Oh brother. I was cooked. I staggered through the blizzard of floating feathers and screaming chickens and sat down beside the door. I knew that within minutes, the big door would open and I would find myself looking into the flaming eyes of . . . someone, Loper or Sally May.
Gulp.
With nothing better to do, I began rehearsing my story. “Sally May, I know this looks bad, a dog in the, uh, chicken house after lights-out. In fact, it looks very bad and no one is more aware of it than me. Frankly, I can’t remember ever being in a more awkward situation in my whole life. All I can tell you is . . . I have no idea how I got here. Honest. No kidding. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”
Would it sell? I didn’t have long to wait. Minutes later, the hinges on the big door squeaked, sending stabs of terror down my backbone. The door swung open and I turned my gaze toward . . .
Holy smokes, you won’t believe this. It wasn’t Sally May, the most dreaded ranch wife in Ochiltree County, and it wasn’t even her husband. It was my very best pal in the whole world . . . Little Alfred! He hadn’t gone to bed yet!
“Hankie, what are you doing in here?”
I flew into his arms with a rush of gratitude. Oh, happy day! Oh, sweet salvation! Alfred would never believe all the terrible lies and rumors about me. He would understand that I had always wanted to be a good dog and that . . . well, strange things happen in this world.
I raised up on my back legs and began licking every square inch of his face, neck, and ears. The boy had earned it and I held nothing back. But then my heart was frozen by a man’s voice in the distance.
“Alfred? Son, what is it?”
Yipes, it was Loper, coming out the yard gate! I gave the boy an urgent look that said, “Alfred, I think I can explain everything . . . later. Right now, I’d better get out of here. Thanks, pal!”
I went straight into Turbo Five and vanished into the night . . . into the machine shed, actually. There, I watched as Loper’s flashlight moved up the hill and across the gravel drive.
“Alfred? What got the chickens stirred up?”
The boy walked toward his dad. “Well . . . there was something in the chicken house.”
“An animal?”
“Uh-huh.”
I held my breath. I knew the lad didn’t want to rat on me, but his dad pushed for more details. “A skunk? A coon?”
The boy clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the moon. “Well . . . it was awful dark, Dad. Maybe it was a . . . a tiger.”
A tiger, yes! Great answer. We could do a lot with that. A wild tiger had broken out of its cage . . . in a traveling carnival . . . yes, a carnival that had stopped for a few days in Twitchell. In the middle of the night, this terrible beast had ripped the bars out of its cage and . . .
Uh-oh. Loper was walking toward the chicken house, shining his light on the ground. Oops. Remember what we said about the dry weather? Dry weather makes dust and dust makes tracks. Gulp.
Loper studied the ground for a long time, then . . . “Son, did you find a dog in the chicken house?”
The boy lowered his eyes and nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Which dog? Never mind, I already know.” He opened the chicken house door and shined his light inside. “Well, I don’t see any blood. He must have botched the job.”
“Dad, maybe he got lonesome.”
“Ha ha. I’ll bet that was it.” Loper closed the chicken house door and glanced around. He looked very serious. “Hank! Come here!”
A cold shiver went down my spine. Yipes, they had put out a warrant for my arrest. Would I step out into the glare of the searchlights and take my punishment? That would have been the honorable course of action, the brave and noble thing to do. I had always wanted to be brave and noble, right? So . . .
Chapter Eight: I Resign in Disgrace
Ididn’t move. Why? Well, because . . . hey look, I hadn’t actually done anything wrong. The worst crime they could come up with was that I had been caught in the chicken house. A dog has to be somewhere, right? If I hadn’t been in the chicken house, I would have been somewhere else and if I’d been somewhere else, I might have done something really bad.
Do you see where the Path of Logic has taken us? It has given its pure and simple verdict: I had gone into the chicken house to avoid being somewhere even worse. Hencely, since no crime had actually occurred, I had done exactly the right thing.
