The Case of the Secret Weapon

by John R. Erickson

  “Hello. Yes. I figured it was you. Because I couldn’t think of anyone I wanted to talk to, and I still can’t. What? Well, I’d planned to spend the whole day loafing on the porch, if you want to know the truth. But thanks for the invite. Bye.”

  He hung up the phone and turned to us dogs. “Loper and Sally May are having a Fourth of July picnic.”

  Picnic? Hey, great news!

  “I ain’t going. Too much trouble.”

  He headed for the porch again, so we had to do another scramble to make it through the screen door before it slammed shut. This time he noticed and said, “Are y’all following me around?”

  Well, yes. That’s what dogs do. If we’d been ordinary lazy mutts, we wouldn’t have gone to the trouble. He was a lucky man to have dogs who cared about him.

  He flopped down in his chair. “Well, now we can get back to the good life.” He propped his feet on the banister and sang the chorus of his song:

  Sitting on the porch in my shorts.

  Loafing outside in my underwear.

  Sitting on the porch in my shorts.

  Who’d want to be anywhere else but here?

  Yes sir, here was a happy man, doing the thing he did best and loved most (loaf), and he must have sat there for an hour or more. The sun rose above the trees along the creek. The temperature climbed, and flies buzzed around our ears. Drover and I found it harder and harder to keep our eyes open and finally we . . . dribbled off to slip . . . zzzzz.

  I was awakened by the sound of Slim’s voice. “You know, this ain’t as much fun as I thought. In fact, it’s kind of boring.”

  Drover and I blinked our eyes and yawned. Good point. I hadn’t wanted to say anything but, yes, spending time on the porch with Slim wasn’t exactly an electric experience.

  He rose from the chair. “By netties, I think I’ll go to the picnic. And I’ll even take a bath.” He headed for the front door. Drover and I leaped to our feet and fell in step behind him. He went through the screen door and pulled it shut. Looking back at us through the screen, he said, “Quit following me around. You’re getting on my nerves.” He vanished inside the house.

  I turned to Drover. “We get on his nerves? Is that the thanks we get for being loyal dogs?”

  A quiver came into Drover’s voice. “Yeah, it’s not our fault that he makes bad coffee.”

  “Exactly, but you know who always gets blamed. The dogs. This has been going on for years, Drover, and sometimes I wonder why we put up with it. If these people had to live a day without dogs, maybe they’d appreciate all the things we do.”

  “Yeah, we ought to run away from home.”

  “Maybe we should.”

  “That would teach him.”

  “It really would. What do you think, should we walk off the job and let him learn the hard way?”

  “Yeah, let’s do. It would serve him right.”

  “Then it’s settled. We’re going on strike!”

  We left the porch and marched down the sidewalk, the first leg of a long journey that would take us we-knew-not-where. When we reached the yard gate, Drover stopped and glanced around. “But you know, it’s kind of hot.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Maybe we ought to wait for a cooler day.”

  I gave that some thought. “It might be better to wait.”

  “Yeah. You know, October will be here before you know it.”

  “Exactly. Okay, we’ll let him off the hook this time.” We marched back to the porch and flopped down. “Slim has no idea how close he came to losing the entire Security Division.”

  “Yeah, he took a chance, leaving us out here in this heat.” Drover was silent for a moment. “Reckon it’s cooler in the house?”

  “Oh sure.”

  “Why don’t we go inside?”

  I stared at the runt. “Because we can’t. He shut us out. He doesn’t want to share his house.”

  A grin spread across his mouth. “Yeah, but I know a trick.”

  I couldn’t imagine what “trick” he had in mind. In fact, if he’d learned a trick, it would be the biggest news of the week. I followed him over to the screen door and watched.

  He hooked his left front paw under the bottom of the screen door and gave it a jerk. The door opened wide enough for him to scoot through the crack. Inside the house, he grinned at me through the screen. “What do you think?”

