Chapter Seven: The Fling Begins
It’s too bad we can’t reveal any more about The Fling. It turned into quite an adventure, and I had several narrow escapes and close calls.
But we can’t release any more details to the general public. You see, it contains certain . . . how can I say this without revealing too much? It contains certain information that could . . . uh . . . tarnish, shall we say, the reputations of several . . .
Might as well just blurt it out. Hang on, this might shock you.
See, I’ve always tried to be a good dog. No kidding. Since I was just a little shaver, I’ve tried to be a good dog and a good example to other dogs and little children. It’s part of being a cowdog. It comes with the job of being Head of Ranch Security.
I have a reputation to protect. When the little children hear the name Hank the Cowdog, they naturally think of, well, courage and bravery, intelligence, good looks, dedication to duty, good looks, superior mental ability, and devilish good looks.
What they never think of when they hear my name is . . . well, naughty behavior. It’s just not a part of my nature, and that’s why I was so shocked and impaled when Ralph tried to lead me down the path of naughtiness.
Appalled, not impaled. Impaled means . . . I don’t know what it means.
How foolish of him! How careless and insensitive! Why, the very idea . . . but you know, when he brought up the business of the steak . . . well, that kind of changed the deal.
I mean, what could be naughty about eating a steak? Steaks are wholesome and nourishing. Anything wholesome and nourishing can’t possibly be unwholesome or unnourishing . . . or naughty. And that’s when I knew, in my most secret heart of hearts, that Ralph was really a wonderful guy and a model of good behavior. Yes, he was a little boring, and yes, he was just a jailhouse mutt, but down deep, he was the kind of dog you’d want your kids to own and play with.
And I realized that he was the kind of dog I, uh, needed to associate with—because of his immuckable standards of conduct and because of his passionate interest in . . . well, nutrition and wholesome dietary so forths.
And besides that, he needed a friend to keep him out of trouble, just in case things got out of control on The Fling. I knew he would be safe with the Head of Ranch Security, so you see, there was a Higher Motive in my decision to . . .
This is going so well that we might declassify the rest of the story. What do you think? Should we risk it?
Tell you what, if you’ll promise to ignore any parts of the story that might, uh, cast doubts on my reputation, we might risk letting you take a peek. But you have to promise.
Okay. The Fling began innocently enough, with Ralph saying something about food . . . steak, actually, and you know where I stand on the issue of steak. I’m 100 percent in favor of steaks. I love ’em and have very few opportunities to eat ’em.
They don’t often feed us steak at the ranch, you know. The people there are kind of cheap. Oh, they’ll sure feed steak to guests who come in for a few hours’ visit, but do you think they’ll waste a steak on their own Head of Ranch Security, the guy who’s out there in the dark protecting their ranch? Oh no. That would cost too much and drive the whole operation into bankrubble.
So they give us Co-op dog food—tasteless dry kernels of . . . something. Sawdust, perhaps, and stale grease. Is that fair? Is that just? No, it’s not fair at all, but I can’t allow myself to get worked up over the injustice in the world, so let’s just skip it. I’ll say no more about it.
Yes I will. I want the record to show that my lust for beefsteak was caused by the owners of my ranch, and their stingy, penny-pinching No Steak Policy toward dogs. If it hadn’t been for that, I would never have been lured into The Fling.
Off we went on our little romp through town. I, being a trusting soul, followed my pal Ralph down the street. He was in high spirits.
That seems odd, doesn’t it? A basset hound in high spirits. I mean, they always look so sad and mournful, but old Ralph was actually wearing a grin. This business of The Fling appeared to be a big deal to him. After spending months cooped up at the pound, he was now loose in the world. We were both in high spirits, and it seemed a perfect time to knock out a little song about our adventure. Would you like to hear it? Here’s how it went.
The Fling Song
Hank
Hey, Ralph, I’ve got a question I must pose. (I must pose)
Before today, I would describe you as morose. (Mo-rose)
And maybe just a little boring
Now I see your mood is soaring,
I don’t get it, pal, you’re blooming like a rose. (Like a rose)
Ralph
Well, I’m here to tell you something ’bout a hound, (’bout a hound)
Even one who makes his living in the pound. (In the pound)
You may think my life is wretched
Just because my face suggests it,
But that changes when old Ralphie hits the town. (Hits the town)
On a fling (on a fling), on a fling (on a fling)
You can do almost anything.
If you have a naughty thought
Or some act you shouldn’t ought,
The time to do it’s when you go out on a fling.
Hank
I’ll be derned, Ralph, this is sounding interesting. (Interesting)
And I think I just might get into the swing. (In the swing)
Eating steak sounds mighty fine,
I just wonder who is buyin’.
