. It was awful, but at least the deed was done.

  Slim patted me on the head. “Way to go, pooch, we’re done with Step One. Three more treatments and maybe we’ll get some results.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. What? Three more treatments, my foot! No way, Charlie. If I had to die, let it be from a fishhook, not from Soap Poisoning.

  Just for a second he relaxed his leg-lock around my middle. I saw my opportunity and went into Digging Mode on all four legs. I fought and struggled with all my might, and all at once I popped out of his grasp. Once free, I set sail for the front yard.

  Behind me, I could hear Slim yelling. “Hank, come here, boy. Here Hankie, nice doggie, come on back.”

  Ha! Was he crazy? No thanks. I’d swallowed all the soap I needed for about fifty years.

  “Alfred, go around the north side of the house. We’ve got to catch him and get some more soap down him. If you get close, jump him and hang on. I’ll go around the south side of the house.”

  I heard them coming. I dived underneath a cedar bush in front of the house and peered out. I could see them now—Alfred creeping around the northeast corner of the house and Slim coming around the southeast corner. Sally May followed Slim, with Baby Molly riding on her hip.

  They all met near the yard gate. They were looking around in all directions and talking in low voices. They couldn’t see me. I was safe, as long as . . .

  HARK!

  What lousy luck. One of those soap bubbles got caught in my throat, and it was either cough or choke. I coughed and they heard it. All three pairs of eyes pointed straight at me, and Slim began creeping towards the shrub.

  “Come on, Hankie, we’ve got to get that hook out of you before it’s too late. Come on, boy, be a nice puppy.”

  Ha! I’d heard that before, that “nice puppy” business, and it had always meant bad news for me. No way. If they wanted to sit around and eat soap all afternoon, that was fine, but they’d do it without me.

  I lay there, motionless, and watched as Slim dropped down on his hands and knees. “Come on, Hankie, just a little more.”

  No. I wasn’t coming out, never ever.

  Then Little Alfred came up. His lip was trembling and he had tears shining in his eyes. “Hankie, come out, pweese. I don’t want you to die fwom a hook. Eat some more soap, pweese.”

  Well . . . how can a dog say no to his fishing buddy, his best pal in the world? If Alfred thought I needed some more soap . . . ugh . . .

  I lay still while Slim reached his hand into my hiding place. He caught me by a back leg and pulled me out.

  He leg-locked me again and we continued with the Soapotherapy. Did it work? Was I saved from the Deadly Fishhook?

  I’m sorry, I can’t reveal that information. It’s too scary, too secret and sensitive. If you want to find out, you’ll have to keep on reading.

  Chapter Twelve: Major Surgery, a Deathbed Vigil, and . . .

  Whilst Slim held me in a leg-lock, Sally May held my front paws and stroked me on the head. And you know what? Looking up into her eyes, I could see that she was really worried about me. I was touched and surprised.

  I mean, we’d been through some hard times, Sally May and I. We’d seen bad days when I had been pretty sure she didn’t like me, and . . . well, I must admit that on a few occasions I had experienced a few, uh, raw feelings about her too.

  Might as well go ahead and blurt it out. There had been moments in our relationship when I’d thought she was mean, gripey, and totally unreasonable. There, I said it. But you know what? As I lay there in the grass with my head in her lap, looking up into her eyes and feeling the soft touch of her hand, all those bad feelings just . . . vanished.

  All at once we were friends. It was kind of touching, and it helped take my mind off of the Soapotherapy. How bad was it? Think of the worst-tasting gunk you can imagine, then multiply it by ten. It was bad, real bad.

  Slim continued squirting the awful stuff into my mouth and forcing me to swallow it. I was drowning in soap bubbles, but I didn’t try to run away. They were doing their best to save me, and the least I could do was . . . well, stick around and be saved.

  But the funny thing about the deal was that, even though the soap tasted terrible, it wasn’t making me sick. I mean, I knew that’s what they wanted, that was the whole purpose of pumping me full of soap, and I was ready and willing to go right into the Upchuck Phase. But you can’t upchuck if you don’t feel sick, and I didn’t feel sick.

  At last Slim set down the bottle, removedhis hat, and scratched the top of his head. “This ain’t working. I’ve given him half a bottle of soap and he ain’t even burped yet. Good honk, that’s enough soap to make an elephant sick.” He gnawed at his lip. “I’ve got one more idea.”

  He pushed himself up off the grass. I heard his knees pop. He slapped his hat back on his head and took a deep breath of air. “I’m gonna spin him around in circles. Maybe when he gets dizzy, it’ll make him want to toss his cookies. It always worked for me at the carnival.”

  Sally May arched her brows. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

  “Me neither, but when a guy runs out of luck, he’s forced to use his brain. I’ve always tried to avoid that, but once in a while it’s forced upon us. We’ll see if it works.”

  Sally May and Little Alfred watched with big worried eyes. Slim took my front paws in his hands and started spinning me around. And around. And around. On the first few twirls, I felt as though my body might pull in half, but after that initial impression . . .

