Every Dog Has His Day
Page 3
“Oh yeah, she’s trained, and she don’t have much use for cattle anyway. She’ll stay in the pickup.”
“Good. That leaves us with just one worthless dog to worry about.”
Ho ho! Benny was fixing to get himself tied up or locked up or otherwise removed from the roundup strategy. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer dog or come at a better time.
I had tried to prepare him for this, but some dogs just can’t seem to take a hint.
“Come on, Hank.”
This was turning out even better than I had hoped! I would get to watch the scoundrel take his medicine. I could hardly wait to see that grin melt off his mouth.
I fell in step beside Loper and we went marching . . . that was odd. Instead of marching toward Benny, we headed east, toward the house. Oh well. Loper had his own way of handling the “worthless dog” situation, as he had described it so well, and I had every confidence that . . .
We marched up the hill, past the roping dummy, past the gas tanks, up to the yard gate. Just as I had predicted, he bent over and picked up a piece of rope, some ten feet in length, that was tied to the gate post.
I sat down and looked back toward the pickups, waiting for Loper to call the unsuspecting Benny up for his, shall we say, “roundup assignment.” Heh heh. I could hardly conceal my . . .
HUH?
Unless I was badly mistaken, Loper had just . . . wait a minute, there must be some . . . he hadn’t even called Benny and . . . hey, he had tied up the wrong dog!
I looked up at him, gave him my most wounded look, and whapped my tail on the ground. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called Drover. In a flash the runt was there, grinning, turning in circles, and wagging his stump tail.
Loper jammed his hands on his hips. “You dogs stay out of the way and keep quiet. We’re going to see a REAL dog in action today, and I don’t want you to mess up his work. You got that?”
By this time, Drover was in the middle of one of his guilt spasms, when he rolls around on the ground and kicks his legs in the air and pulls his lips up into a simple-looking grin and seems to be apologizing for every mistake that’s been made since the beginning of time.
I don’t know why he does that. If you ask me, it’s undignified.
Anyway, Loper stomped back down to the corral, leaving me tied up and psychologically damaged.
“Gee, you got tied up, didn’t you, Hank?”
“Wipe that silly grin off your face.”
“Oh, okay.” The silly grin vanished and was replaced by Drover’s patented blank expression. “You got tied up, didn’t you?”
“It may appear that way at first glance, Drover, but on second glance . . . yes. Of course, I don’t need to tell you that someone on this ranch has just made an enormous mistake.”
“Oh, you didn’t need to tell me that.”
“I know I didn’t, which is why I said so, but I thought I’d say it anyway.”
“I thought that’s what you thought that’s what you’d say, and I’m glad you said it anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re glad.”
“I thought you would be.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”
“No, what?”
“Absolutely nothing. You’re just spouting nonsense.”
“Well, you keep answering me.”
“Answers are not the question, Drover.”
“No, I guess not.”
“And questions are not the answer.”
“It gets kind of confusing, doesn’t it?”
“And while we’re on the subject of questions, I have one for you.”
“Oh good, and I have one for you too.”
“I’ll go first, since mine is the more important of the two.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Mine’s pretty important.”
“I doubt that, but just to prove what a wonderful dog I am, I’ll let you go first.”
“Gee thanks, Hank. That’s mighty nice of you.”
“Yes, I know. Go ahead.” I waited, while Drover squinted his eyes and twisted his mouth around. “You’ll have to speak a little louder, son, I can’t hear you.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know you didn’t say anything. That’s my whole point. Hurry up and ask your question, I have important things to do.”
“What can you do when you’re tied up?”
“ASK YOUR QUESTION!”
“Oh. Well, let’s see here. It was right on the tip of my tongue, and it sure was important. You don’t remember what it was, do you?”
“Of course I don’t. How could I remember something I never knew in the first place?”
“I don’t know, but I thought I’d check.”
“Is it possible, Drover, that after I was generous enough to let you go first, you forgot your question?”
“Well . . . I didn’t want to say that, ’cause it might have made you mad.”
“Indeed it might have. Go ahead and admit it.”
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
“It’s not all the same to me. It’s completely different, a brand new category of stupidity. Did you forget your question?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“In other words, yes, you did in fact forget your question.”
“Something like that.”
“Very well, that just proves what I’ve suspected for a long time: courtesy is wasted on you. In the future, I’ll save my generosity for somebody who deserves it.”
“Sorry, Hank, I tried.”
“Never mind that you tried, Drover. The point is that you failed. And I guess you realize that this leaves me with no choice but to proceed to MY question.”
“I guess so.”
But you know what? After going through all that nonsense with Drover, I couldn’t remember what I was going to ask him. That really burned me up, and it just goes to prove that . . . never mind.
Chapter Five: Steel Cable Is Hard to Chew
I’ve always loved spring roundup days—the clean smell of the air, the jingle of spurs, the laughter of the cowboys, the nickering of horses, the way the country looks when the sun pops up over the horizon and makes the dew glitter like diamonds.
