Chapter Eleven: Ralph’s Tragic Story

When I recognized his face, I felt a huge sense of relief. My partner had been true to the end.

I dashed over to him and enveloped him in a big manly hug. “Ralph, by George, it’s great to see you again! Where have you been? I looked everywhere.”

“Well . . . I had a little trouble.”

“Hey, you talk about trouble. When you left the yard . . .”

I told him the whole story about how I had fought my way out of the yard and was forced to give Attila the thrashing of his life. I could see that he was impressed.

“You done all that, huh? He was sure a big dog.”

“He wasn’t as big as he thought, Ralph, nor as tough. If I could buy that mutt for what he’s worth and sell him for what he thinks he’s worth, I’d be a wealthy dog.”

He chuckled. “Huh, huh. That’s pretty good.”

“You bet. Oh, it was a terrible fight, Ralph. We tore down a peach tree, knocked out a whole section of fence, hair flying, teeth flashing . . . wait a minute.” I stopped and stared at the ground at Ralph’s feet. “Where’s the loot? Where are the weenies?”

Ralph hung his head. “Well . . . they’re gone.”

I held him in a blistering gaze. “Gone? Gone! I knew it, I knew you couldn’t be trusted! Ralph, you’ve just broken my heart. I thought we were friends, pals, jailhouse buddies.”

“They got stolen.”

“I thought we were . . . What?”

“The weenies got stolen.” His big sad eyes came up. “I waited for you across the street. While I was waiting, these two big dogs came along. They smelled the weenies and said they wanted ’em.”

“Two big dogs . . . go on, Ralph, I want to hear the rest of this.”

“Well, then they . . .” A big tear slid down his cheek and his lip trembled. “I can’t go on. I’m ashamed of myself. You trusted me and I let you down.”

He choked up and couldn’t speak. I gave him a pat on the shoulder and began pacing in front of him. “It’s all right, Ralph, just take it easy. Let me see if I can finish the story for you.”

“Would you mind?”

“No problem. You see, Ralph, you’ve given me a couple of clues, and I can see the whole scene before my very eyes.”

“Gosh. Really?”

“No kidding. It comes from years in the Security Business. You see, Ralph, in my line of work, we often start with tiny clues and reconstruct the entire crime. Let’s see how close I can come.” I set my jaw, lowered my brow, and plunged into deepest thought. “Okay, you’re sitting there on the curb, waiting for me to return from combat.”

“Yalp.”

“You’re sitting there, minding your own business, when these two big mutts pass by and catch a whiff of your weenies. Our weenies, actually.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like I said, they’re big guys, scruffy and hard-eyed and tough.” I stopped pacing. “How am I doing so far?”

“Boy, you’ve nailed ’em.”

I flashed a brief inward smile and resumed pacing. “This is just a hunch, Ralph, but let’s throw it out. Their names were . . . Buster and Muggs.”

He let out a gasp. “I’ll be derned. How’d you know that?”

“I have my sources, Ralph, that’s all I can tell you. We know about those guys and have been keeping files on them for a long time.”

“Yeah, it was them, all right.”

“Just as I suspected. Okay, they stop and they say . . . Buster would do the talking . . . Buster says, ‘Say, pal, how would you like to share the weenies? We ain’t had much to eat today.’ Is that close?”

Ralph was amazed. “Boy yeah. That’s just what he said, but how’d you . . .”

“Heh, heh. Years of experience with the crinimal mind, Ralph, but let me continue. It’s coming fast now.” I resumed pacing. “At first you try to ignore them, but they won’t be ignored. You try to walk away with the weenies, but they block your path. By this time, you’re getting scared.”

“Yup. They were pretty scary guys.”

“Just as I thought. Okay, at this point you’re scared but you don’t want to give up the weenies. I mean, we worked hard for those weenies and you don’t want to lose them to a couple of bullies, so you . . . okay, you try to make a run for it. Am I right?”

His head bobbed up and down. “That’s just what I done. I tried to make a run for it.”

“Right, and that’s when they jumped you, Ralph. Those two big bullies jumped you and tore the string of weenies out of your mouth.”

He was starting to cry again, as the painful memories returned. “Yes, yes! They tore the weenies right out of my mouth, the mean old things!”

I plunged on. “They stole the weenies from you, Ralph, and walked away . . . laughing.”

“Yup, they laughed.”

“Which left you feeling helpless and terrible, Ralph. See, you blamed yourself.”

“Uh . . . yeah, I did, sure did.”

“And those same feelings are coming back at this very moment, aren’t they?”

“Yes!”

“And you’re still blaming yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes! I’m a failure and a chicken liver! I should have gone down fighting!”

I paced over to him and patted him on the back. “I know how you must feel, Ralph, but I want you to know that our friendship is worth more than a string of weenies.”

He looked at me through a veil of shimmering tears. “It is? You mean that?”