  It took me a moment to recover from the shock. “When did you learn to do that?”

  “Oh, a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been prac­ticing.”

  “It didn’t look all that difficult. I mean, you just hooked your claws under the door and pulled, right?”

  “Yeah, any dog could do it.”

  “Exactly my point. Stand back, I’m coming in.”

  And with that . . . well, you’ll see. It wasn’t as easy as you might think.

  Chapter Five: Slim Goes to the Picnic

  I marched up to the door, hooked the claws of my left front paw under the bottom, and gave it a . . .

  BONK!

  On the other side of the screen, Drover shook his head. “No, it works better if you keep your face out of the way.”

  Rubbing my nose, I glared at him through the screen door. “Drover, please don’t dwell on the obvious. That was just a practice run. Watch this.” I hooked my paw under the bottom of the door and gave it a mighty . . .

  BONK!

  Drover shook his head again. “No, you have to move your nose out of the way.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do! It’s a stupid door, that’s all. Stand back.”

  BONK!

  My nose ached, my eyes watered, and for a moment of heartbeats, I thought about ripping the door right off its hinges. I mean, this was the most frustrating . . . I took several deep breaths and tried to calm my savage instincts. “Okay, I’ve got a better idea. You open it.”

  “Well, I don’t think I can.”

  “Of course you can. You already did it once.”

  “Yeah, but that was out on the porch. Everything’s backward when you do it inside. See, if you pull from the inside, it makes the door close.”

  “Then push. Had you thought of that? If everything’s backward, then do the opposite of what you did before.”

  He rolled his eyes around. “Well . . . the opposite of a door is a window, and I don’t think I can open a window.”

  “Drover, I am your commanding officer, and I’m getting hot out here. Push the door and let me in!” Poof. The little dunce vanished before my very eyes. “Drover, come back! Do you hear me?” I cocked my ear and listened. Not a sound. “Drover, come back here and open this door!”

  I could hear Slim singing in the bathtub but not a sound from little Mister Sneak in the House. I decided to try a softer approach.

  “All right, Drover, you’ve had your little moment of rebellion, and I’m sure you enjoyed it. Now it’s time to get this thing resolved and move on with our lives.” He didn’t come, so I screamed, “Drover, if you don’t report to the front door on the count of three, you will be court-martialed and fed to the buzzards! One! Two! Three!”

  I narrowed my eyes and peered through the screen. Nothing. Well, the disobedient little wretch had left me no choice. I gave the door three stern barks, marched away in triumph, and finished my nap on the porch.

  Like I said, it was a stupid door, and there isn’t much we can do with . . . phooey.

  I had a great nap, and Slim must have had a great bath. He wasn’t the kind of man who craved bathwater very often, but once he got there, he stayed for a while. I don’t know if he had rubber ducks and toy boats in there, but something kept him occupied.

  Oh yes, his singing. He sang every song ever recorded by Slim Whitman, Bob Wills, and Patsy Cline. Fortunately, I was able to sleep through most of it and was fin
ally awakened by the sound of him tromping around inside the house. I rushed to the screen door, sat down facing the house, and went into the pose we call I’ve Been Waiting for Hours.

  He came to the door and saw me. My goodness, he had been transformed. He’d washed and combed his hair. He’d put on a clean shirt, a fresh pair of jeans, a shiny pair of go-to-town boots, and a new straw hat. He said, “Have you been there all this time?”

  Oh yes, no question about it. That’s a dog’s lot in life, waiting for his people.

  “Well, what do you think?” He grinned and twirled around, as though he were . . . I don’t know, modeling his clothes, I guess. “Old Slim cleans up pretty good, don’t he? Heh. Miss Viola might be at the picnic, see, and a man wants to look his best.” His grin faded. “Say, when I left, there was two of you yardbirds out there. Where’s Stub Tail?”

  I gave him a look that said, “We dogs never rat on a friend, but . . . HE WEASELED HIS WAY INTO YOUR HOUSE!”