And me down at the corrals, sharing the excitement with the cowboys and barking orders and taking charge of things and singing the “Saddle Up Overture in C-Maybe.”
It’s a real crackerjack of a song and I do it particularly well. The tune ain’t all that great but I like the words. Here’s how it goes:
Saddle Up Overture in C-Maybe
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle up, saddle up,
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle up, saddle up,
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle up, saddle up,
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle saddle up!
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle up, saddle up,
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle up, saddle up,
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle up, saddle up,
Saddle up, saddle up, saddle saddle up!
Saddle . . . etc.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, sitting by the yard gate, tied up like a common mutt and watching another dog take my place on the crew. Let me tell you, fellers, it almost broke my heart.
The cowboys mounted up and rode out across that grassy flat just south of the corrals. They were talking and laughing and playing with their ropes. Loper’s colt was feeling frisky and started bucking. Loper put a good ride on him and the others cheered.
If I had been there with them, I would have barked, but of course I wasn’t and so I didn’t. Benny the Imposter was there in my place, trotting along beside his master. I had to look away.
“Drover, this is a dark day in my life.”
He rolled his eyes arou
nd. “Yeah, but it’s getting brighter, now that the sun’s up. The sun always seems to make the day brighter.”
“I’ve been taken off the job, removed, replaced, cast aside like an old shoe. Nobody wants an old shoe, Drover.”
“Yeah, they wear boots most of the time.”
“Of course there is another alternative.”
“You bet. They could go barefoot if it weren’t for all the sticker weeds.”
“Just because they’ve put me on a stake doesn’t mean I have to swallow it.”
“Heck no, but steak sure beats dog food.”
“Anything that’s been roped can be unroped. Anything that’s tethered can be untethered. For you see, Drover, no knot is permanent.”
“And if you know not, you’re just plain ignert.”
“Exactly. It seems that our minds are moving in the same direction, which is the true meaning of teamwork. I guess you’ve already figured out what our next move will be.”
“Sure have. We’ll just sit here and wait for Sally May to bring out the steak. Boy, I’m ready for one.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“I said, boy, I’m ready for one.”
“One what?”
“Steak.”
“Steak?”
“Mistake?”
“You’re ready for Sally May to bring out a mistake? What are you talking about, Drover?”
“I’m not sure. There for a minute I thought I had it, but I guess it slipped away.”
“I guess it did. Are you ready to get me out of this rope?”
“Rope?”
I went nose-to-nose with the runt. “Yes, rope. That’s what we’ve been talking about. Untie the knot and I’ll get on with my business.”
“Oh, okay.” He spent two minutes gnawing at the knot and also my throat.
“Just the knot, Drover. Don’t untie the throat.”
“I don’t think I can do it, Hank.”
“All right, then chew the rope in half.”
“Oh. You mean, just bite it?”
“That’s correct. Pick it up in your teeth, bite it, chew it in half, and I’ll be free.”
“Well . . .” He took two little bites at the rope. “It tastes bad, Hank, and it hurts my teeth.”
“Never mind how it tastes, and never mind about your teeth. Get on with the job!”
He started backing away. “To tell you the truth, I sort of wanted to go down and talk to Miss Scamper. I think she called my name.”
I had taken just about all of Drover’s insubordination that I could stand. I had given him a direct order and he had dared to talk back to me, which is something I don’t tolerate. I roared, bared my fangs, and made a lunge at . . .
HUH?
All at once, I was lying on my back, looking up at the sky. I noticed an odd sensation in my neck, almost as though it had been stretched several inches.
Hmm, yes, the clues began falling into place. Post, rope, neck. You see, in making my lunge at Drover, I had reached the end of my tether. The tremendous force generated by my forward momentum . . .
In other words, Drover had escaped a thrashing by the narrowest of margins. Another couple of inches and I would have had him. At first glance, a couple of inches doesn’t seem like much, but in the security business . . .
I picked myself off the ground and rolled a kink out of my neck. “Get your little self over here and do what you were told. Immediately!”
“Oh, I think I’ll go talk to Miss Scamper, if it’s all right with you.”
“It’s NOT all right with me. I forbid you to talk to Miss Scamper, and when I forbid something, that means it’s forbidden.”
“I know, Hank, but every now and then I feel a terrible weakness to do something forbidden.”
“We call that a ‘weakness,’ Drover, and you must resist it.”
He kept backing away. “I’m trying to resist it, but something keeps pulling me in that direction.”
“It’s your legs, Drover. Stop moving your legs and you’ll become stationary.”
“Can’t do it, Hank. My legs keep moving.”
“Drover, I forbid you to do anything forbidden.”
“Help! I’m being pulled toward Miss Scamper!”
“I can’t help you, I’m tied up!”