Could I explain this to Loper through tail wags and facial expressions? Not likely, and he wouldn’t accept it anyway. You know these people, always suspicious and thinking the worst of their dogs. They just don’t understand. Maybe they never will.
So I’m sure you’ll agree that my best course of action was to lay low and keep mum, and you’ll be proud to know that I did. You’ll be even prouder to know that I moved deeper into the darkness of the machine shed, turned my back on the scene outside, and covered my ears with my paws, sparing myself the, uh, tension and so forth of being screeched at.
No ordinary dog could have resolved this awkward situation with such wisdom and grace. Just look at the bottom line: no chickens had been harmed, no blood had been spilled, and I didn’t have to listen to a small-minded rancher fuming and bellowing.
I guess Loper finally decided that he looked ridiculous, standing out there in his bathrobe and yelling insults at an innocent dog. When I uncovered my ears fifteen minutes later, he and Alfred had gone back inside. I crept to the crack between the big sliding doors and peered outside. Nothing remained of the ugly incident but the scars and memories.
Oh yes, it had left scars on my Inner Bean. I mean, we dogs have feelings too, tender emotions that are as fragile as the petals of a flower, and when we’re accused of terrible crimes and get yelled at by the people we’ve tried so hard to please . . . I don’t know, it causes damage. Sometimes we can bounce back and sometimes we can’t.
You know what hurt the most? I had offered the olive pit of friendship to Pete, and he had stabbed me in the back and left me for crow bait. What a louse! What a bum!
As I’ve said many times before, never trust a cat. Too bad I can’t take my own advice, but the reason is that I’m too tender-hearted and trusting. I keep hoping that the little snot will reform and become an honest citizen of the ranch, but he keeps breaking my heart.
Pretty sad, huh? I agree.
Oh, one last thing about Pete and then we’ll go on to a more cheerful topic. If he hadn’t offered to help on that chicken house deal, I never would have gone through with it. Honest. I’m pretty sure that I never would have attempted it on my own, so you’ll be glad to know that at least half the blame must fall upon Pete.
Or to come at it from a different angle, he had been the cause of the WHOLE SHAMEFUL INCIDENT. I’m sure you’ll agree. Thanks.
Well, I was in the midst of these deep and heavy thoughts when a voice in the dark scared the living bejeebers out of me. “Oh, hi. What are you doing in here?”
I’m sorry to report that my mind just cratered, collapsed. I mean, all the tension of the evening sent my circuits into Overload. I saw colored checkers and circles of butterflies, then a folks came into fracas . . . a face came into focus, let us say. The face wore a silly grin and after a moment, I realized that I was staring into the eyes of . . . “Drover? Is that you?”
“Yeah. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me. On your best day, you couldn’t scare a flea on a grandpa’s knee.”
“How come your eyeballs are rolling around?”
“My eyeballs aren’t . . . where am I?”
“Well, I think we’re in the machine shed.”
“Yes, of course. It’s all coming back. I was riding on a tour bus and . . .” I looked closer at the face before me. “You’re Drover, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me, just plain old Drover.”
I paced a few feet away and tried to clear the smoke and mirrors from my mind. “Drover, we seem to be inside the machine shed.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What are we doing here?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Of course I want to know!”
There was a moment of throbbing silence. “Well, I think you got caught in the chicken house.”
Those words went through me like a wooden nickel and suddenly the memories came crashing down upon my head. I felt weak and faint. I tottered a few steps away and collapsed on the floor. “You’re right. I know you’re right, but why did you have to tell me at a time like this?”
“Well, ’cause you asked at a time like this . . . I guess.”
“I didn’t know what I was asking. I’d almost forgotten the whole shabby episode. Now you’ve brought it up again and . . .” I staggered to my feet. “Drover, I’m ruined, and you know what really hurts? Loper thinks I went in there to eat one of Sally May’s chickens. It breaks my heart.”
“Yeah, but it’s true.”
