Chapter Seven: My Beloved Comes Calling

“Holy smokes, Drover, it’s Miss Viola!”

Drover’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my gosh, it is! And you know what? I think she loves me!”

I couldn’t believe it. The runt went streaking to Miss Viola, even though he knew perfectly well that I was her favorite dog in the whole world. I raced after him. “Drover, halt! Come back here! She’s mine!”

Drover got there first and launched himself at her like . . . I don’t know what, but it was a shocking and disgraceful display of Bad Dog Behavior. I mean, the ladies don’t appreciate being mauled and pawed and slobbered on by dogs that have no manners.

I was so embarrassed by Drover’s shabby behavior that I launched myself even higher in the air, flew right over the top of him, and landed right where I belonged—in the awaiting arms of the lady who adored me.

Okay, maybe I came on a little too strong and sent her staggering backwards, and maybe she uttered a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a laugh, but by George when I got there, she knew I was glad to see her.

Remember Miss Viola? She lived down the creek with her aging parents and there were rumors that she was sweet on Slim, but my heart told a different story. When she came around, it was to see ME, not Slim, and certainly not Drover. And even though I almost knocked her down with love and adoration, I knew that she would understand.

Laughing, she stumbled backwards against the pickup. “Here, here, get down! I’m glad to see you, but I don’t want to get mugged.”

I turned a hot glare on Drover. “See what you’ve done? Shame on you! That’s no way to treat a lady.”

“Well, I was just . . .”

“Drover, sit down and behave yourself!” I turned my adoring gaze back on Miss Viola and was disappointed to see that she was looking toward the truck.

“Where’s Slim?”

Who? Oh, him. Who cared about Slim, and could we change the subject? Back to ME, for example?

She started walking toward the truck. Drover and I had a little shoving match to see which of us got to walk beside her, and I won. This was great, a loyal dog and his lady fair, walking through the forest and sharing a few precious moments together.

Okay, it was a hay field, not a forest, but was I going to complain? No sir.

When we were about fifty feet from the truck, Viola saw Slim’s boots sticking out from underneath. “Oh, there he is. Slim? Yoo-hoo? It’s me, Viola. Slim? Slim!” When he didn’t respond, a cloud of concern moved across her face. “Heavenly days, I hope he hasn’t had a heart attack!”

A heart attack? Ha! He’d had a sleep attack, and I was just the dog who could cure him of that. I darted under the truck and licked his ear about ten times, until his eyes popped open and he gave me a shove backwards.

“Get away and quit licking my dadgum ear!” He crawled out from under the truck, grumbling and muttering. “A man can’t even grab a decent nap around here without . . .” He saw Viola and froze. “Good honk. Viola!”

She heaved a sigh and looked up at the sky. “Slim Chance, you scared the daylights out of me! I thought you’d had a heart attack!”

He stood up and gave her a grin. “No, I had a sinking spell, is all, and felt a powerful need for a nap.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m sure glad. I was just trying to figure out how I’d get you to the hospital.”

“How would you have done it?”

“Well, I knew I couldn’t load you in the back of the pickup, so I’d about decided to throw Daddy’s log chain around your ankles and drag you.”

He got a big laugh out of that. “I’d have been pretty skinned up by the time we got to town. I’m glad you checked first.” He shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. “Viola, it’s kind of embarrassing to get caught sleeping in the middle of the day.”

“Why? Daddy takes a nap every day.”

“Yeah, but he’s a hundred years old. I like to think that I’m still a bronking buck.”

“Oh, fiddle. Don’t worry about it.” Her smile faded. “Slim, Daddy sent me up here to see if you-all were missing any tools. He went to the shop this morning and couldn’t find his impact wrench, and there were several other things missing.”

Slim leaned against the truck. “Nope, I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Well, maybe he was mistaken. He’s forgetful sometimes.” She glanced around. “Are you hauling this hay by yourself?”

“Yep, just me and the dogs. Loper and Sally May took off on a little vacation to the mountains.”

“Well”—she shrugged her shoulders and smiled—“I guess I’d better drive the truck for you.”

His eyes popped open. “Would you mind? Boy, that would make it go twice as fast. And heck, we could even say that we’re having a date.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Slim, I’ll be glad to help you, but this is not a date. Nobody goes on a date in a hay field. They go to a movie or a restaurant or a country dance.”

