Every Dog Has His Day

by John R. Erickson

  Do we have time for one quick example? Okay, take our present situation. This cat was trying to lure me into a fight. Your ordinary ranch dog would fall for this trick, in which case he would make a dive for the cat and merely prove what the cat had known all along, that the dog was tied up and therefore couldn’t satisfy his desire to pulverize the stupid cat.

  Your higher-bred, highly trained cowdog, on the other hand, will engage his Laser Logic and come up with a winning strategy. Instead of falling for the cat’s trick, he turns the tables on the cat and DOES THE OPPOSITE OF EVERYTHING HE SAYS.

  Amazing. Now watch and I’ll demonstrate.

  Okay, we’ve got Pete sitting there in front of me, twitching his stupid tail, which is something that really annoys me. And he says, “How long’s your rope, Hankie?”

  At that point, I engage Step One and move rapidly through Stage Two and into Stage Three, accomplish the whole thing in just a matter of seconds. And instead of losing my temper, barking, lunging against the rope, and so forth, I give him a friendly smile.

  Now, listen to this.

  “Why, I don’t know how long it is, Pete, nor do I understand why you should care. But if you’re really concerned about it, I’d be happy for you to measure it.”

  That’s iron discipline right there.

  “No, but I bet you could reach my tail if you really wanted to.”

  I studied his alleged tail, which he continued to twitch. “You’re exactly right, Pete. I could, but I really don’t have any interest in your tail.”

  Oh, that almost destroyed him! Laser Logic.

  He moved a little closer and his tail drew some figure-eights in the air. “I’m sure you could reach it here.”

  I laughed. It’s very satisfying to reach a level of maturity at which you can laugh off all the silliness in this old world.

  “You’re right, Pete. Back in the old days, I would have made a dive for it, but I’ve developed other interests and I just don’t have time for you or your childish games.”

  Stunned him, absolutely stunned him!

  He moved a little closer. Hmm. He was getting within range now, and that tail . . . but iron discipline prevailed. Good old iron discipline.

  “I’ll bet you can’t reach me here.”

  “HUH? What was that? Did you say I CAN’T reach you there?”

  He bobbed his head up and down. “That’s what I said, Hankie. I bet you can’t.”

  For a moment there, I was confused. Pete had tabed the turnles on me, or you might say “turned the tables.” Either way, the point is that he had shifted, in a typical sneaky catlike manner, the fulcrum of his attack.

  That ploy might have worked, had I not been trained for this sort of thing. I was confused, but only for a few seconds. Then Laser Logic kicked in: DO THE OPPOSITE OF EVERYTHING HE SAYS. Before, he had said, “I bet you can reach my tail.” Now, he was saying, “I bet you can’t etc.”

  Indeed, he had shifted his strategy.

  At that point, when most dogs would have gone into a period of confused barking, the Laser Logic System took over and I shifted into Auto­matic. My mind began gliding through the complex calculations.

  The advantage of using higher mathematics and Laser Logic is that you avoid impulsive behavior and dumb mistakes. Also, once Laser Logic has solved the equation, a guy isn’t burdened down by a bunch of unnecessary thinking. You just by George take your answer and get after it.

  Which is exactly what I did. It was Double Sic ’Em time. I made a dive for the cat, with every intention of dividing his tail by two and multiplying that times deadly force.

  He escaped by the narrowest of margins. He hissed, arched his back, raised the hair along his spine, flattened his ears, and backed away.

  Hey, that didn’t scare me, not even a little bit. In fact, that hissing stuff gets on my nerves and makes me even meaner, wilder, and ferociouser than ever.

  I coiled my powerful legs under me and lunged at him and . . . GULK!

  Hit the end of the derned rope, you might say, I’d sort of forgotten about that in the heat of, that might have been one factor we had forgotten to put into the . . .

  Let me say this. It’s hard to keep up a deep, thunderous bark when you have a tight rope against your throat, sort of throttles the thunder down to a squeak, and while a squeak is only a squeak, it beats the heck out of cowardly silence.

  I barked. I squeaked. I lunged against the rope, tore up the ground, raised a cloud of dust, and snapped my jaws like a bear trap.

  Obviously out-maneuvered, out-barked, and outsmarted, Pete took up a position just beyond my reach and . . . well, popped me on the nose with his claws, you might say, every time I moved into his range, which was fairly often.

  Yes, we lost a little blood and sustained a few casualties, but we expect that in an armed confrontation . . .

  Okay, it hurt. Let’s go ahead and put that into the record. The nose did in fact take some direct hits, and there for a minute or two, it appeared that Pete was getting the better end of the deal.

  But then something happened that changed everything. It came as a complete surprise to Pete, but as you might have already guessed, it was no surprise to me, for it was merely Phase Two of my two-phase strategy.

  Just as I had predicted, the rope broke. And suddenly, Pete’s advantage turned to mush, as I not only snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat, but also snatched Pete into the Jaws of Destruction.

  Chapter Seven: Miss Scamper Is Impressed

  You ever notice that once a cat finds himself in an awkward position, he begins scratching with all four sets of claws, front and back? He does.