I glared at the runt. “Drover, I didn’t eat a chicken. They can’t hang me for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“Want to bet?”
“What?”
“I said . . . boy, this is sad.”
“It’s worse than sad, Drover, it’s a complete disaster. By morning, the news will be all over the ranch. They’ll be calling for my resignation. My reputation will be in shambles.”
“Yeah, and it wasn’t too great to begin with.”
“Good point. I mean, my relationship with Sally May has been pretty shaky, and this . . . this will push it over the edge. She’ll never believe that her own precious kitty was the cause of the entire incident.”
“Pete was?” His mouth bloomed into a silly grin.
“Why are you grinning?”
“Oh nothing. I saw Pete a while ago and he was laughing his head off. He laughed so hard, he fell out of the tree.”
“Good. I hope he broke his cheating little neck.” I glanced around the shed. “Well, I have only one course of action left.”
“Yeah, let’s beat him up.”
“It’s not that simple, Drover. Beating up the cat would be fun, but it would solve nothing. This crisis has gotten completely out of control.”
“Gosh, you mean . . .”
“Yes. I must resign my position as Head of Ranch Security and Fire Safety, and leave the ranch in disgrace. They don’t want me anymore, Drover, so I must leave.”
He blinked his eyes in disbelief. “Yeah, but who’ll run the ranch?”
“I don’t know. You, Pete, someone. I’ve tried to solve everyone’s problems, but this one is out of my hands.”
I watched as he collapsed on the cement floor, kicked all four legs, and moaned. “Help, murder, mayday! Oh, my leg! You can’t do this to me!”
The prospect that he might have to grow up and do something constructive had sent him into convulsions. He was a funny little mutt. I would miss him.
I stepped over his potsrate body and walked outside. The moon and stars had vanished behind a curtain of clouds and a restless wind had begun to moan out of the northwest. Flashes of dry lightning twinkled behind the clouds.
Drover dragged himself out the door. “Will you ever come back?”
“We don’t have an answer to that, son. I’ll go into lonely exile and become a dog without a home. If, at some future date, the people around here realize they’ve made a dreadful mistake, maybe I’ll return. But don’t count on that.” I gave him one last pat on the shoulder. “Try to be strong. Good-bye.”
Before either of us could break down in tears, I rushed out into the gloomy darkness of the dark and gloomy night. Pretty sad, huh? You bet. I mean, this was the ranch I had loved and protected and given the best years of my life, and now . . . the happy days were gone forever: sleeping beside the stove at Slim’s house, fishing with Little Alfred, barking at the mailman, waiting at the yard gate for Scrap Time.
I’d lost it all . . . over a bunch of brainless chickens! It wasn’t fair. I mean, a guy goes through years and years without ever thinking of chicken dinners, and then one day, for just a few fevered hours, he can’t get it out of his mind and . . . poof! It’s all gone, all the good decisions, all the courageous actions, all the awards and medals and citations for meriticular service . . . meritorial . . . metatarsal . . . meteorological . . .
Phooey. Years of brave and loyal service go down the sewer, and nobody remembers all the days that he watched plump chickens parading around and he didn’t try to eat them.
It never should have happened, but it did. And you know what else?
It was my own fault.
There, I’ve said it! I hate admitting a mistake but this time I can’t avoid it. I’d had the best job in the whole country and I’d blown it away. How dumb can a dog be? Pretty dumb.
With Drover’s moans and sniffles in my ears, I turned toward the canyons north of ranch headquarters and walked away from everything that was dear to me. I didn’t dare to stop or look back. Overhead, lightning crackled in ugly gray clouds, but I hardly noticed.
I must have walked a couple of miles when I came to the top of a small hill. There, I stopped to rest and, well, to cast one last look at the ranch I had loved so . . . holy smokes, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t alone on that hill! Peering into the darkness, I saw the vague outlines of two . . . somethings.
