The Mopwater Files by John R. Erickson Page A

jacked myself up, staggered five steps to the west, and collapsed.
    Whew! I was exhausted, but at least I wasn’t roasting. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. That’s what I needed. Sleep. About two weeks of solid sleep.
    Unfortunately, Slim the Cowboy came along just then. I cracked one eye but didn’t lift my head. Too exhausted. Slim was a pretty good fellow, but not so good that I could afford to squander a lot of energy saying hello. Not in this heat.
    He stopped in the same piece of shade that I was occupying. He pulled a bandanna out of his hip pocket and mopped his face.
    â€œBoy, it’s hot. The weather report’s prescribing another day over a hundred. This’ll make about five days in a row.”
    Yes, I was aware of that.
    â€œIt kind of saps a guy of energy, don’t it, Hankie?”
    Right.
    â€œAnd you’re just going to lay there in the shade, aren’t you?”
    Yep.
    â€œYou’re not even going to jump up and wag your tail and tell me how wonderful I am, are you?”
    Nope.
    â€œIt kind of hurts my feelings, Hankie.”
    Life is hard.
    â€œWell, I wish I could just lay around in the shade, but some of us have to work for a living.”
    That was a cheap shot. For his information, I not only had a job but a very important job. It just happened that . . . well, I had run out of energy and ambition.
    You won’t believe this. He flopped down on the gravel drive and pillowed his head on my rib cage. Had I invited him to . . . urg . . . put his sweaty head in the middle of my poor exhausted body? No. I considered taking countermeasures but . . . too much trouble.
    â€œAhhh! That’s better, but you’re awful bony for a pillow.”
    Well, if he didn’t like my bones, he could go find a jellyfish. And speaking of bones, his head wasn’t any featherbed. It was solid bone and it was heavy and hot and I didn’t need it on my rib cage, thank you.
    â€œBoy, this heat is terrible. It didn’t used to bother me, but it sure does now. I’ve got thirty-seven jobs to do and enough energy for about three of ’em.”
    Me too.
    â€œToo many birthdays, Hank. Don’t you reckon that’s the main problem?”
    I had no opinion on that.
    At last he raised up to a sitting position. He looked down at me and grinned. I summoned up the energy to whap my tail on the ground three times. Whew!
    â€œWell, this has been fun, Hankie, but I’d better go pack them wheel bearings on the stock trailer. I can already tell that you ain’t going to do it.”
    Correcto.
    With much grunting and muttering, he pushed himself up and shuffled off to the machine shed.
    At last, peace and quiet. I closed my eyes and began floating out on the sea of snoik morkus skittlebomb . . .
    Huh? My eyes popped open. Someone had moved my shade again! Was this some kind of joke? What was the deal? Every time I got comfortable, some idiot . . .
    I summoned my last reserves of energy and . . . Drover? There he was in front of me, giving me his usual foolish grin.
    â€œHi Hank. What you doing?”
    â€œWhat I’m doing is trying to sleep, Drover, and restore my precious bodily fluids, but some maniac keeps moving my shade around. Did you see anybody messing with my shade?”
    â€œWell, let me think here. I saw Slim.”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t him. I had him under constant surveillance.”
    â€œBoy, that’s a big word.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œI wonder what it means.”
    I dragged myself back into the shade and flopped down. “I don’t know what it means. I don’t have the energy to explain it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
    â€œOh, that’s okay. Sure is hot, isn’t it?”
    I glared ice picks at him. “Yes it is, Drover, so why are you so chirpy?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. I’ve been watching the chickens chase grasshoppers.”
    â€œGreat.”
    â€œYou ever