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

that it promotes tornado safety.”
    I rose from my gunnysack bed and took a big stretch. It appeared that my rest time was over. I began pacing in front of Young Beethoven. My mind works better when I pace, don’t you see.
    â€œOkay, Drover, you asked for my opinion and I’ll give it. Number One, the song wasn’t as silly as I had expected. But, Number Two, it was silly enough. Because, Number Three, we have never had a tornado on this ranch. Hence, Number Four, what you have created—if you actually wrote it—what you have there is a tempest in a teabag.”
    He gave me his patented blank stare. “What does that mean?”
    â€œIt means, Drover, that you’ve written a song without a deep underlying purpose.” Suddenly I stopped pacing and whirled around to face him. “If we don’t have tornadoes, Drover, we don’t need a song that promotes tornado safety.”
    â€œGee, I never thought of that.”
    I gave the little mutt a pat on the back. “But you tried, Drover, that’s the important thing. There’s an old saying that fits this situation: ‘Better to try and do something really stupid than not to try at all.’”
    â€œThere’s that sound again.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œI heard a sound, kind of like . . . thunder, distant thunder.”
    I lifted my eyes to the sky above and studied the weather patterns and so forth. “Drover, I see stars.”
    â€œYeah, but . . .”
    â€œLet me finish. Stars twinkle but they have never been known to produce thunder.”
    â€œYeah but . . .”
    â€œHence, it follows from simple logic that . . .” KA-BOOM! “. . . yikes, that we’re being attacked by an enormous thunderstorm . . . holy smokes, look at the lightning in that cloud!”

    â€œYeah, and I’m scared of storms!”
    â€œBattle Stations, Drover, and prepare to defend the ranch!”
    â€œOh, my leg!”
    And with that, we went streaking up the caliche hill behind the house and prepared to do battle with one of the most dangerous enormous storms I’d encountered in my whole career.
    And what made it even worse was that I hadn’t slept a wink in days. No kidding.

Chapter Two: The Scrambled Egg Mystery

    D id I say that we went streaking up the hill?
    I went streaking up the hill. I ran. I threw my entire heart and soul into the effort. Drover, on the other hand, limped and lollygagged, cried and complained every step of the way.
    But we did manage to establish a position near the yard gate. There, I halted the column and prepared our defense of the ranch.
    Most of the time, our spring storms track from the southwest to the northeast, and they usually occur in the late afternoon. In other words, a guy can see them building up and can prepare for them.
    This one was different. It was one of those sneaky storms that build up after dark and come rolling in after everyone has gone to bed.
    The first sign of trouble is the twinkle of distant lightning in the distance. Then the wind will rise, and most generally it’s a moist wind. Then a guy will begin to hear grumbles of thunder, and by that time, fellers, you’d better be in Battle Stations.
    We were. We’d made it just in time. I marched back and forth in front of the troops.
    â€œAll right, men, we’ve seen the enemy. At first glance, he appears to be huge and awesome, but I want to remind you that he puts on his pants just the way we do. Any questions?”
    Drover raised his paw. “If we don’t wear pants, can we go hide in the machine shed?”
    â€œNo. The pants business was just a figure of speech, Drover, and I’d be grateful if you’d try to be more serious.”
    â€œI am serious. I’m seriously scared of storms.”
    â€œYes, and that’s one of your problems. You’re too serious about everything. You have no sense of humor. Any more questions?”