Chapter Five: The Guppy Invasion

Well, there you have it, Slim’s deluxe nap-taking song, and I must admit that it wasn’t as bad as some of the other duds he’d inflicted on us. Actually, it was pretty good. I mean, it had a melody and it even rhymed in spots, so maybe he was getting better with practice.

But I would be less than honest if I didn’t point out a pretty serious mistake in the chorus. Out in the middle of the hay field, Slim didn’t have a “cottonwood limb” to make shade. Would you like to guess where he found his shade?

He crawled under the truck. There, he made a pillow of his hay chaps and uttered a growl of contentment. “Dogs, if somebody comes along and tries to steal my truck, give me a bark. Otherwise, keep your traps shut, and I’ll see you in about half an hour.”

Steal his truck? Who would . . . okay, it was a joke. There wasn’t a thief in the whole state of Texas who would have bothered to steal such a heap of junk, so we sure didn’t have to worry about that.

And as for me keeping my trap shut . . . fine. What did he think I was going to do, run around and waste a bunch of good barking in the heat of the day, while he sawed logs under the truck?

Forget that, Charlie. He wasn’t the only employee of the ranch who deserved a nap. There was someone called ME, and I already had my eye on a nice piece of shade under the . . .

“Not under here, bozo.”

. . . a nice piece of shade on the north side of the truck, shall we say. I did my Three-Turns-Around-the-Bed and collapsed. It didn’t bother me one bit that Slim had hogged the best shade under the truck.

Okay, it kind of hurt my feelings, and my name wasn’t “Bozo.”

Who is Bozo, anyway? Slim called me that all the time, and I had a feeling that there was some kind of joke behind it, but I didn’t know the whole story. I made a mental note to ask around and find out who this Bozzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . .

Bozo wozo, flibbering flozo . . . meek wonk whippersnapper whickerbill . . . mudpie pigpen honkly snork sniff . . . zzzzzzt . . . Beulah riding in a cricket wicket . . . red balloon wheedle wheelbarrows . . . zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

You think I wasn’t worn-out, exhausted? Hey, all that work on Mouse Patrol had pretty muchly drained my tank, and once I hit that piece of shady ground, fellers, my lights went out. Exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I tumbled down the deep hole of sleep.

It was delicious sleep, wonderful sleep, the kind of sleep that ravels up the knitted sleeve of . . . something. It was great sleep, the kind of healing sleep that every Head of Ranch Security longs for and . . .

“Hank?”

. . . deserves.

“Hank?”

Huh? I heard a voice . . . a voice from outside the deep well of sleep . . . a voice that seemed to be calling someone’s name.

“Hank, you’d better wake up.”

Hank? Who was Hank? Did I know anyone named Hank? Did I have a name? Guppy-thoughts swam through the aquarium of my mind. Yes, I had a name: Flibbering Flozo. The call wasn’t for me.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

“Hank, somebody’s here!”

Suddenly I felt myself being launched up the dark well of sleep, scattering guppy-thoughts and guppy-dreams in all directions. I leaped to my feet and . . . BONK . . . almost broke my head on the stupid running board of the . . .

I blinked my eyes and swayed back and forth on rubber legs. There, standing right in front of me, I saw . . . four little white dogs! No, wait, two little white dogs.

Huh? Okay, one little white dog. “Drover? Is that you I see before me?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m before or after, but it’s me.”

“Good. Great. I’ve called this meeting of the Security Division to discuss . . .” I staggered three steps to the right and collapsed. I found myself staring at the dirt. It looked exactly like dirt, only more so. “Drover, how long has it been like this?”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping you might know.” I blinked my eyes and glanced around. “Where are we?”

Drover grinned. “We’re in the alfalfa field.”

“Yes, of course.” I staggered to my feet and tried to put on a solemn face. “I’ve called this meeting to discuss alfalfa. Do you have anything to report?”

He stared at me. “Well, it’s kind of like hay.”

“Good. Excellent report. Now we’re ready to vote. Everyone in favor of alfalfa, open your mouth and say ‘ahhhh.’”

“Ahhhhh.”

All at once, I noticed that Drover’s mouth was open. “Did you just open your mouth and say ‘ahhhhhh’? Are you sick? Do you think I’m a doctor? What’s wrong with you, Drover?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you see all those fish? There were hundreds of little fish, Drover. Guppies.”

“I was a guppy once.”

“You were a puppy.”

“Maybe that was it, but I played in the water.”

“Drover, somebody drained the tank. All the fish are gone. Only moments ago, there were all these fish inside the aquarium and . . .” I gave my head a shake and moved closer to Drover. “Did I say something about fish?”

“Yeah. I think they were muppies.”

“Hmmm. Listen carefully. All references to fish will be stricken from the record, do you understand? It was all a big mistake, a breakdown in communications. There were no fish.”

“Got it.”

“Now, one last question. Did you just wake me up?”

“Well, I tried.”

I heaved a big sigh. “Ah! That explains it, doesn’t it? I was asleep and dreaming about fish. No problem. Open your mouth and say ‘ahhhh.’”

“I already did.”

“Well, do it again. I noticed something when you did it before.” He opened his mouth, and I peered inside. “Has your tongue always been that long?”

“I yink yo.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth open. You need to have that tongue looked at.”

“Hank, a pickup truck just pulled into the field, over there.”

He pointed to a pickup that had come to a stop, an old faded green Chevy with a camper on the back.

“Drover, a strange pickup has just pulled into the field.”

“Yeah, and it has four tires.”

“Hmmm. Good point. It does have four tires. This is looking a little fishy to me.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about fish.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Good. Let’s go!”

We shifted into Turbo Three and went streaking toward the unidentified pickup just as the driver stepped out. Description: a tall, skinny man with long, stringy hair hanging out of a battered straw cowboy hat, faded jeans, long-sleeved Western shirt with snap buttons, and a pair of dark eyes that seemed just a little bit shifty.

He was looking toward the hay truck, and he even leaned down so that he caught sight of Slim sleeping in the shade. I noticed that his eyebrows rose.

Right away, I had a bad feeling about this guy, so instead of doing the usual Hose Procedure on his tires, Drover and I slowed to a Stealthy Creep, raised the hair on our respective backs, and moved toward him. I wanted him to know right away that dogs were on duty and we would be watching his every move.

I figured he might jump back into the pickup when he saw us creeping toward him. People who don’t belong on a ranch often do that, you know, and it’s a sure sign that they’re up to no good. But this guy flashed us a friendly smile, knelt down, and spoke to us.

“Hi, there. Come here.”

We stopped in our tracks, leaving ten feet of space between us. I had no intention of getting too friendly too soon. I mean, when you’re in the Security Business, you have to be suspicious of all strangers, no matter how nice they seem to be. It’s pretty tough, being vigilant all the time, but it’s something we have to do. Discipline is crucial.

The man smiled, as though he understood. “Well, that’s okay. You dogs don’t know who I am, so let me explain. My name’s Willie Sidelow, and I’m with the Texas State Department of Hay. We need to make sure that all your equipment is up to standards, know what I mean?”

Oh. Well, that made sense. Sure.

He rose to his feet. “Now, I see that your master’s taking himself a little nap and we don’t need to disturb him. I’m going to send my assistant over to check out the truck, and then we’ll be on our way.” He turned toward the pickup. “Bub, come here!”

You won’t believe this, but instead of opening the pickup door and stepping outside, Bub jumped out the window.