Or is everything provided on a fling? (On a fling)
Ralph
Yup, you bet, them yummy steaks are free and clear. (Free and clear)
People cook ’em and we suddenly appear. (Appear)
You might say it’s just a service,
There’s no need for being nervous,
Now it’s time for us to get our tails in gear. (Tails in gear)
On a fling (on a fling), on a fling (on a fling),
You can do almost anything.
If you have a naughty thought
Or some act you shouldn’t ought,
The time to do it’s when you go out on a fling.
Pretty neat song, huh? You bet. Well, we made our way down a street lined with nice houses and neat yards. We had gone a couple of blocks when we heard a vehicle approaching from the east. Ralph stopped and gave me a wink.
“That’ll be Jimmy Joe. We’d better hide.”
We took cover in some shrubs and waited. Sure enough, a white pickup with a cage in the back came creeping down the street. As it drew closer, I could see that it was driven by none other than Jimmy Joe Dogcatcher. His eyes were prowling the yards on both sides of the street.
He drove past us and I dared to grab a breath of air. Whew! But then he stopped. He got out of the cab, carrying his rope in his left hand. I pressed myself deeper into the shrubberies and held my breath again.
He spoke. “Ralph, I know you’re out there. I’ve already got a complaint on you for standing in the middle of the street. You’ve had your fun. Come on in. Here, Ralphie! Here, boy!” He cocked his ear and listened. Then his eyes swung around and focused on the very bush where we were hiding. “Come on, Ralphie, give it up, son.”
Well, I figured that was the end of The Fling. We’d been caught. I turned a questioning gaze on Ralph. He shook his head and whispered, “He’s bluffing. If he’d seen us, he wouldn’t have said anything. He’s a crafty old coot.”
Sure enough, Jimmy Joe’s eyes moved away from our bush and scanned the other yards on the block. Then he grinned, pitched a heeling loop at the left rear tire of the pickup, coiled up his rope, got in, and went creeping on down the street.
As the hum of his motor disappeared in the distance, we raised our heads out of the shrubberies. Ralph was grinning.
“Huh, huh. We done him good on that one.”
“So . . . this is just a game you guys play?”
“Yup. He enjoys it as much as I do, only he can’t come right out and say so—him being the dogcatcher and everything.”
“Now wait a minute. He was looking for you just now, but he didn’t want to catch you? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Uh-huh. That’d be too easy. We both kind of like to string it out, don’t you know. Gives us something to do.”
“I see. Well, this is pretty strange, Ralph, but I must admit . . . uh, what was it you said a while ago? Something about eating a steak?”
He glanced up and down the street, then started walking. “Yup. That’s the good part. You’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will. I’m very fond of steak, you know, but . . . tell me again where it comes from.”
“Steak’s provided by the townfolks.”
“No kidding? Gee, that’s nice of them. I guess the whole town’s in on this, huh?”
“Something like that.”
I didn’t ask any more about it. Maybe I should have.
We continued walking down the sidewalk, and I began to notice that Ralph had his nose up in the air and was sniffing. I took this as a cue and followed his lead. Minutes passed. We came to the end of the block and crossed the street. He was still sniffing the air.
“Ralph, I notice that we’re sniffing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are we sniffing for anything in particular or . . . just sniffing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, maybe you want me to guess, huh? Let’s see here.” I drew in a large sample of atmospheric particles and began analyzing them. “I’m picking up traces of . . . two dogs.”
“Nope.”
“I’m picking up tiny traces of . . . Hey Ralph, I can’t smell much of anything, to tell you the truth, so maybe you could . . .”
Just then he stopped walking. His sniffing increased and his head moved slowly to the left. “There we go. Bingo. That yard over yonder.”
My gaze went to the yard directly across the street from us. I studied it carefully, memorizing every detail. “What’s in the yard that we smell, Ralph? The bicycle?”
“Nope.”
“The car?”
His eyes came around and locked on me. “You know, you’d have more fun if you let me handle this.”
“Fine. Sorry. I was just trying to help.”
“Uh-huh, only your nose works about as good as a big rock.”
“Well, I’m not so sure about that. For your information, the lady dogs go nuts over my nose. I’ve been told it’s a refined nose, handsome and dignified.”
“Uh-huh, and if it was a gun, you’d be shooting blanks. You don’t smell that steak?”
I drew in a big gulp of atmospheric particles. “I . . . no. Do you?”
“Sure. I can even tell you how many steaks. Four.”
I was impressed. “You can smell all that from across the street? That’s amazing.”
He gave me a wink. “I’m a hound. Hounds wrote the book on smells. You ready to eat?”
“Well, I . . .” He had already started across the street. I trotted after him. “You mean, these people are just . . . donating the steaks to us?”
“Something like that. Just foller me and don’t mess up.”
And so it was that I followed Ralph into . . .
Trouble.