Chapter Four: Uncle Johnny’s Bottle Calf

When Viola left the house, it was as if…well, it was like being in a big concert hall when the program’s over. Everyone leaves, they turn out the lights, and there you are, standing in a dark shell. She had a kind of radiance that just filled up a room.

When she had gone, Slim did something really strange. He opened up his instrument case, brought out his banjo, sat down in his favorite chair, and sang a song. He sang a song to US, his dogs, and what’s even more shocking, it was nice…pretty…a love song, if you can believe that.

You probably want to hear it, but we have to get on with the story. Maybe, if things turn out right, we can listen to it later on. But I’ll tell you this: it wasn’t bad.

Slim put his banjo back in the case and stared at the floor for a long time. “Well, we got that settled, and I will be at her house at six o’clock, even if her daddy tries to shoot me.” Just then, the telephone rang. Slim’s face fell into a scowl and he grumbled, “That’s got to be Loper. What does he want?” He picked up the phone and held it away from his ear, so I was able to hear both sides of the conversation.

Loper said, “Did I get you out of bed?”

“Heck no, been up for hours. I was having some breakfast.”

“You cooked breakfast?”

“That’s right. Last week, I boiled up a pot of turkey necks. I keep ‘em in the fridge and they make a dandy breakfast. You want me to save one for you?”

Loper barked a laugh. “No thanks. Listen, Uncle Johnny just called. He’s got a little job and needs some help.”

“A little job?”

“He said it won’t take long. He’s got a calf out in the neighbor’s pasture. Why don’t you saddle a horse and go help him. I’ll feed the cows for you.”

Slim rocked up and down on his toes. “Loper, Uncle Johnny’s ‘little jobs’ have a way of turning into big jobs. I’ve got someplace to go tonight and I need to be back here by four o’clock.”

“A New Years party?”

“Not exactly.”

“Where? Is Viola going?”

Slim’s face turned red. “I ain’t talking.”

Loper laughed. “Holy cow, you’ve got a date and you’re going to a New Year’s party! I can’t believe this! What’s the world coming to? Well, have fun with Uncle Johnny.”

Slim hung up the phone and glared at the floor. “I didn’t need this, not today. The last time I helped that old goat, I didn’t get home till after dark.” He shot a glance at me. “But this time I will.”

Half an hour later, the sun had climbed over the eastern horizon and Slim was ready to go, dressed for a winter day ahorseback: shotgun chaps, denim jacket over a wool vest, a wild rag around his neck, and his high-top riding boots with spurs attached. Oh, and he’d brought his wind-up alarm clock from the house and set it on the dash of the pickup.

Ordinarily, Slim wasn’t a slave to the clock, but today he was watching the time. Good.

He hooked up the sixteen-foot stock trailer and saddled a young horse called Socks (he had three white feet). When he loaded Socks into the trailer, he was ready to go. I followed him to the pickup door.

Where was Drover? Sitting on the porch, watching. He’d said the cold ground hurt his feet and he didn’t want to go. Oh brother.

When Slim reached for the door handle, he saw me standing at his feet. “Are you follering me?”

Well, sort of, yes. That’s what loyal dogs do.

“You can’t go. I’ve got work to do and you’d get in the way.”

Yes sir. I understood.

“Bye. I know you’ll miss me.”

He climbed into the pickup and slammed the door, shifted into first gear and drove away.

Maybe you think it’s pretty sad that a cowboy would go off on a big adventure and leave his faithful dog behind, but don’t waste any time feeling sorry for me. See, I had tricks that Slim didn’t know about. Hee hee.

He’d gotten all the way to the mailbox before he noticed that I was following him. He stopped and rolled down his window. “Hank, go home!”

Yes sir.

He turned right on the county road and picked up speed. After a bit, he glanced into his side mirror and saw me sprinting beside the trailer. He slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and started throwing rocks at me.

“Hammerhead, GO HOME!”

He chunked three rocks and missed every time. He jumped back inside the pickup and drove off again. Hee hee. I followed, and boy, did that make him mad! I knew it would, but, well, what’s a dog supposed to do?

He stopped again and I could hear him sputtering inside the cab. He got out and glared at me for a long time. “Hank, you are the most disobedient, ill-trained, ungrateful whelp of a dog I ever saw. I told you to go home.”

