Chapter Four: Sally May Punches My Face

With my head held high, I fell in step beside Slim and we marched out of the machine shed.

It was a moving experience, a cowboy and his trusted dog going out into the Great Unknown to fight for the ranch and protect it from evil forces. I could almost hear the band playing our battle song—drums, trumpets, cymbals . . . laughter?

Hmm, that was odd. I was almost sure that my ears picked up the sounds of laughter coming from the machine shed. I couldn’t imagine why Loper and Uncle Johnny would be laughing in the midst of such a solemn ceremony. I mean, it seemed a little out of place to me.

But as long as they were laughing and happy, who was I to complain? I had received the highest honor a dog can ever hope for—heartfelt expressions of appreciation and adoration—and that was good enough for me. Shucks, I was ready to go out and eat a couple of cattle rustlers for dinner.

Just then, Drover came padding up, “Hi, Hank. Are you going somewhere?”

“That’s correct.”

“Can I go too?”

“Sure, Drover, we’d be glad to have you along.”

He began hopping around in circles. “Oh boy, I’m all excited about this.”

“I noticed.”

“It gets kind of boring around here sometimes.”

“Wherever you are, Drover, it gets kind of boring.”

“Yeah, I hope it’s not just me.”

“Oh no, surely not.”

“Thanks, Hank. Where we going?”

“Up into a deep dark canyon to catch a gang of bloodthirsty cattle rustlers.”

Now get this. All of a sudden, and I mean instantly, it appeared that Mister Stub-Tail suffered a blowout on his left front leg. We’re talking about pain and agony and crippled for life.

“Oh, drat the luck! This old leg picks the very worst times to go out on me. Maybe I’d better stick around here. I just don’t think I could stand the pain.”

I kept walking. “I know you’ll hate to miss another big adventure.”

“Yeah, it’s terrible, being an invalid all the time.” He began backing toward the machine shed. “It’ll be boring around here, but I’ll do my best to take care of things. Bye, Hank, and be careful.”

I didn’t bother to say good-bye. Drover is so predictable. Sometimes I think . . . oh well. We’d be better off without him anyway.

Slim had parked his pickup down by the gas tanks, and it appeared that we were headed in that direction. We marched down the hill, past the yard gate, and on to the gas tanks. Slim removed the lid from the pickup’s tank and began filling it with gas, and I saw my opportunity to take a quick dip in Emerald Pond—my own private name, by the way, for the overflow of the septic tank.

On a hot summer day, there’s nothing quite as refreshing as a plunge into those healing waters. My coat of hair gets very hot in the summertime, don’t you see, and I can say without exaggeration that Emerald Pond has saved my life on more than one occasion.

I went sprinting to the water’s edge and dived into its green embrace. Oh, wonderful coolness! Oh, manly fragrance! I relaxed my legs and surrendered my whole entire being to cool floatinghood.

It was then that I noticed Sally May coming down the path from the corrals. It was OUR dog path she was using, if you want to get technical about it, but I sure didn’t have any problem with her borrowing it for a while. Sally May is welcome to use our path any time she wants.

Walking with her that morning was Baby Molly, age one year or thereabouts. It appeared that Molly was learning to walk on two legs, and I’ve often wondered why we dogs never learned that trick.

How do you explain that? Both Little Alfred and Molly had started out walking on all fours, just the way a normal dog would do it, but then at some point they switched over to the two-legged approach.

It makes me wonder if I missed a lesson or two in my early training. How come I can’t do that? I’ve tried it many times, but I could never go more than a few steps on two legs.

Beats me. Maybe that’s just the way it’s supposed to be, but it does make a guy wonder.

Anyways, there was Sally May, the very lady who, according to our intelligence reports, would be worried sick about me while I was on combat duty up the in the deep dark canyon.

Yes, I was a very busy dog. Yes, I had many things on my mind as I prepared to go into combat against the Deadly Gang of Rustlers. But one of the marks of a true Head of Ranch Security is that he MAKES time for the important people in his life.