  Slim’s face fell into a pile of wrinkles, and he muttered, “I wonder . . .” He disappeared inside the house, then I heard his voice. “Get out from under that bed! Hyah, scat!” Moments later, Drover came flying out the door, and I began roasting him with Glares of Rebuke.

  He lowered his head and tail and sniffled. “Gosh, what did I do?”

  I marched over to him. “Breaking and entering, insubordination, disobeying an order, abandoning a comrade, and hiding under a bed without permission. Oh, and showing off in front of a superior officer.”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t trying to show off, honest.”

  “Well, you did. Not only did you open the door all by yourself, but you stood there and watched while your commanding officer tried the same trick three times and failed! How do you suppose that affects the morale of this unit?”

  “Well, I didn’t think of that.”

  “No, because you’re a selfish little creep. Drover, we ought to throw the book at you.”

  “I thought it was a pretty good trick.”

  “Of course it was a good trick and that’s the whole point. You can do bad tricks all day, and nobody will care. It’s the good ones that cause the damage.”

  He hung his head. “Sorry.”

  “Are you really sorry? Is this coming from your heart?”

  He grinned. “Not really.”

  “That’s what I thought. Stand with your nose in the corner, now! Move!”

  He glanced around. “Well, there’s no corner on a porch.”

  I moved my gaze around the porch. Hmm. He had a point. “Okay, then stand with your nose against the house. Move it!”

  He moaned and whined, but I didn’t care. My heart had turned to stone. By George, if we don’t take the time to teach the underlings how to act, they’ll run wild and before you know it . . . something . . . everything will go to blazes.

  I don’t enjoy being hard on the men, but you can’t run a Security Division without order, discipline, and respect.

  He stood with his nose against the house and I sat in front of the door, waiting for Slim to emerge. Moments later, he came breezing out the . . . BAM!

  “Out of the way, Bozo, I’ve got places to go.”

  What was the deal with that door? Did it hate dogs? Four times in the past hour, it had struck me for no good reason and I was about ready to . . . oh well, justice would have to wait. Slim had invited us to a picnic.

  Okay, he hadn’t exactly invited us, but I was pretty sure that he wanted us to go. What’s a picnic without dogs, right?

  I turned to the jailbird. “All right, Drover, I’m going to let you out on parole, but one more mistake and you’ll be right back in the brig.”

  His face bloomed into a smile. “Oh goodie, so I’m a free dog?”

  We trotted out the yard gate. “For now, yes, and hurry up. Slim’s waiting to take us . . .” The pickup drove away from the house. I was stunned. “What? He’s leaving without us? Surely there’s been a mistake.”

  “Maybe he just went to the mailbox.”

  I gave that some thought. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that? He’s gone to check the mail, and he’ll be right back.”

  We sat down and waited. And waited. Then Drover said, “You know what? I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t dare . . .” At that moment, my keen eyes caught a flash of movement down at the saddle shed. I turned my head and took a closer look. “Oh, there he is down at the shed. See?”

  Drover squinted toward the shed. “Oh yeah, there he is. I guess you were right, he came back for us.”

  “Heh. I know him pretty well, Drover. He’ll bluster and threaten, but when it’s time to go to a picnic, he’ll want to take his dogs.”

  “I wonder what he did with the pickup.”

  “The pickup?”

  “Yeah, when he left, he was driving a pickup. I don’t see it now.”

  I turned my Visual Scanners toward the north and adjusted the focus. A man had just come out of the little wooden shed where Slim kept his saddle and horse feed. “Good point, son. I don’t see his pickup either, so let’s do a little detective work here.”

  “Oh boy, this’ll be fun.”

  “He drove up to the county road to check the mail, and the pickup quit on him.”

  Drover nodded. “Yeah, and he had to walk back from the mailbox.”

  “Exactly. He’s always talking about how his pickup is a piece of junk.”