“Oh.” Slim hitched up his jeans. “Well, I thought we might double up and save some time.”

“No. One of these days we’ll get dressed up and go somewhere nice, and that will be a date.”

“Sure seems like a lot of trouble.”

“Slim Chance, honestly! You’d better quit talking before you lose your truck driver.”

Slim ducked his head as though she’d chunked a rock at him, and opened the door of the truck. “Let me get my hooks.” He rummaged around inside the cab. “Well, that’s crazy. I can’t find my derned hay hooks, and I know I left ’em in here. And my socket set. And my lunch!” He crawled out of the cab and looked her in the eyes. “Viola, there’s something strange going on around here.”

As you might expect, I had been listening to their conversation, and I thought it was pretty funny. I gave Drover an elbow in the ribs.

“Hey, Drover, did you hear that? Slim thinks somebody swiped his hay hooks!”

“Yeah, ’cause somebody did.”

“No, no, you’ve missed the point. See, he slept through the visit of the guys from the State Department of Hay. He doesn’t understand that they took his stuff to the lab for some testing. Ha ha.”

“Oh. Yeah. Testing. Tee hee. That’s pretty funny.”

“It’s a scream. Look at those dark lines on his face. Why, he thinks he’s been burglarized.”

“Yeah, tee hee. Maybe we ought to tell him what happened.”

I gave that some thought. “You know, we should, but how do you say ‘Texas Department of Hay’ in Tailwag?”

“Well, let me think here. Two wags up and down, and three sideways?”

“No, that means ‘good morning.’”

“Oh, yeah. Well, how about three wags up and down, and four sideways?”

I curled my lip at him. “Drover, have you forgotten everything? That means ‘Where’s the food?’”

“Well, everything’s different when you’ve got a stub tail.”

“No, it’s all the same, only your messages are shorter and mine are longer, but never mind because I don’t know how to say it either.”

I turned back to Slim and listened. He was staring off in the distance and seemed to be deep in thought. He raised a finger in the air. “Wait a second. A deputy sheriff stopped by yesterday and said . . . hmmm, I wonder . . .”

He dropped his gaze to the ground and started walking, looking for tracks. Again, I nudged Drover. “He’s going to find Bub’s tracks, but he’ll never figure it out.”

“Yeah, I wish we could tell him the whole story.”

“Me too, but sometimes the communication barriers are just too great.”

Slim stopped and knelt down. His finger drew a circle in the dust. His head came up and he turned to Viola. “I just figured it out. These are monkey tracks.”

HUH?

My gaze slid sideways until I found myself staring into Drover’s eyes. “Did you hear what I just heard?”

“Yeah. Monkey tracks.”

“Right. Do you remember the discussion we had about Bub, about how he looked odd?”

“Yeah, and I said he looked like a monkey.”

“No, I said that. I mean, I noticed his ears right away, and . . . well, he wasn’t wearing boots, and right then I started getting suspicious, very suspicious, and I believe I said, ‘Drover, that guy looks like a monkey dressed up in cowboy clothes.’ I’m almost sure . . .”

Slim’s voice boomed, “Hank!”

“Drover, I think it’s time for us to disappear.”

“I hear that.”

Without being too obvious about our intentions, we, uh, slithered across an empty space of ground and took refuge beneath the truck. There, we waited and listened to the pounding of our respective hearts. Some inner instinct told me that . . . well, we might be in trouble.

But Slim would never think to look for us under the truck. Would he?

I couldn’t see all of him, just the lower part of his body from the waist down, and I’m sorry to report that the lower portion of his body seemed to be moving . . . gulp . . . in our direction, and I had every reason to suppose that his upper body was coming along with the lower portion. His legs and boots walked to the edge of the truck bed and stopped.

Then his head appeared. He crooked his index finger, as if to say, “Come here.”

I turned to Drover. “He’s calling you.”

“Me? I thought it was for you.”

“No, he’s giving you a summons to report to the front immediately.’”

“Oh, darn. What does he want?”

“At this point, we don’t know for sure, but I would guess that . . . well, he wants to ask you a question or two.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know any answers.”

“Drover, just give him a blank stare, the usual stuff. Go on.”

He didn’t go cheerfully, but he went, mainly because I gave him a shove. He groveled over to Slim. Slim shook his head. “Uh uh.” He pointed a skinny finger at . . . well, at ME, it appeared, and growled, “You. Bozo. Come here.”