The Case of the Swirling Killer Tornado by John R. Erickson

Chapter One: A Tempest in a Teabag

    I t’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. It was June, as I recall, the middle of June. I was under the gas tanks, sleeping on my gunnysack bed.
    Or resting my eyes, would be closer to the truth. See, it was almost midnight and I am never asleep at that hour. Never. The Head of Ranch Security is always wide awake, alert, and on night patrol during the deep, dark hours of the night.
    I was resting mine eyes. Drover, on the other hand, was totally knocked out: snoring, grunting, wheezing, jerking, twitching, fluttering his eyelids, squeaking, and doing all the other things he does in his sleep.
    He was starting to get on my nerves. I cracked one eyelid and addressed him in a firm term of voice: “Droving, must you snork all that gutter-snipe? Plumber’s friend porkchop and horrifying bananas.”
    â€œSnork murk rumple wrinkle skittle rickie tattoo.”
    I couldn’t help chuckling at that. I mean, to who or whom did he think he was speaking? “Whittle wheelbarrowing fodder-fiddle’s whicker-bill.”

    â€œMugg wump tree trunk. Norking smurk whiffle feathers on Tuesday.”
    â€œI donkey that. Horse hoof jellybean bonk woofer clock spring.”
    â€œRubbard pillowfight?”
    â€œOmelet.”
    â€œYeah, but cornbread highway.”
    â€œTell your spaghetti leaves to double-clutch the peanut butter.”
    â€œBeanstalk bird nest horizontal chicken pox.”
    All at once it occurred to me that this conversation was going nowhere. Drover was making very little sense and I was a busy dog. I didn’t have time to listen to his foolishness.
    I cracked my other eyelid and beamed him a look of purest steel. “Drover, if you’re going to talk to me, the least you can do is snork mirk the posthole diggers.”
    His head came up. His eyes drifted open and moved around in, little circles. “Who ate the trees?”
    â€œI can’t answer that. The point is . . .” I blinked my eyes several times and slowly Drover’s face came into focus. Perhaps I had been asleeper than I thought. “The point is that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œOh. Then what about the spare tire?”
    â€œI still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    He gave his head a shake, stood up, and walked around in a circle. “Gosh, I don’t know what I’ve been talking about either.”
    â€œThere, you see? Exactly my point. You’ve been talking nonsense, which makes me think, Drover, that you’ve been asleep. Is it possible that you’re still asleep, even though we’re in the most dangerous part of the night?”
    â€œWell, I . . . I’m not sure. What is today?”
    â€œToday is today, Drover, the very day in which we are living and breathing.
    â€œOh. Well, if it’s already today, there’s no need for us to wait around for it. We might as well take a little nap.”
    I thought about that for a moment. “Good point. A little nap sometimes does wonders.”
    â€œYeah, and it’ll help us wake up later on.”
    â€œExactly. Studies show that dogs who take naps are more likely to snork and murgle than scrambled tumbleweeds.”
    My eyes drifted shut. My breathing fell into a deep and regular pattern. It was very quiet and peaceful. Then . . .
    â€œHank, are you sleepy?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œI said, are you sleepy?”
    â€œNo thanks, I couldn’t hold another bite.”
    â€œâ€™Cause I’m not. All at once I’m wide awake. Did you hear that sound?”
    â€œChinese tunafish.”
    â€œI heard it. I heard it with my own ears. Hank, are you asleep?”
    â€œSaddle blanket salad poofly murgle porkchop.”
    â€œHank, you’d better wake up. I just heard a sound and I’m getting scared and my leg hurts.”
    I opened my head and lifted my eyes . . . lifted my head and opened my eyes, I should