Chapter Seven: A Cow Swallowed a Bone

When we’re called out on Traffic, we’re never sure whether we’ll encounter trespassers or Friendlies, and we have to assume the worst until we can get a positive ID. We treat them all the same. We rush to the scene with Sirens and Lights, and bark until Data Control gives us the order to stand down.

In this case, it came pretty quickly. The pickup matched our profiles of a Friendly and the driver turned out to be…well, the guy who owned the ranch, Loper. I switched off Sirens and Lights and rushed around to the left side of the vehicle to greet him the moment his boots touched the ground.

You probably think that my presence filled his heart with joy, and that he greeted me with smiles, kind words, and pats on the head. Ha. Not only did he not smile or speak, I don’t think he even saw me. He wore a deep scowl and his eyes were locked on Slim, who sat on the bucket with one leg thrown over the other knee, and was cleaning his fingernails.

Loper walked toward him. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“I’m waiting for the oil to drain out of the crankcase.”

“How many days is that going to take?”

Slim sighed and looked up. “Loper, dirty motor oil don’t ask my opinion of how fast it ought to drain. It moves slow.”

“Well, we picked the right man for the job.”

“Would it make you feel better if I stood up and led cheers to make it run faster?”

Loper said nothing, just stared. Slim stood up and…hang on, this is going to sound weird…he started doing a little dance, like a cheerleader at a football game.

“Lazy oil, run run run!

Lazy oil, fun fun fun.

Gush and rush like falling rain,

Faster, faster, down the drain!”

Loper shook his head and gazed off into the distance. “Am I paying you wages to do this stuff?”

“That’s right, and it’s a bargain too. I ain’t charging you one penny extra for the cheerleading. It’s all part of the package.”

“Lord, have mercy.”

“Loper, what’s at the root of all this is that you don’t trust gravity. See, oil obeys the Law of Gravity. It was all worked out years ago by a famous scientist, Sir Isaac Neutron.”

“No wonder you flunked the ninth grade.”

“And what he said was that oil drains out of a crankcase at a certain rate. It don’t change from one day to the next, and it don’t care what you think.”

“Get in the pickup, we’ve got a job to do.”

“What did you tear up this time?”

“We’ve got a cow with a bone in her throat.”

Slim gave that some thought. “Well, we’d better get the horses up.”

“Don’t have time for that. I’m supposed to meet Bobby Barnett in town at three. I’m hoping we can lease his wheat pasture.”

“Loper…”

“Hurry up, let’s get this over with.”

Loper headed for the pickup. Slim followed, muttering under his breath. When he opened the door on the passenger side, guess who was right there, coiled like a loaded spring and ready to leap into the cab. Me.

Hey, I knew they would need my help, and…well, Loper had said something about a bone, right? It just happened that I was the ranch’s leading expert on bones. I leaped inside and claimed my usual spot beside the…

“Move, dog.”

…shotgun-side window, only Slim hogged the spot and I had to move over to the middle of the seat. He climbed inside and spoke to the driver. “Did you want to take the dog?”

Loper’s eyes flicked from me to Slim. “Sure, why not? Sometimes I get to craving intelligent company.”

Slim cackled a laugh. “Loper, I’ll swan, you beat anything I ever saw.”

Off we went. We turned right at the mailbox, then took a feed trail that led to the north pastures. After a period of silence, Slim said, “How’d she get a bone in her throat?”

“I guess she needed some calcium and started chewing on a bone.”

“Put out some mineral blocks.”

“We’ll put out mineral blocks, but she’s still got a bone in her throat.”

Slim nodded. “Well, what’s your plan? The last time I checked, most cows won’t stand still while you stick an arm down their guzzle to pull out a bone.”

“We’ll pitch a rope on her and tie her to the pickup.”

“A grown cow? Loper, I’ve been to this rodeo before and what I remember is a wreck.”

“She’s weak. We can do it, trust me.”

“We should have brought horses.”

“We won’t need horses.”

On and on we drove over rough pasture roads, until finally we came to that old wooden windmill in the northwest pasture. Up ahead, I could see a cow standing alone beside the stock tank—actually between the stock tank and the overflow pond.

What is an overflow pond? I’m glad you asked. It’s a small body of water, maybe fifty feet across, that catches the overflow water when the stock tank gets full.

It was easy to see that we had a problem here. When you find a cow standing off to herself, away from the other cattle, you can almost bet that something isn’t right. Cows are herd animals. They stay with the bunch and don’t like being alone.

That was my first clue in this case. The second clue came right on top of the first one: she looked thin and poor. For several days, she hadn’t been able to eat or drink. Her flanks had a sunken appearance, which made her hip bones stick out, and her hair looked rough.

She was in sad shape, and if we didn’t get that bone out of her throat, she would become coyote bait.

Wait, hold everything. Hadn’t I been working a case that involved coyotes? I felt almost sure that I had, but somehow the details escaped me. I glanced over the notes and messages that were pinned to the bulletin board of my mind. I found several notes, but none that related to coyotes.

You want to take a peek at some of those messages? I can tell you that very few people or dogs have ever been invited to view the Security Division’s bulletin board. A lot of those messages are highly classified, don’t you know. In other words, this is a rare privilege. I probably shouldn’t go public with this information, but maybe it won’t hurt anything.

Okay, we’ll start up here in the upper left hand corner and work our way down. You ready?

“Bark at mailman 10:00.”

“Saturday: buried a bone in garden.”

“Check for coons in feed barn.”

“Cat made insulting remark.”

“J.T. Cluck ate a roofing nail, got bad heartburn.”

“Cat needs humbling.”

“Talk to Little Alfred about sharing his cookies.”

“Don’t lick Sally May on the ankles. She hates it.”

“Dreamed about Beulah. Wow.”

“Dog bowl is empty.”

“Saw bobcat tracks in corrals.”

“Mailman came armed with squirt gun loaded with soapy water, shot me twice, what a rat. Tomorrow: double barking.”

“Take bath, Emerald Pond.”

“Don’t jump on skunks. DO NOT jump on skunks!”

“Just finished patrol of chicken house, dying for a chicken dinner.”

So there you are, a little glimpse at some of the messages that come through our office on a normal day. Oh, that last message, the one about the chicken? Ha ha. I don’t know who wrote it, but it has no place on the Security Division’s official bulletin board. Let’s wad it up and throw it in the trash.

There, that’s done.

Shameful. Outrageous. Whoever wrote that note will be punished.

Where were we? Oh yes, coyotes. As you can see, I had left myself no notes or messages about coyotes, so…I don’t know where that leaves us. Maybe we should get back to the story.

Okay, this dunce of a cow had swallowed a bone and had gotten it hung in her throat, and if we didn’t do something to remove it, she would wither away and drop dead.

That’s probably what the old hag deserved. I mean, how dumb do you have to be to swallow a bone? But that’s the kind of work we do around here, saving the lives of dingbat cows that are dumber than dirt.

Loper shut off the pickup motor and we watched the cow for a long time. Slim stroked his chin with one finger. Both men seemed lost in thought about the big project that faced us. As you will see, whatever thinking they did wasn’t enough. Keep reading.