The Case of the Haystack Kitties by John R. Erickson

Author:John R. Erickson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: cowdog, Hank the Cowdog, John R. Erickson, John Erickson, ranching, Texas, dog, adventure, mystery, Hank, Drover, Pete, Sally May
Publisher: Maverick Books, Inc.
Published: 2015-05-06T20:02:53+00:00

Swoped. Swopen. Swoopen. Do I care?

Well, seeing hungry buzzards in the sky didn’t give me a great feeling of confidence about this deal, but it did make me wonder how those guys always managed to show up in the darkest of moments. I don’t have much good to say about buzzards, but you’ve got to admit that they’re geniuses when it comes to smelling disaster.

Gulp. And it appeared that I had one in progress. I was sealed in a Ford F-250 casket and was chugging toward the creek. There was no escape, no hope, no solution. What did I do? I did what any nor­mal, healthy cowdog would do.

I began chewing on the steering wheel.

At first glance, you might think that was a dopey thing to do. How could it help? Well . . . I’m not sure. All I can tell you is that, amongst us dogs, it’s a normal and healthy response. When scared beyond recognition, we start chewing on the first object we encounter. In my case, it happened to be the steering wheel.

I don’t think there’s anything special, or magical about steering wheels. When they’re handy, we chew ’em, that’s all. And can testify that it made me feel better. It sort of took my mind off my problems as I chug, chug, chugged toward the creek.

I knew Slim would understand. After, they sent down the divers to find the pickup, after they hooked the winchline onto the back bumper and hauled it out on dry land, he would open the door and find my lifeless carcass, and there beside me would be the chewed-up steering wheel. And through his tears of grief, he would say, “Well, I reckon it brought a little aid and comfort to my pal Hank in his last hour, so it went to a worthy cause.”

Pretty sad, huh? But I’ll tell you something about steering wheels. They’re hard to chew, and they don’t taste so great. If I’d had it all to do over again, I might have chewed something softer, such as the seats.

Well, we’ve put this off as long as we can. Sooner or later we’ve got to come to the bad part, when the pickup finally goes over the bank and into the creek. Are you ready? I guess I’m ready. Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for all the memories. Thanks for helping me chew the steering wheel.

I held my head at a proud angle, and like a ship’s captain about to go down with the ship, I . . .

Who would have thought that this particular stretch of Wolf Creek was only about six inches deep? Not me. Heck, I’d supposed it was, oh, fifty, sixty feet deep at least. It looked deep. Okay, maybe it didn’t look all that deep, but who notices such tiny details when he’s sitting in the cab of a runaway pickup? And chewing the steering wheel? Not me.

And I’ll guarantee you that Drover wouldn’t have noticed. Why, if he’d been in there with me, he’d have .

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