Needles of fear pricked the back of my neck and I heard a gasp of air rushing into my chest. Things had just gone from worse to awful. Can you guess who that might have been? Think of the two guys in the whole world that you would never want to meet in the dead of night.
Yes, unless I was badly mistaken, I had just blundered into a dangerous and deadly encounter with the notorious cannibal brothers, Rip and Snort.
Chapter Nine: Strangers in the Night
My mouth had become as dry as a dirty sock and I wasn’t sure I could speak, yet I had to say something. Let’s face it. With Rip and Snort, a guy had no chance of fighting his way out of a mess, or even running away. They were tougher than boot leather, faster than greased lightning, and they had no sense of humor. None.
Could I talk my way out of this deal? I had to try. I didn’t have time to prepare one of my better speeches, but I had to say something. I swallowed the lump in my throat and launched into my presentation.
“Evening, guys. Hey, this is my lucky night, running into you two, huh?” No response. “Okay, I can guess what you’re thinking. You probably think it was pretty foolish of me to leave ranch headquarters in the middle of the night. Am I getting close?”
Not a sound, not even a grunt to acknowledge my presence. Well, that wasn’t exactly a surprise. I mean, Rip and Snort weren’t famous for their social skills. I plunged on.
“Not talking? That’s fine, no problem. I’ll do the talking and you guys can just listen, and we’ll all come away from the experience . . . uh . . . with a deeper understanding of our . . . okay, about me being out here, alone and unprotected, I agree: from a certain perspective, it appears to be a reckless course of action. We all agree on that, right?”
Not a word.
“So that leaves us with what may turn out to be the . . . the most puzzling question of the entire week: gosh, why would a smart dog like me venture out into the pasture in the dark of night, and why would he walk right into the middle of a couple of possibly unfriendly coyotes?
“Ha ha. Actually, we have two questions there, not just one, and, well, that means we’ll be looking for two answers, right? I mean, every question needs an answer, right? Ha ha.” Silence. “Okay, guys, may I speak frankly here? Your silence is causing me a certain amount of . . . how shall I say this? Your silence is making me nervous. I’m trying my very best to answer all your questions, but I must tell you
that it’s hard when you just sit there like a couple of rocks.”
At last a harsh hacksaw voice cut through the silence. “Junior, will you tell that dog to shut his big yap? A guy can’t hardly think with him running his mouth, much less take care of his business.”
Then, another voice said, “Uh-uh, okay, P-pa. H-h-hi, d-d-doggie. My p-pa w-wonders if y-you’d m-m-mind h-h-holding down the n-n-noise a l-little bit, little bit.”
I almost fainted with relief. Do you see the meaning of this? Those voices hadn’t come from Rip and Snort, but from a couple of buzzards named Wallace and Junior!
Holy smokes, what a piece of good luck! I mean, hanging out with buzzards can damage your reputation, but on a dark night in the wilderness, I’ll take buzzards every time over a couple of hungry cannibals.
This discovery left me feeling so relieved, I ran to the buzzards, threw my arms around the smaller of the two, and pulled him into a warm embrace. “Wallace, I never thought I’d be glad to see you again but, by George, you’ve made my heart sing tonight.”
He fought against my hug and pushed me away. “Hyah, get away from me, unhand me, dog! If your heart wants to sing, take it somewheres else and leave the rest of us alone!”
“Well, gee whiz, I was just trying to be friendly.”
“Oh yeah? Well, be friendly to somebody who wants it, and that ain’t me.” He smoothed down his ruffled feathers and waddled a few steps away.
I turned to Junior. “What’s eating him?”
“Oh, that’s j-j-just P-p-pa. H-he gets c-c-cranky s-sometimes.”
Wallace yelled, “Yes, and tell him why, son. Tell him about how our business is down thirty percent this month and we ain’t had enough grub to keep a grasshopper alive. An empty stomach maketh the heart grow cranky, dog, and if that don’t suit you, then go back to wherever you came from and sit on a tack!”
The Case of the Blazing Sky Page 5