  By George, it was kind of fun. I had never gone swooping and flying around in circles before, or seen the sky spinning around above my head while the wind rushed past my ears. Hey, this was neat! It was even more exciting than riding in the back of a pickup or chasing after the mail truck.

  Around and around we went, faster and faster. I could almost imagine that I was flying a jet fighter or riding a spaceship to the moon. Heck of a fun ride, and I was kind of disappointed when I felt Slim slowing down. We slowed to a stop and he turned loose of my legs.

  I stood up and . . . well, I tried to walk but, by George, the old ground seemed to be spinning around. I walked sideways four or five steps and fell down. Yes sir, either the ground was shifting or else something had caused my old legs to turn to rubber. I got up again and staggered around some more.

  I heard Alfred laugh. “Wook at Hank, he’s so dizzy he can’t walk.”

  Dizzy? Okay, maybe that was it. All that spinning around had made me dizzy, and no doubt I looked pretty funny, staggering around like a drunk spider. But you know what was even funnier? Slim. He’d given me the ride, but he turned out to be even dizzier than I was. And I don’t think he’d expected that to happen.

  See, once he’d quit spinning me and had set me down, he was just
standing there in his normal fashion. Then all at once he was running sideways and fell into Sally May’s flower bed. She rushed over and tried to help him up.

  “Oh dear, Slim, are you all right?”

  “Oh yeah, shore. Just help me up.” He got to his feet and staggered sideways again. “You know, I’m beginning to remember how come I quit going to the carnival. All that round and around stuff makes me a little . . .”

  All at once he turned west and went staggering around to the backside of the house. A moment later we heard him . . . uh . . . “calling Earl,” as they say.

  “Earl! Earl!”

  Alfred gave his mom a puzzled look. All at once she was fussing with a string on her blouse.

  “What’s he doing, Mom?”

  “Shhh. He’s not feeling well.”

  The boy grinned. “He got sick? But he was twying to make Hankie sick!”

  “Alfred, shhh. The less said about this, the better.”

  Slim returned. His hat sat crooked on his head, his face was pale, and he was walking on stiff legs. He beamed a glare at me and shook his head.

  “Sally May, I don’t know what it takes to make that dog throw up, but I’ve about decided that I ain’t man enough to do it.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “He has thrown up on my shoe, on my foot, on my kitchen floor, on my living-room carpet, in my yard, on my porch. He has never missed an opportunity to throw up on something clean and nice. But you give him half a bottle of soap and spin him around in circles . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. Her eyes slid open, and she was wearing a crazy smile. “You know, Slim, if this were happening to someone else, it would be hilarious.”

  “Yes ma’am, it sure might be.”

  She brushed a wisp of hair on Molly’s forehead. “But it’s happening to us. Well, I guess you’d better,” she heaved a sigh, “take him to town. The poor thing needs a doctor.”

  “He needs a psychiatrist, is what he needs. You want me to haul him in my pickup? It already stinks. If he barfs, nobody’ll know the difference.”

  “Yes, please.”

  She walked with us to Slim’s old pickup, which was parked in the shade beneath those big elm trees west of the gas tanks. Slim slid behind the wheel, Little Alfred rode shotgun, and I sat in the seat between them. And all at once, I wasn’t feeling so swell.

  Sally May gave Alfred a kiss on the cheek. “Have a safe trip. Alfred, be kind to Slim and don’t chatter all the way to town. He’s had a bad day.”

  Slim nodded and hit the starter. The motor turned over three times . . . and quit. The battery was dead. Silence moved over us like a poisonous fog. No one dared to move or speak. Slim stared at the ignition key for several moments, licked his lips, and turned to Sally May.

  “I’ve been meaning to charge up this derned battery. What do we do now?”

  That same crazy smile leaped across her mouth. “Well! I guess you’ll haul him to town in my car.” She turned a menacing glare on her son. “Alfred, don’t you EVER go fishing again. And you . . .” She leaned into the window and turned her glare on . . . well, on ME, it seemed. “If you throw up in my car, I’ll murder you! I will, I promise, and with my bare hands.”

  My goodness, yes ma’am. We sure didn’t need that.

  We loaded up in her car and set out for town. The silence was deadly. Slim gripped the wheel with both hands and glared at the road with a pair of smoldering eyes. Every now and then he would throw a glance at me and mutter.

  “Dumbbell dog . . . I can’t believe you’d . . . hauling you to town when I’ve got thirty-seven jobs to do . . . swallered half a gallon of dadgum soap and . . . ”

  Maybe he didn’t know it but I felt terrible about causing everyone so much trouble. A lot of dogs wouldn’t have cared. I mean, they just blunder through Life and never think about the people around them, but I have a tender side to my . . .

  Boy, it seemed kind of warm inside that car.

  I have a tender side to my nature that isn’t always obvious to the outside world. They see me as Head of Ranch . . .

  I sure wished he would open a window and let in a breeze.