  “Yeah, and now he’ll have to walk to the picnic. Boy, he’ll be mad about . . .” Drover narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t know he was wearing a baseball cap.”

  “He wasn’t. In fact, he was wearing a brand-new straw hat.”

  “Well, he’s wearing a cap now.”

  “Impossible.” I gave the man a closer look. He was walking toward the house. “Hmmm. Now that’s strange. He’s wearing a cap. Okay, let’s see if we can figure this out. He decided that a straw hat would be too hot, so he changed to a cap.”

  “Yeah, and you know what else? He changed his clothes, too.”

  “Rubbish. He would never go to all that trouble.” I studied the man. “Hmmm. Okay, here’s our next clue. He changed his clothes, and we don’t know why.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” All at once, the runt edged around behind me. “Hank, I don’t think that’s Slim.”

  “What? Drover, sometimes you come up with the craziest notions. Of course it’s Slim. Who else . . .” I studied the man again. Huh? “Drover, I don’t want to alarm you, but that’s not Slim.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “Don’t argue with me. That’s not Slim. He’s too short and he’s got long hair and . . .” I, uh, moved around behind Drover. “Soldier, we’ve got a stranger on the place. Maybe you’d better trot down there and give him a bark. What do you think?”

  He gave me a blank stare. “Me! Are you crazy? You’re the Head of Ranch Security.”

  “Well, sure, but . . .” My mind was racing. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll pull all our troops back to the porch and set up a line of defense. If he leaves, we won’t bark. If he tries to enter the house, we’ll hit him with everything we’ve got. What do you think?”

  Zoom! Drover was already streaking toward the porch like a little comet, leaving me out in front of the house without reserves. I wheeled around, hit Turbo Four, and made a dash for the porch.

  When I got there, Drover was huddled behind Slim’s chair. “Coward! Get out from behind that chair.” He didn’t move, so I did what any normal American dog would have done. I pushed and shoved and joined him behind the chair.

  There, in our foxhole on the front lines, we huddled together and listened to the sound of the stranger’s footsteps. He was coming toward the house!

  Chapter Six: A Mysterious Visitor

  Are you scared?
Good, because I was, too. Any dog would have been scared. I mean, Slim’s house was twenty-five miles from the nearest town, so far out in the country that on a clear day, you could see boondocks in the distance. The place was so isolated that Slim could sit out on the porch in his underwear and sing corny songs.

  Yet a stranger had just appeared and was coming toward the house!

  So, yes, I was scared and I’m not ashamed to admit it. But Drover was in worse shape. He was so scared, his teeth were clicking together. “Drover, try to be professional . . . and stop clicking your teeth.”

  “I c-c-can’t help it.”

  “Of course you can. Put a gag in your mouth.” You know what he did? He covered his eyes with his paws. “Drover, those are your eyes, not your mouth!”

  “Yeah, but if I don’t see anything, maybe I won’t be so scared.”

  “All right, give it a try.”

  I turned my gaze back to the stranger. He walked up to the yard gate and stopped. That gave me enough time to scan his face and run it through Data Control’s huge database of faces. It came back negative. Nobody in our Security Division had ever seen this guy before.

  He glanced around and called out, “Hello! Anybody home?”

  Drover began to twitch and squirm. “Should we tell him we’re here?”

  “Shhh! Absolutely not. We might need the element of surprise.”

  “I need the element of courage.”

  “Maybe he’ll leave. Shhh.”

  The man called out again. “I’m from the electric company. I need to take a reading on your meter. Hello?”

  I almost fainted with relief. “It’s okay, son. He’s reading meters. They do it every month.”

  “If he works for the power company, how come he’s not wearing a uniform?”

  “Because . . . look, maybe it was dirty. Aren’t you glad he didn’t come out here in a dirty shirt?”

  “I don’t care. I don’t like his looks.”

  “Drover, you’re being weird. He’s just doing his job, and we might as well be friendly. Let’s step out and say hello.”