The minutes dragged by. I listened to the crickets and the frogs. I counted the stars. I waited and watched. At last I heard something: a small scratching sound. My eyes probed the darkness and my ears jumped to their full-alert position.
At first I thought I was dreaming, but then a skunk came waddling out of some weeds. He stopped, sniffed the air, looked around, listened, sniffed again, and waddled straight to the chicken house door.
My heart was pounding like a drum. I could hardly sit still. But I had to. I waited and watched.
What I saw and heard next is still hard for me to believe. The skunk lifted his head and began to sing a very strange and exotic tune that sent shivers up and down my backbone. I couldn’t imagine why he was doing this, but then . . .
All at once, a pullet appeared at the chicken house door. Her eyes were closed and her head was drooped to the side, and she held her wings out in front of her. Holy cats, she was in a trance and the skunk had called her out with that strange tune!
The skunk kept singing. The pullet walked down the ramp, made an abrupt turn to the left, and began following the skunk in a westerly direction.
Well, I had seen enough. I had broken the case. Now I had to save the pullet before the skunk lured her into the weeds and gave her the bite of death.
I sprang out of my hiding place and went on the attack. The skunk heard me coming. He stopped singing and turned to face me. That was his first mistake. I drew back my right paw and slugged him square on the end of his nose, sent him flying through the weeds and rolling down the hill.
That took care of the skunk. Now I had to catch the chicken before she ran off into the night and got lost. The noise of my scuffle with the skunk had brought her out of her sleep, and in typical chicken behavior, she began squawking, flapping her wings, and running around in circles.
“Shhhhh! Be quiet, you idiot, you’re going to wake up half the county!”
I don’t know how long it took me to catch her—several minutes, I would guess, though it seemed like hours. Finally I caught her and started toward the chicken house. I had to be very careful in performing this maneuver, because . . . well, my big sharp teeth were directly in contact with her nice, tender, juicy . . . and it was hard to get a good grip because, for some odd reason, my mouth was . . . well, watering, you might say.
I had gotten so involved in chasing and catching the chicken that I hadn’t heard the footsteps or seen the flashlight beam. Then suddenly there we were: Loper holding the flashlight and me holding the chicken.
“Oh no. Hank, how could you do this?”
HUH?
I set the chicken down, as if to say, “There we go, little gal, now you get yourself back to the house.” Even so, I guess it looked pretty suspicious. I grinned up into the flashlight beam and whapped my tail.
“Come on, Hank.” He started walking to the west, and I, being an obedient dog, followed. I thought maybe he was going to look for the skunk. No. He opened the door of the old green outhouse, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and throwed me inside.
He stood there, looking down at me for a long time. “You won’t feel a thing, but it’s going to tear me up something awful. I’m sorry, Hank. Tomorrow morning, me and you will take a little ride.”
He slammed the door and I heard his footsteps disappear into the night.
I couldn’t believe it! I had seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, but I still couldn’t believe it. Unless I had misunderstood, Loper thought I was the chicken house murderer! Why, that was just outrageous. How could he . . . I mean, his own Head of Ranch Security! If he had come just a few minutes sooner, he would have seen me fighting with the . . .
All at once I realized that the most important piece of evidence in my defense was missing. The skunk hadn’t sprayed me. I hadn’t given him time. I had been too quick, too efficient in boxing him on the nose and saving the danged chicken, and now I had no witnesses and nothing to prove my innocence.
As I sat there in the spider-crawling darkness, it began to dawn on me that I had got myself in a mess of trouble. When Loper had said he would be taking me for a ride tomorrow morning, he had been talking about a one-way trip.
Hey, I had to get out of there, and fast! I studied my cell, searching for a weakness. There were no windows to leap out of. I threw myself against the door a couple of times and figgered out that Loper had locked it from the outside. And there wasn’t much chance of me busting it down.
I sat down and was in the midst of feeling mighty sorry for myself when I heard something hit the roof with a thud. And then another thud. I stopped and listened. I heard voices. Somebody was up on the jailhouse roof!
No doubt some of my trusted friends had gotten the news of my arrest and had come to bust me out of jail. But who might they be?
“Who’s up there? Identify yourself.”
There was a moment of silence, then “W-w-well, I’m J-J-Junior the B-Buzzard and . . .”
“You hush up, Junior, you’re gonna fool around and mess up everything, you just snap your beak shut and let me do the talkin’, if there’s any talkin’ to be done, which there ain’t.”
So . . . my “friends” turned out to be Wallace and Junior, the buzzards. When a guy gets down to buzzards, it means he’s gone through his list of friends and has pretty muchly hit the bottom. As Wallace had once said, “A buzzard’s only friend is his next meal.”
But I had to try. “Say, fellers, it’s quite a coincidence, us running into each other in a place like this. Tell you what we might do, Junior. If you feel like singing a couple of songs, I might just crawl up on the roof with you guys . . .”
“Oh b-b-boy, I’d l-like that!”
“You hush your mouth, son!”
“But you might say that this door is locked, see, which makes it hard for me to go in and out. Now, if you fellers could just . . .”