  Anyways, they see me as Head of Ranch Security and they think I’m made of steel and have no feelings about . . .

  All at once I noticed the swaying motion of the car. Maybe if Slim slowed down a bit . . . and I found my thoughts turning to . . . SOAP. I began tapping my tail on the floorboard. It was a sort of warning tap. He didn’t notice. I turned a Gaze of Urgency towards Little Alfred, but he didn’t notice either.

  I felt a certain queazy feeling deep in the internal innards of my . . . I increased the speed and urgency of my tail tapping. Somebody needed to open the window and stop flying over cattleguards, because if somebody didn’t do something pretty quick . . .

  I struggled to my feet. My head was moving up and down, driven by deep mysterious forces that I couldn’t . . . all at once, the entire world had turned to soap. I could feel it, taste it, smell it, almost hear it. Everywhere and everything, yucky soap!

  The convulsions seized my body and took control. I fell into their grip and was helpless. Things were beyond my control . . . but just then . . .

  It was Little Alfred who finally noticed. “Uh-oh. Swim, stop the car!”

  The brakes screamed and I went crashing into the dashboard. An instant later, both doors flew open and someone dragged me out of the car by my hind legs. And fellers, you talk about dodging a bullet. We dodged a big one, and not a moment too soon. There, on the side of the Wolf Creek Road, I laid down a long trail of soap bubbles.

  I will never feel the same about soap.

  Or liver.

  The good news is that the hook came up with the soap. Slim saw it right away and held it up for all of us to see. “Well, there she is. By grabs, Hank, you done one thing right today. You saved us a trip to town. Good dog.”

  Good dog? I stared at him through watering eyes and waves of . . . something, whatever you call the waves that were rippling through my mind and body . . . and then I had to return to my business.

  Well, we made it back to the ranch about fifteen minutes after we’d left. Sally May heard us coming and ran out to the gate to meet us. She knew something had happened, and her face resembled stone as she waited for the report. When she heard the news, her expression softened and she heaved a big sigh of relief.

  Hey, and she even knelt down, placed my head on her knee, and stroked the top of my head, and we’re talking about High Quality Stroking here. She stroked my head and scratched me behind the ears, and she even talked to me in a soft tone of voice.

  “Poor old Hank. I’ll bet that soap was awful. You don’t feel very good, do you?”

  I felt lousy. I mean, it was nice knowing that I had gotten rid of the fishhook, but all that soap had finally taken its toll. I was one sick puppy.

  Sally May’s eyes came up and stuck Little Alfred. “Alfred Leroy, don’t you EVER sneak off and go fishing again, do you hear me?”

  He nodded. “I’m sowwy, Mom. I’ll nevoo do it again, pwomise.” He went over and gave her a hug. For a moment she seemed stiff and angry, but then she softened up and drew him into her embrace.

  Then she glanced up at Slim and gave her head a shake. “Boys and dogs. I guess life would be pretty dull without them.”

  “Yalp. Can’t say as I ever swung a dog around in circles and got sick before. On this outfit, a guy never knows what sort of work he’ll be doing.”

  They got a laugh out of that. I managed a weak smile. We had reached a happy ending to the story, but I was too full of soap to enjoy it.

  And that’s about it. I had managed to solve the Case of the Swallowed Fishhook and had lived to tell the story. Two days later, I was back to full strength, protecting my ranch from monsters and taking care of business. The Case of the Swallowed Fishhook had led me righ
t up to Death’s Doormat, but the pain and so forth had taught me a valuable lesson. I even composed a song about it, if you can believe that. You want to hear it? I guess we have time. Here it is, and then I’ve got to get back to work.

  I Will Never Eat Another Fishhook

  I have learned a lot from this experience.

  I feel older and even wiser from the pain.

  There’s a lesson here for those who pay attention.

  Life can teach us if we’ll only use our brain.

  Learn from pain.

  Use our brain.

  We should try to avoid ingesting fishhooks.

  Yes, I know it’s the liver that we crave,

  But it’s wrapped around a barb of sharpened metal

  That can lead unwary dogs into the grave.

  Things we crave.

  Early grave.

  See, a dog can’t go around just eating garbage.

  We must learn to eat the things that make us strong.

  Certain foods, like sharpened hooks, have poor nutrition.

  And that road into the vet’s is very long.

  Make us strong.

  Road is long.

  I will never eat another fishhook.

  I take a pledge, I swear an oath, I have a plan.

  And the next time I confront some tasty morsel . . .

  I’ll probably eat it and go through this all again.

  Not much plan.

  All again.

  See you down the road. Case closed.

  Further Reading

  Have you read all of Hank’s adventures?

  1 The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog

  2 The Further Adventures of Hank the Cowdog

  3 It’s a Dog’s Life

  4 Murder in the Middle Pasture

  5 Faded Love

  6 Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

  7 The Curse of the Incredible Priceless Corncob

  8 The Case of the One-Eyed Killer Stud Horse