“I know you are, but I’m not. Bye.” And with that, he went prancing down the hill.
It was all coming clear now. The puzzes of the piecle were falling into place, the pieces of the puzzle. Using his tiny brain as a defense against reality, Drover had surmised that, just because I was tied to the gate post, I couldn’t stop him from going down to talk with Miss Scamper.
And furthermore, he was correct, which just goes to prove that a small brain is better than none at all, but in sizing up the situation, he had made one small miscalculation. For you see, he had overlooked the simple fact that I could chew my own rope in half. You might even say that, in the heat of the argument, I had overlooked this fact myself.
The point is, all I had to do was chew the rope in half. And that is precisely what I set out to do. The fact that Drover had failed in this maneuver meant nothing to me, for what he lacked in intelligence, he also lacked in sharp teeth, jaw strength, and endurance.
I began the procedure by loosening up the enormous muscles in my jaws. I took the rope into my mouth, opened my jaws to their fully extended position, and CRUNCH! And then CRUNCH again. And one more CRUNCH! And then . . .
The derned rope did have a bad taste. It was a grass rope, don’t you see, and it had been dipped in some kind of oil, and I never did care for the taste of oil, with the possible exception of bacon grease and chicken fat, but this stuff left a lousy taste in my mouth and . . .
There must have been something about that oil treatment that made the rope stouter than you might have thought, because what I’m driving at is that it remained more or less intact.
Come to think of it, that might have been half-inch steel cable instead of a grass rope.
Yes, it was.
So there I was, tied to a huge post with half-inch steel cable. My roundup had been taken over by an outsider and my assistant Head of Ranch Security was down under the trees, talking and giggling with Miss Scamper. And the whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.
I didn’t think the situation could deteriorate any more—until Pete the Barncat came along. And at that point, it deteriorated further.
(It really was steel cable.)
Chapter Six: Using Laser Logic on the Cat
I don’t like Pete, never have. He’s a perfect example of your sniveling, scheming, basically selfish and untrustworthy kind of cat. Like most cats, he’s not too bright, yet he has a genius for showing up where he’s not wanted.
Where he’s not wanted is anywhere I happen to be, because, at the risk of repeating myself, I don’t like him.
I saw him coming down the hill from the machine shed. He had his tail stuck straight up in the air. He was purring like a little chainsaw and rubbing up against shrubs and posts and everything else that couldn’t kick him away.
Well, my ears shot up and my lips began to curl. Funny, how that happens. All I have to do is see that cat and these processes begin to take hold. I mean, it’s completely automatic. The ears fly up and the lips rise, unsheathing a set of deadly fangs.
And did I mention the growl? Yes, a deep roar of a growl began to rumble in my lower throat—again, completely automatic.
“Stop right there, cat. You’re approaching the Injury Zone. A few more steps and you’ll be in the Zone of Sudden Death.”
“Hi, Hankie. What you doing?”
“I’m minding my own business, which is something you ought to try sometime.”
He smiled. “Nice day for a roundup, isn’t it?”
“Maybe it is and
maybe it ain’t. Either way, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“I’m surprised you’re not out gathering cattle.”
“Oh yeah? Well, this life is full of surprises, and you’re fixing to buy yourself a truckload of them.”
He yawned and arched his back. “I like your new necktie, Hankie. You look good in that color.”
“I look good in any color.”
“Yes, but yellow just seems to fit you somehow.”
“What do you mean by that? Explain yourself and be quick about it. If you mean what I think you mean, you’ve set a new record for getting yourself into serious trouble.”
“Not a thing, Hankie. Just remember:
Sticks and stones may break your bones
But words will never hurt you.”
“Oh yeah? Well, here’s one for you:
Sticks and stones may break your bones
But I will break your neck.
“How do you like that one?”
“It’s a little crude, but then,” he grinned, “so are you.”
“That’s right, and proud of it.”
He sat down in front of me, and the end of his tail began to twitch like a snake. “How long’s your rope, Hankie?”
I was about to give him a stinging reply when, suddenly, I realized what he was doing. This cat was trying to lure me into an argument. What he didn’t realize was that I had been trained for this sort of thing.
See, to get certified in security work, a guy has to go through a rigorous training period, where the emphasis is on self-discipline. The basic idea is simple. When you’re confronted by a taunting cat, you must realize what the cat is trying to do.
That’s the first step. Once you’ve figgered out Step One, then you move on to Step Two.
In the Step Two Phase, you activate the iron discipline for which cowdogs are famous. We have certain exercises to strengthen our self-discipline, but I’m not at liberty to reveal them at this time, so we’ll move along to Step Three.
In the Step Three Phase, we engage a powerful force called Laser Logic. Stripped of the complex technical termination, Laser Logic can be described as the secret weapon dogs use against cats and other obnoxious animals. It enables us to make very sophisticated plans, see, and to stay one step ahead of the enemy.