  Once this mechanism is invoked, a normal, healthy cat begins to resemble a buzz saw. You ever bite into a buzz saw? In the Security Busi­ness, we try to follow strict dietary laws: no sugar, very little salt, a bare minimum of cholestrophobia, and no buzz saws.

  Buzz saws can cause bleeding gums and eyebrow damage.

  In other words, anyone with an ounce of prevention would spit out a pound of buzz saw, which is basically what I did, because of my interest in diet and health.

  Diet is extremely . . .

  So you might say that Pete escaped my clutches and went streaking down the hill, past the gas tanks, through the grove of elm trees, and toward the corrals. I, dragging the rope, fell in be­hind him, bulldozed a couple of chickens who got in the way, and began closing the gap between us.

  Pete darted under the red pickup that was parked there in front of the corrals, and I was just about ready to start tearing off tires and fenders when . . .

  Mercy! Was that perfume I smelled?

  I lifted my nose, which was somewhat scarred and bleeding, and tested the wind. Yes, perfume. What we had here was The Case of the Strange Perfume, and it would have been the height of irresponsibility for me to continue chasing the cat when I had this new case under way.

  I left Pete and followed the scent over to the next pickup, the brown one. Or was it green? One or the other, brown or green. I slipped past the front and peeked around the fender. There sat . . . Drover? How could that be? Drover didn’t wear perfume. The pieces of the puzzle just didn’t fall into place—until I remembered that Drover had disobeyed my orders and had come down to talk with . . . ah yes, now it was coming back.

  The lovely Miss Scamper!

  Drover grinned and wagged his stump tail. “Hi Hank. You’ve got some red flies on your nose.”

  I lumbered over to him and gave him a scorching glare. “They’re not red flies, Drover, they’re battle wounds.”

  “Oh. They looked like . . .”

  “And don’t try to change the subject. You thought I was tied up, didn’t you? You thought you could disobey my orders and get away with it, didn’t you? How foolish of you to think that. I suppose it never occurred to you that I might break this rope and wa
lk away a free dog.”

  “That never occurred to me.”

  “That’s too bad, Drover, because something else is fixing to occur to you.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “That’s correct. You’re under arrest for insubordination. Go to your room.”

  “I don’t have a room.”

  “Go somewhere. In other words, buzz off. I have some questions to ask . . .” She was looking down at me, her long beagle ears waving in the breeze, her big brown eyes full of adoration. And I, being a gentleman, said, “Hello again.”

  “Well, hello there, you big hairy thing dragging a rope around.”

  “You like that rope? I broke it just for you, just so I could come down here and feast my eyes on the roast beef of your face.”

  “You have a way with words. The only question is—which way?”

  She laughed. I laughed. We both laughed, sharing that special secret shared by two people who laugh at secrets. I could tell she was impressed.

  “That’s some nose you have there,” she went on.

  “Battle wounds, Miss Scamper, nothing to worry about. Would you believe me if I told you that you are the most stuntingly beautiful woman I ever saw?”

  She arched one brow. “Well now, I don’t be­lieve everything I hear, but you might be able to talk me into that.”

  “Tell me what I can do to make you believe it.”

  Drover barged into the conversation. “Hank, there’s cattle coming this way.”

  “Hush, Drover. Tell me, Miss Scamper, what can I do to convince you that my heart is in the right place?”

  “Take it out and let me look at it.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t believe everything I say, big boy. It could get you into trouble.”

  “Oh, I see. You were joking? Ha ha, ho ho. ‘Take it out and let me look at it.’ Yes, I can see how that could get a guy into trouble, taking out his heart and letting . . . you have a strange and delightful sense of humor, Miss Scamper.”

  “And it was subtle too, until you came along.”

  “Exactly. I don’t know how you’ve managed all these years without me.”

  “It’s been a real struggle.”

  “I can imagine! It might surprise you to know that I’m quite a humorist myself, Miss Scamper.”

  “You hide it very well.”

  “Hank,” that was Drover again, “cattle are coming in.”

  “Will you please shut your little trap? Thank you.” Back to the lovely lady. “Yes, I’ve always tried to disguise my humor behind a gruff facade, a French word meaning ‘the front part of anything.’”

  Her eyes widened in amazement. “I didn’t know you spoke French too.”

  “Oh yes. French, Thousand Island, Open-gloppish, Pig Latin, Spanish, as well as several of the coyalect diotes . . . coyote dialects, that is.”

  “My goodness, you’ve been a busy boy!”

  “Indeed I have. In the Security Business . . .”

  Drover was beginning to hop up and down.

  “Hank, something’s going on, the cattle are coming this way, and here comes that new cowdog.”

  I peered out into the pasture. Sure enough, Benny the So-called Cowdog was padding toward us. “You’re right, Drover, and if I were a betting dog, I would bet that we’re fixing to have a showdown.”

  Miss Scamper’s eyes sparkled. “Not over me, I hope.”

  “I’m afraid so, ma’am. You and several other matters.”

  “Oooo, this is too exciting!”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, Miss Scamper.”

  “I know, but I can hardly wait.”