“Honest. We’ve been through so much . . .”

Suddenly, he burped. “Oops, ’scuse me.”

“No problem. We’ve been through so much . . . Do you smell garlic?”

“Me? Nope, don’t smell a thing.”

“Hmm, that’s odd. There for a second, I thought I smelled . . . Where was I?”

“In the yard with that big dog.”

“Oh yes, there I was, facing this huge . . . We were talking about our relationship.”

“Oh yeah.” He burped again. “Sorry.”

“No problem. Anyway, Ralph, the bottom line of all this is that you can’t go on blaming yourself. Somehow you have to . . . I smell garlic again. You don’t smell garlic?”

He sniffed the air. “Oh yeah, it’s coming from the garbage barrel.”

“Ah yes, of course. Somehow, Ralph, you have to pick up the pieces of your shattered life and move on.”

He heaved a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Reckon I ought to go back to the dog pound?”

I gave that some thought. “Maybe you should. I mean, we had our Fling and it was a good experience for the most part.”

“Yalp.”

“We had some laughs and we had some tears, but what really matters, Ralph, is that it deepened our friendship. We lost the weenies, but by George, we have the memories.”

“Yalp.”

“And nobody can take those memories away from us, Ralph. They’re precious and we’ll keep them forever.”

“I guess so.” He pushed himself up. “Well, I’ll be seeing you.”

My gaze followed him. He was walking away. “Hey, wait a second. I wasn’t quite finished.”

“Uh-huh, but there’s my ride.”

It was then that I noticed the dogcatcher’s pickup creeping down the street. Jimmy Joe was listening to country music on the radio and had his arm stuck out the window.

I followed Ralph into the street. “Hey, wait. We haven’t even said good-bye.”

“You might want to stay hidden. I’m Jimmy Joe’s pet, but you’re an escaped convict.”

“Good point.” I dived into a hedge. “Well, good-bye, old friend, old prison buddy. We had our Fling, didn’t we?”

“Yalp. It was a good ’un. See you around.”

“And don’t blame yourself any more. It’s just water under the dam.”

He waved a paw in the air and went clicking out into the . . . He sure was walking funny. I mean, I hadn’t noticed it before, but Ralph was badly overweight. Why, he looked as though he had swallowed an inner tube or something.

He was as fat as a hog! He could barely walk on those short legs of his.

That happens to your town dogs, you know. They gulp down big meals and never get the proper exercise, and before you know it, they’ve taken on the shape of a weenie.

Oh well. Even though he was fat and not terribly smart, Ralph was my pal, and as I watched him waddle out to meet the dogcatcher, I felt a warm glow of satisfaction. We had shared some meaningful experiences and I had helped him through a deep personal crisis.

And now it was time for me to head back to the ranch—which, come to think of it, wasn’t going to be such an easy matter. I mean, twenty-five miles across country . . . and it was getting dark.

Gulp.

I could only hope that the coyotes weren’t out. If they were . . .

I waited for the dogcatcher to leave. When the sound of the pickup vanished into the distance, I pointed myself to the south and headed out in a long trot.

I would have to travel all night. With luck, I would be home by midmorning. Without luck, I would be . . . in trouble.

I made my way to the highway on the south edge of town and hit the road. Hours passed and the miles stretched out behind me. Darkness fell, and onward I plunged, driven by a powerful longing for my home. It suddenly occurred to me that I even missed . . . well, Drover.

It must have been around three o’clock in the morning when I finally reached the Wolf Creek road. I was tired, but still had three miles to go. It seemed to me that I should stop and take a little . . .

Howling? I stopped and listened. There it was again, the howling of distant . . . coyotes, and all at once I felt refreshed and had no interest at all in stopping to rest. I needed to get home. Fast.

Have we discussed coyotes? Maybe not, but maybe we should. They can bark just like dogs. In many ways they look just like dogs. In other very important ways, they’re not like dogs at all. In fact, they’re dangerous to dogs.

They were close and getting closer. Good grief, I had walked right into the middle of a whole nest of cannibals! I could hear them barking and howling in all directions, which meant that . . . well, maybe I was surrounded. Yipes.

I happened to be standing at the base of a large cottonwood tree. Climbing trees wasn’t part of my background or cultural heritage. I mean, that’s the kind of thing cats do, but dogs? Never. As far as I knew, nobody in my family had ever climbed a tree or had even thought about climbing a tree.

Yet I was thinking very seriously about climbing this tree. Could it be done? Was it possible? The answer came to me in the form of a blood-chilling howl that errupted about a hundred feet in front of me. In a flash I leaped straight up, wrapped my paws around the first limb, and hauled my enormous body up into the tree.

You think dogs can’t climb trees? Just bring in a few cannibals and see what happens.

But check this out. Suddenly I realized that the tree was full of . . . big black things.