“You can save your breath, dog, we ain’t opening no doors. We come to have breakfast with you, and if there’s any singing to be done, we’ll handle it from up here, and you hush, Junior.”
“Uh, I d-d-didn’t s-say anything, P-P-Pa.”
“Well, hush up before you do, and then hush up again.”
“Thanks a lot, guys,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all your efforts and sacrifices.” Silence. “Because I don’t appreciate it. And one of these nights when you want to do some singing, you’ll be sorry.”
“He’s r-r-right, P-Pa.”
“Son, the world’s full of singers. What we need is a good wholesome breakfast.”
“B-b-but, P-Pa, if you a-a-ask m-me . . .”
“I didn’t, I haven’t, I never will ask you. Now hush.”
Well, that was that. I had given it my best shot and it hadn’t gone anywhere. I curled up on the floor and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. What came instead of sleep was a song. I fought it as long as I could, then I sat up and sang it.
Locked in a Jailhouse
I’m locked in a jailhouse with buzzards on the roof.
In chasing the chicken, I think I really goofed.
It might have gone unnoticed if the chicken hadn’t squawked,
Or if I’d bit her neck off, I doubt she would have talked.
These buzzards are omens that things have gone astray.
They’re waiting for their breakfast and they won’t go away.
From bird to bird I’ve tumbled from the heights into this pen.
With chicken it got started, with buzzards it will end.
I’m locked in the jailhouse with buzzards standing by
Like black feathered tombstones, they wait for me to die.
The sands of life are falling through the hour-glass of time
I cross my heart (and fingers), I didn’t do this crime!
In the silence I heard s
omeone up on the roof—sniffling, maybe even crying. Then Junior said, “Oh, g-gosh, that was a p-p-pretty s-s-s-song, but it sure was s-s-s-sad.”
“Thanks, Junior,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that my last song has gotten through to someone.”
“Y-y-yeah, I’ll b-b-bet.”
“And the saddest part is that I’m an innocent dog. I’ve been framed and railroaded and accused of terrible crimes I didn’t commit, which means that this could be your last opportunity to . . . uh, Junior, by any chance is your old man asleep?”
“W-w-w-well . . .”
“No he ain’t.” That was old man Wallace’s hacksaw voice. “I heard the song. It wasn’t sad, you ain’t innocent, and even if you are it don’t matter, because an innocent breakfast goes down just as good as one that’s guilty.”
Well, that was that. The sands of life were falling through the hourglass of time. Morning would come too soon for me.
Chapter Twelve: Breakfast Is Cancelled
It was around first light that I noticed the wood down at the bottom of the door. It was kind of punky—not exactly rotten, but not firm either. It could be chewed. Given a little time, a guy just might chew himself a hole big enough to crawl through.
I wasn’t sure I could chew my way out before Loper took me on that ride, but I didn’t have anything better to do than to try. I started chewing and spitting, and by the time I heard people stirring down at the house, I had a hole big enough to squeeze through.
I stuck out my head and looked in all directions. The coast was clear. I slithered out and took a deep breath of fresh air. By George, I had done it! Once again, I had cheated the grave-diggers and buzzards.
All at once the back door opened and Sally May walked out into the yard. I dropped down on my belly and didn’t move. She called Little Alfred. When he didn’t answer, she walked around to the side of the house. She looked this way and that, then her eyes fell on the yard gate. It was open.
Her jaw dropped and her hands went up to her face. Then she called for Loper, who was down at the corrals doing his morning chores. “The baby got out of the yard! He’s out in the pasture! Hurry, we’ve got to find him before . . . !”
Loper dropped his feed bucket and came running to the house. Well, I was sure sorry to hear that my little pal Alfred had wandered off into the pasture, but whether he knew it or not, he was giving me a perfect opportunity to escape.
I glanced up at the two sleeping buzzards on the roof of the outhouse. “So long, suckers. I hate to miss that big breakfast, but I got places to go.”
Wallace’s head shot up. “What the . . . you git yourself right back in that jailhouse. Junior, you fell asleep and let our breakfast get away, you wake up right this minute!”
Junior’s eyes popped open. “B-b-but, Pa . . .”
“You see what you’ve done! It don’t seem to matter how much I school you or how many sacrifices I make . . .”
I left the buzzards to fight it out. I turned my face to the north and headed out in a lope. I wasn’t sure just yet where I would go, but I knew I had to put some empty space between me and the ranch—the ranch I had served so faithfully for so many years. I hated to leave, especially with false charges hanging over my memory, but Loper hadn’t left me with too many choices.
I ran past the machine shed, past the mailbox, across the county road, and took aim for that big caprock north of headquarters. I knew a secret trail I could take to the top, and once on top, I would have a straight shot to the high and lonesome.
Halfway up the caprock I stopped to catch my breath. I looked down at the broad valley below me while a fresh morning wind tugged at my ears. I was going to miss that place. I wondered what Drover was doing. The little dunce was probably sound asleep on his gunnysack, completely unaware that Little Alfred had wandered away and needed his help.