Yes, I knew that but…well, I really wanted to go with him and I was pretty sure that, deep in his heart, he wanted me to go too.

He picked up a big rock and threw it with all his might. It missed me but did something to his back. He started walking like…I don’t know, like a crab or something, and screamed, “Now look what you’ve done!”

Well, I was sorry he’d hurt his back, but maybe he should stop throwing rocks at his dog.

He rubbed his back, shook his head, kicked a weed, rolled his eyes up to the sky, opened the door, and pointed inside. “Get in here!”

Oh happy day! I dashed to the pickup and leaped inside, taking my usual place of honor beside the shotgun-side window.

You’d have to say that the atmosphere inside the cab was a little frosty for the first two miles. Slim’s glare went back and forth, from the road to me, and I could hear him fuming under his breath. I knew he would find his voice eventually and that I would have to listen to him gripe and roar. Sure enough…

“One of these days, pooch, you’re going to pull that trick and I ain’t going to stop. You’ll follow me five miles and get tired, and then you’ll be lost, and I won’t go looking for your sorry hide. You know what I’ll do?”

Uh…no.

“I’ll celebrate! Yes sir, I’ll invite all the neighbors and cook a goat, and after we’re done eating, I’ll stand up on a chair and make a speech. I’ll say, ‘I’m proud y’all could come and help me celebrate this happy occasion, ‘cause today I have got rid of a dog that wasn’t worth eight eggs.’”

He snapped his head at me, then went back to his main job, keeping the pickup out of the ditches.

Well, he’d vented his spleen, all right, and it had sounded pretty stern, but I knew something about Slim that he didn’t know about himself. An hour later, he would have forgotten the whole thing and he’d be glad to have me along.

I’m not saying that a dog should make a habit of being disobedient or that it’s a good pattern to establish. It’s not. All I’m saying is that sometimes our people don’t know what’s good for them, and a dog has to…well, take charge.

So off we went to Uncle Johnny’s place. He lived up on the flat country, about fifteen or twenty miles northwest of our ranch. Most of the snow we’d gotten on Christmas day had melted off, leaving just a few drifts in the ditches.

Uncle Johnny and his wife Marybelle had a tidy place that consisted of a small white house, a steel round-top barn, and a set of working corrals. We turned off the highway and drove down a lane with barbed wire fences on both sides.

Uncle Johnny, you might recall, was Sally May’s uncle, a small, feisty man who carried some age, maybe seventy years or more. When we got there, he was sitting in an old flatbed pickup, smoking a pipe and reading the Twitchell newspaper.

Slim got out of the pickup and gave me a glare. “If I let you out, can you act halfway civilized?”

Oh yes sir, no problem. I was honored to be there and sure didn’t want to be a burden.

“Okay, get out and try not to act your IQ. If they’ve got any chickens, buddy, you’d better leave ‘em alone. Aunt Marybelle might not be as soft-hearted as I am.”

Yes sir. I hopped out and switched all circuits over to Perfect Dog.

Slim walked over to Johnny’s pickup, his spurs jingling on the gravel. They exchanged greetings and talked about the weather and the price of feed. Then Slim said, “Johnny, before we get started, I want you to know that I have to be gone from here at three o’clock. I’ve got a meeting tonight and can’t be late.”

Johnny folded up the paper and pitched it up on the dashboard. “Who has meetings on New Year’s eve?”

“It don’t matter. The point is, I have someplace to go.”

Johnny chuckled and gave Slim a sideways glance. “What’s her name?”

“Yankee Doodle Dandy. Now, what’s this job I’m supposed to help you with? Loper said something about a calf.”

Johnny nodded and pointed the stem of his pipe to the north. “Bull calf found a hole in the fence and went neighboring. I see you brought a horse.”

“That’s what the boss said to do.”

“We won’t need a horse. This calf’s as gentle as a pup. We call him Winkie. I raised him on a bottle and he’s kind of a pet. We can show him a feed sack and he’ll follow us all the way home. Get in, we’ll take my pickup.”

“What about Hank? I didn’t invite him but he came anyway.”

Uncle Johnny looked down at me and smiled. “Bring him. We like dogs around here. He can ride up front with us.” And off we went to find Winkie.