Tags:
adventure,
Mystery,
Texas,
dog,
cowdog,
Hank the Cowdog,
John R. Erickson,
John Erickson,
ranching,
Hank,
Drover,
Pete,
Sally May
Chapter One: A Tempest in a Teabag
I tâs 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: âDroving, must you snork all that gutter-snipe? Plumberâs friend porkchop and horrifying bananas.â
âSnork murk rumple wrinkle skittle rickie tattoo.â
I couldnât help chuckling at that. I mean, to who or whom did he think he was speaking? âWhittle wheelbarrowing fodder-fiddleâs whicker-bill.â
âMugg wump tree trunk. Norking smurk whiffle feathers on Tuesday.â
âI donkey that. Horse hoof jellybean bonk woofer clock spring.â
âRubbard pillowfight?â
âOmelet.â
âYeah, but cornbread highway.â
âTell your spaghetti leaves to double-clutch the peanut butter.â
âBeanstalk bird nest horizontal chicken pox.â
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 didnât have time to listen to his foolishness.
I cracked my other eyelid and beamed him a look of purest steel. âDrover, if youâre going to talk to me, the least you can do is snork mirk the posthole diggers.â
His head came up. His eyes drifted open and moved around in, little circles. âWho ate the trees?â
âI canât answer that. The point is . . .â I blinked my eyes several times and slowly Droverâs face came into focus. Perhaps I had been asleeper than I thought. âThe point is that I donât know what youâre talking about.â
âOh. Then what about the spare tire?â
âI still donât know what youâre talking about.â
He gave his head a shake, stood up, and walked around in a circle. âGosh, I donât know what Iâve been talking about either.â
âThere, you see? Exactly my point. Youâve been talking nonsense, which makes me think, Drover, that youâve been asleep. Is it possible that youâre still asleep, even though weâre in the most dangerous part of the night?â
âWell, I . . . Iâm not sure. What is today?â
âToday is today, Drover, the very day in which we are living and breathing.
âOh. Well, if itâs already today, thereâs no need for us to wait around for it. We might as well take a little nap.â
I thought about that for a moment. âGood point. A little nap sometimes does wonders.â
âYeah, and itâll help us wake up later on.â
âExactly. Studies show that dogs who take naps are more likely to snork and murgle than scrambled tumbleweeds.â
My eyes drifted shut. My breathing fell into a deep and regular pattern. It was very quiet and peaceful. Then . . .
âHank, are you sleepy?â
âHuh?â
âI said, are you sleepy?â
âNo thanks, I couldnât hold another bite.â
ââCause Iâm not. All at once Iâm wide awake. Did you hear that sound?â
âChinese tunafish.â
âI heard it. I heard it with my own ears. Hank, are you asleep?â
âSaddle blanket salad poofly murgle porkchop.â
âHank, youâd better wake up. I just heard a sound and Iâm getting scared and my leg hurts.â
I opened my head and lifted my eyes . . . lifted my head and opened my eyes, I should
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