I mean, in this line of work, a guy can get so wrapped up in his own affairs that he forgets to share himself with the very ones he’s protecting out there on Life’s Front Lines. At some point you just have to by George stop and smell the rose-colored glasses.

The opportunity had presented itself for me to spend some quality time with Sally May and her little daughter, so I hauled my wet and highly conditioned body out of Emerald Pond and loped over to them.

When I arrived, Sally May was kneeling beside Baby Molly and appeared to be engrossed in something. Oh yes. Molly held a big black bug in her fist and was trying to eat it.

(Let me pause here to mention that, in some ways, Molly was a weird little kid. I mean, she ate things like dirt and leaves and twigs. And bugs. Shucks, I once saw her chewing on the trunk of a tree. Can you imagine that? A little girl trying to eat a whole tree? Maybe she was part beaver, I don’t know.)

Anyways, she had this black beetle clutched in her plump little fist, and she’d already made up her mind to eat that rascal, but Sally May had other ideas and was trying to pry open her fist.

I figgered this might be a good time for me to shake all the loose water out of my coat. Every once in a while we dogs will drip-dry, but it’s usually better to shake. It’s a little more trouble but better in the long run.

Cuts down on the chances of getting the sniffles. As much as we use our noses in the Security Business, we sure don’t need the sniffles.

So I closed my eyes, extended my tail, and went into the shaking maneuver, shook every inch of hair and tissue between the tip of my nose and the end of my tail. It was a heck of a good shake, but suddenly the peace and tranquility of the moment were interrupted by a piercing scream.

Over the years I have observed that for every scream, there is a screamer. That scream didn’t just happen. It had been caused by something, and I had a pretty good idea what it was.

Sally May had gotten a good look at that bug and it had scared the daylights out of her.

Well, you know where I stand on the matter of Ladies in Distress. Nothing in this world calls me into action quicker than the scream of a lady in distress, especially if she happens to be my master’s wife.

In a flash, I had cancelled the Shake Program and had gone into Manual Hair Lift-Up and switched over to Double Baritone Bark. Pretty impressive, huh? But that wasn’t all. In the midst of all this switching of programs and circuits, I somehow found an opening of time to leap into Sally May’s lap and give her my biggest, juiciest, most comforting lick on the face.

How did I manage to accomplish all of that in the space of just a few seconds? I can’t tell you. Somehow it all comes together at the right time. It goes back to our rigorous training, I suppose.

Training, self-discipline, physical conditioning, and the kind of protective instincts you expect to find in a top-of-the-line cowdog.

I have no idea why she turned on me like she did. I mean, we’re talking about wild eyes and flared nostrils and clenched teeth, and do you believe that she actually SLUGGED ME ON THE NOSE?

Yes sir, delivered a roundhouse right that landed between my nose and upper teeth. I never would have believed that a proper lady would actually slug a dog, but this one did.

She gave a howl of pain and began shaking the very fist that had almost sent me into the next county. And then she screeched at me. Yes, screeched in a very loud and ugly tone, and to be honest about it, the screeching hurt me worse than the actual blow.

Well, maybe not. It was a heck of a punch, came all the way from the horse pasture, seemed to me, and it did cause my lights to blink there for a while.

But she screeched at me. “GET AWAY FROM MY BABY, YOU STINKING FLEABAG!!”

Boy, that hurt, it really did. Sometimes a dog wonders what it takes to please these people. I mean, you devote every waking hour to . . . oh well.

And then she screeched again, while I was trying my best to get out of her range. “Slim, either get this dog out of here or bring me the shotgun!”

Holy smokes, the mention of the shotgun cleared my head faster than smelling sauce, and even though I was still seeing sparklers and checkers and strange patterns of light behind my eyes, I took this opportunity to tuck my tail and scramble for safety under Slim’s pickup.

I made it, and lucky for me, she didn’t try to crawl under there to get me.

You know, I never did figger out what had lit her fuse. Baby Molly ended up eating the bug. Maybe that was it, but with these women, you never know.