Off to the south I could see Sally May driving along the creek in the pickup. Loper was a-horseback, riding through some thick willows and calling Alfred’s name. There was no sign of Drover. Or Alfred.
Well, that was too bad. I started up the last fifty feet of my climb to freedom. I hadn’t gone more than three steps when I caught sight of something down below. I squinted at the spot and watched. There it was again: something small, two-legged, and diapered. Little Alfred.
“Hey, you people are looking down along the creek, but he’s up here under the caprock!”
Well, that wasn’t my problem. I started climbing again. Then I saw something else that made me stop. A horned cow came out of a draw. She looked at Little Alfred and bawled and shook her horns. The boy saw her and started toward her.
“Say, little buddy, you better stay away from that old sookie. She’s got a new calf down there in those weeds and . . .”
That wasn’t my problem. I had places to go. I started climbing again and forced myself not to look down again. I was pretty close to the top, just a few steps away from freedom, when I heard the scream.
I stopped.
Did I dare look down?
No! I had to run, I had to get off the ranch before . . .
Another scream. I looked down. The cow had charged. Little Alfred was on the ground screaming, and the cow was working him over with those horns.
There’s a special bond between cowdogs and kids, don’t you know, and no cowdog worthy of the name ever stood by and watched an innocent kid get mauled by a cow. The hair stood up on my back and I heard a deep growl come rumbling out of my throat.
By the time I got there, I had myself worked up into a fury. I went to her backside and started biting her on the heels. That’s pretty risky. I mean, a guy can get his teeth rearranged if he’s not careful, but I had to do something to take the cow’s mind off Little Alfred.
She kicked at me, but I sank my teeth into her hocks. She bellered and whirled around and came after me with them horns. That’s just what I wanted: me and her, one-on-one, nose-to-nose, in hand-to-hand combat.
I held back and dodged her hooks until she committed herself, then I rushed in and put my famous Australian fang lock on her nose. Brother, she didn’t like that! She tossed her head and threw me around, but I held on. Finally she threw me off, but I was right back in the middle of her before she could get back to my little buddy.
I don’t know how long this went on, but the next thing I knew, Sally May pulled up in the pickup and Loper was there on his horse. He took the double of his rope and laid it across the cow’s back a couple of times, and I took a chunk out of her flank.
That was enough for her. She sold out and I barked her down the draw to her calf. If she hadn’t had that calf to take care of, I just might have put a big hurt on her. She lucked out.
I trotted back and joined the others. Little Alfred had quit crying by then but he was still scared. Sally May and Loper checked him over to see how badly he was hurt. He had some bruises and a scratch or two, but otherwise he appeared to be all right.
Sally May set him down on the ground and when he saw me, he came right over and threw his arms around my neck. “Goggie! Goggie!” He derned near cut my wind off there for a minute, but at that point in my career, I figgered I could stand it. I gave the boy a big juicy lick in the face.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Loper and Sally May watching us. Then a shadow passed over Loper’s face. “What should I do about that dog? I had planned . . . well, you know.”
Sally May took a deep breath and shook her head. “Surely we were mistaken.” Right! “Surely if we gave him one more chance, we wouldn’t regret it.” She came over and took my face in both her hands. “Hank, please leave my chickens alone.”
I whapped my tail against the ground and swore a solemn oath: “Sally May, even though I’m completely innocent of the charges against me, I’ll swear on my cowdog oath never to mess with your chickens again, even though I didn’t do it the first
time.”
There. That covered it. We had us a deal. She even reached down and scratched me behind the ears. She drew back her hand, smelled of her fingers, and made a terrible face. “What does this dog do that makes him smell so bad! And look at my child, hugging his neck. It’s a wonder that children survive.”
Loper smiled. “They make a pair, don’t they? Well, let’s go to the house.”
Little Alfred and I rode in the back of the pickup and Loper rode the horse back to the corrals. When we got to the place, Sally May went into the machine shed and gave me an extra coffee can of Co-op dog food. It wasn’t all that great, but I ate every bite. Didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
They went into the house and I drifted down to the gas tanks. As I predicted, Drover was curled up in a little white ball on his gunnysack. I woke him up.
“Wake up, son, the conquering hero has returned.”
“What . . . who?” He looked at me with sleepy eyes, and one ear stuck up higher than the other one. “Oh, it’s you. Gosh, Hank, I thought you were condemned.”
I scratched around on my gunnysack and flopped down. “Nope. Cleared of all charges, found perfectly innocent, and decorated for extraordinary bravery in combat—all of that while you slept your life away.”
“Gee, I guess I missed all the excitement.”
“I guess you did, and it wasn’t the first time.”
“No, it was at least the second time.”
“At least.”
“Well, did you ever figure out who killed the chickens?”
I rolled over on my back and melted into the gunnysack. “I have suspicions, of course, but let’s just say that in this instance, we’re going to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means good night.”
“Oh. Good night, Hank.”
I heard his voice, but I had already slipped into some wonderful twitching dreams about Beulah the Collie and bones and chasing . . . rabbits.
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie Page 7