  “This thing could get real nasty before it gets dirty. Stand back, Drover, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Me too.” He took cover behind my highly conditioned body—not a bad place to hide.

  The im­poster came up to the pickups. I squared my shoulders and waited. Some ten feet away, he stopped and glanced around. Perhaps he thought I didn’t notice that he winked at Miss Scamper, and perhaps she thought I didn’t notice that she winked back, but as you may have already surmised, I did.

  “And so, Benny, we meet again,” I said in one of my smoother tones of voice. “I’m not sure this ranch is both enough for big of us.”

  “Do you suppose you fellows could move out of the way?” he said. “We’re trying to bring in cattle.” His eyes fell upon me. “Are those red flies on your nose, sport?”

  “No, as I’ve explained to everyone else on this ranch, those are battle wounds.”

  “Yes, I see that now. But aren’t you supposed to be tied?”

  “Yes, I was tied. Yes, I broke the rope. No, we’re not moving out of the way. And no, you’re not bringing in any cattle without my permission. Any more questions?”

  “Just one. Are you completely out of your mind?” At that very moment, and for reasons which I didn’t understand, Miss Scamper nodded her head. “Because this is a roundup, you see, and we have work to do and you really don’t fit into the overall dynamics.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Benny. I’ve let this thing go far enough, and now I’m fixing to shut ’er down. The fact of the matter is that YOU don’t fit into the overall hydraulics.”

  “Uh dynamics, I think is the word you wanted.”

  “I said what I meant, Benny, and I’m afraid the old trick of putting words into my mouth won’t work this time.”

  He gave his head a quick shake. “Good heavens, I thought I’d seen it all.”

  “No, as a matter of fact, you’ve only seen the be­ginning. Now pack your bags and get off my ranch.”

  He gave me a smirk. “You obviously don’t understand what you’re saying, so I’ll not argue. We WILL bring in the cattle, your opinions on the matter notwithstanding.”

  I took two steps toward him. “Benny, old buddy, let me tell you something. I’ll be withstanding in the gate when you start those cattle this way, and I’ll see to it that you’re exposed for what you are—an imposter and a fraud.”

  He glanced up at Miss Scamper. “Is he joking, do you suppose?”

  “I don’t know, but I thought you boys were going to fight.”

  I took another step toward Benny the Imposter. “That’s correct, Miss Scamper. The fight will start very soon. This is a showdown, Benny, me against you.”

  Benny smiled. “You understand, of course, that the cowboys are involved in this too. It goes beyond whatever personal animosities we may have.”

  “Yes, I understand that I’ll be outnumbered six to one. I understand that the odds are against me, but I didn’t get to be Head of Ranch Security by playing it safe.”

  “I suppose not. Well, it appears there’s nothing more to be said.”

  “Exactly. Bring on the cattle and we’ll see who’s the cowdog around here.”

  He shrugged and then bowed toward Miss Scamper. “I hope this doesn’t cause you any inconvenience, madame.”

  She fluffed at her hair. “I’ll manage somehow. I’ve always loved rassling.” Benny left and went back to the herd. She watched him and I watched her.

  “Don’t waste your time with that guy, Miss Scamper. If you could buy him for what he’s worth and sell him for what he thinks he’s worth, you’d be a wealthy woman.”

  “I could go for that.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for combat.”

  “Oooo! It sounds very dangerous.”

  “Yes ma’am, but all in a day’s work. Just keep your eyes on me and enjoy the show. Come on, Drover, let’s . . .” Hmm, that was odd. Drover had been standing right behind . . .

  I was in the process of wondering what that might mean when I heard the thunder of hooves moving in my direction. That could mean only one thing: the cattle were coming a
nd my test was about to begin.

  Fine. I was ready.

  Chapter Eight: The Big Showdown

  Dragging the rope behind me, I took up my position in the middle of the open gate. Nothing would pass through that gate without my permission. And since I had no intention of giving my permission, it followed, through simple logic, that nothing would pass through the gate.

  As I waited for the lines of battle to take shape, I heard a familiar voice, the insolent whine of a certain cat. He had ventured out from under the pickup and was licking himself beside the right front tire.

  “Hi Hankie. You never did catch me, did you?”

  “There’s a reason for that, kitty. I lost interest in your particular brand of foolishness and had more important things to do than chase a rinky-dink cat around the ranch. As a matter of fact, I have more important things to do than talk to a rinky-dink cat.”

  “Well, you should just quit talking.”

  “I will, I did, I am. That’s what I just said.”

  “But you’re still talking.”

  “Of course I am, for the simple reason that it’s not possible for me to tell you that I’m not talking to you without telling you.”

  He looked up and smiled. “But you’re still talking.”

  “No, quite the contrary. I’ve made it very plain that I’m breaking off all communication with you.”

  “But you keep talking about it, Hankie.”

  I pushed myself up on all-fours and swaggered over to him. “Are you trying to get me into an argument?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes you are, yes you are, yes you are! But I want you to know, cat, that I’m not so easily fooled.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “No I’m not. I will not, cannot, and shall not be lured into an argument with a sniveling, insignificant, insolent, two-bit, rinky-dink cat. Because I have better things to do.”