Chapter Twelve: Breakfast Is Cancelled

It was around first light that I noticed the wood down at the bottom of the door. It was kind of punky—not exactly rotten, but not firm either. It could be chewed. Given a little time, a guy just might chew himself a hole big enough to crawl through.

I wasn’t sure I could chew my way out before Loper took me on that ride, but I didn’t have anything better to do than to try. I started chewing and spitting, and by the time I heard people stirring down at the house, I had a hole big enough to squeeze through.

I stuck out my head and looked in all directions. The coast was clear. I slithered out and took a deep breath of fresh air. By George, I had done it! Once again, I had cheated the grave-diggers and buzzards.

All at once the back door opened and Sally May walked out into the yard. I dropped down on my belly and didn’t move. She called Little Alfred. When he didn’t answer, she walked around to the side of the house. She looked this way and that, then her eyes fell on the yard gate. It was open.

Her jaw dropped and her hands went up to her face. Then she called for Loper, who was down at the corrals doing his morning chores. “The baby got out of the yard! He’s out in the pasture! Hurry, we’ve got to find him before . . . !”

Loper dropped his feed bucket and came running to the house. Well, I was sure sorry to hear that my little pal Alfred had wandered off into the pasture, but whether he knew it or not, he was giving me a perfect opportunity to escape.

I glanced up at the two sleeping buzzards on the roof of the outhouse. “So long, suckers. I hate to miss that big breakfast, but I got places to go.”

Wallace’s head shot up. “What the . . . you git yourself right back in that jailhouse. Junior, you fell asleep and let our breakfast get away, you wake up right this minute!”

Junior’s eyes popped open. “B-b-but, Pa . . .”

“You see what you’ve done! It don’t seem to matter how much I school you or how many sacrifices I make . . .”

I left the buzzards to fight it out. I turned my face to the north and headed out in a lope. I wasn’t sure just yet where I would go, but I knew I had to put some empty space between me and the ranch—the ranch I had served so faithfully for so many years. I hated to leave, especially with false charges hanging over my memory, but Loper hadn’t left me with too many choices.

I ran past the machine shed, past the mailbox, across the county road, and took aim for that big caprock north of headquarters. I knew a secret trail I could take to the top, and once on top, I would have a straight shot to the high and lonesome.

Halfway up the caprock I stopped to catch my breath. I looked down at the broad valley below me while a fresh morning wind tugged at my ears. I was going to miss that place. I wondered what Drover was doing. The little dunce was probably sound asleep on his gunnysack, completely unaware that Little Alfred had wandered away and needed his help.

Off to the south I could see Sally May driving along the creek in the pickup. Loper was a-horseback, riding through some thick willows and calling Alfred’s name. There was no sign of Drover. Or Alfred.

Well, that was too bad. I started up the last fifty feet of my climb to freedom. I hadn’t gone more than three steps when I caught sight of something down below. I squinted at the spot and watched. There it was again: something small, two-legged, and diapered. Little Alfred.

“Hey, you people are looking down along the creek, but he’s up here under the caprock!”

Well, that wasn’t my problem. I started climbing again. Then I saw something else that made me stop. A horned cow came out of a draw. She looked at Little Alfred and bawled and shook her horns. The boy saw her and started toward her.

“Say, little buddy, you better stay away from that old sookie. She’s got a new calf down there in those weeds and . . .”

That wasn’t my problem. I had places to go. I started climbing again and forced myself not to look down again. I was pretty close to the top, just a few steps away from freedom, when I heard the scream.

I stopped.

Did I dare look down?

No! I had to run, I had to get off the ranch before . . . 

Another scream. I looked down. The cow had charged. Little Alfred was on the ground screaming, and the cow was working him over with those horns.

There’s a special bond between cowdogs and kids, don’t you know, and no cowdog worthy of the name ever stood by and watched an innocent kid get mauled by a cow. The hair stood up on my back and I heard a deep growl come rumbling out of my throat.

By the time I got there, I had myself worked up into a fury. I went to her backside and started biting her on the heels. That’s pretty risky. I mean, a guy can get his teeth rearranged if he’s not careful, but I had to do something to take the cow’s mind off Little Alfred.

She kicked at me, but I sank my teeth into her hocks. She bellered and whirled around and came after me with them horns. That’s just what I wanted: me and her, one-on-one, nose-to-nose, in hand-to-hand combat.

I held back and dodged her hooks until she committed herself, then I rushed in and put my famous Australian fang lock on her nose. Brother, she didn’t like that! She tossed her head and threw me around, but I held on. Finally she threw me off, but I was right back in the middle of her before she could get back to my little buddy.

I don’t know how long this went on, but the next thing I knew, Sally May pulled up in the pickup and Loper was there on his horse. He took the double of his rope and laid it across the cow’s back a couple of times, and I took a chunk out of her flank.

That was enough for her. She sold out and I barked her down the draw to her calf. If she hadn’t had that calf to take care of, I just might have put a big hurt on her. She lucked out.

I trotted back and joined the others. Little Alfred had quit crying by then but he was still scared. Sally May and Loper checked him over to see how badly he was hurt. He had some bruises and a scratch or two, but otherwise he appeared to be all right.

Sally May set him down on the ground and when he saw me, he came right over and threw his arms around my neck. “Goggie! Goggie!” He derned near cut my wind off there for a minute, but at that point in my career, I figgered I could stand it. I gave the boy a big juicy lick in the face.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Loper and Sally May watching us. Then a shadow passed over Loper’s face. “What should I do about that dog? I had planned . . . well, you know.”

Sally May took a deep breath and shook her head. “Surely we were mistaken.” Right! “Surely if we gave him one more chance, we wouldn’t regret it.” She came over and took my face in both her hands. “Hank, please leave my chickens alone.”

I whapped my tail against the ground and swore a solemn oath: “Sally May, even though I’m completely innocent of the charges against me, I’ll swear on my cowdog oath never to mess with your chickens again, even though I didn’t do it the first time.”

There. That covered it. We had us a deal. She even reached down and scratched me behind the ears. She drew back her hand, smelled of her fingers, and made a terrible face. “What does this dog do that makes him smell so bad! And look at my child, hugging his neck. It’s a wonder that children survive.”

Loper smiled. “They make a pair, don’t they? Well, let’s go to the house.”

Little Alfred and I rode in the back of the pickup and Loper rode the horse back to the corrals. When we got to the place, Sally May went into the machine shed and gave me an extra coffee can of Co-op dog food. It wasn’t all that great, but I ate every bite. Didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

They went into the house and I drifted down to the gas tanks. As I predicted, Drover was curled up in a little white ball on his gunnysack. I woke him up.

“Wake up, son, the conquering hero has re­turned.”

“What . . . who?” He looked at me with sleepy eyes, and one ear stuck up higher than the other one. “Oh, it’s you. Gosh, Hank, I thought you were condemned.”

I scratched around on my gunnysack and flopped down. “Nope. Cleared of all charges, found perfectly innocent, and decorated for extraordinary bravery in combat—all of that while you slept your life away.”

“Gee, I guess I missed all the excitement.”

“I guess you did, and it wasn’t the first time.”

“No, it was at least the second time.”

“At least.”

“Well, did you ever figure out who killed the chickens?”

I rolled over on my back and melted into the gunnysack. “I have suspicions, of course, but let’s just say that in this instance, we’re going to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means good night.”

“Oh. Good night, Hank.”

I heard his voice, but I had already slipped into some wonderful twitching dreams about Beulah the Collie and bones and chasing . . . rabbits.