Faded Love Page 2

  “Um-hum, and you can run along now, Hankie, and . . . oh my goodness, your poor little nose is bleeding!”

  “Oh yeah? Well, that’s real bad news for you, cat, and here’s what I’m going to do about it.”

  I went crashing into the iris patch, landed right in the middle of Pete, I mean, just buried him. He was going to pay dearly for his mistake. He’d drawn first blood and I was fixing to draw second blood—about two gallons of it.

  I lifted one paw and waited to grab him with my teeth. He didn’t come out. I lifted the other paw and . . . you might say that he’d slipped out of my trap.

  Funny, how a cat can be right there in your clutches one second and gone the next. Makes a guy wonder how they do that, and I mean right there in front of your eyes. Beats me, but we can be sure that it saved Pete from a tragic and messy death, because Hank the Cowdog does not take trash off the cats.

  I didn’t have much time to study on Pete’s escape, because just then Little Alfred came toddling over and got me in a headlock. He was still talking that “Goggie” stuff, which means “Heroic Guard Dog” in kid language.

  Little Alfred may have been little, but he was built a lot like his old man, High Loper—plenty stout in the arms and shoulders. Kind of surprised me when he throwed that headlock on me and started dragging me around. Didn’t figger a kid that age could do that, but he sure as thunder did.

  And one of the first things that happened was that, all at once, I couldn’t breathe. Little Alfred had got a good start on strangulating me.

  Now, we need to get something straight right here. Your top-of-the-line, blue-ribbon, higher-bred cowdogs are famous for their incredible strength. As a group, we’re probably the strongest breed of dogs ever known to mankind. I mean, shredding monsters, destroying obstacles, breaking into locked buildings—that’s commonplace to us, just part of the job.

  But what many people don’t know is that, while we’re licensed by the federal government as Dangerous and Lethal Weapons, we also have hearts of gold. We love children, and at an early age, we have to take a solemn oath never to bite or harm a child.

  So here’s the point. Anyone else who had throwed a headlock on me would have had tooth tracks over ninety percent of his body, and I mean within a matter of seconds. It’s impossible to strangulate a cowdog without several winch lines and heavy equipment.

  Unless it’s done by an innocent child, and see, our Cowdog Oath forbids us from biting or scratching a child. So there I was, being dragged around the yard by Little Alfred and I couldn’t get my wind and things was getting a little serious.

  I just went limp and hoped for the best.

  Just before he got me snuffed out, he let go and I dropped into the grass. I sat up and caught my wind and was beginning to think about making my exit before Sally May came back, when the little scoundrel ran his finger across the cake and put a big glob of icing in front of my nose.

  Ordinarily I’m not tempted by sweets. I’ve always figgered that too much sweets makes a dog soft. It ain’t the hardship that ruins a good dog; it’s the easy life.

  On the other hand, we don’t often get recognition in this line of work. We don’t demand it, we don’t expect it, we go on and do our job without it. But when it comes, a guy kind of hates to turn it down.

  Here was this little fellow, offering me a small reward for a job well done. What could I do? I licked the icing off his finger. He got some more and, well, I took that too. Pretty good stuff. He kept dipping and I kept licking.

  He really got a kick out of that. He was laughing and squealing and having a wonderful time. Here was a happy child. I knew Sally May wanted her child to be happy—wouldn’t any mother?—so when Little Alfred stuck his whole hand into the cake and offered me a big hunk, I took that too—primarily out of a sense of duty.

  I took a bite and he took a bite. Me and Little Alfred had become the best of friends, is what had happened. It was one of them unexpected magic moments when two of God’s creatures sit down and share some of the good things in this life: friendship and cake.

  I mean, we were different. We didn’t speak the same language or come from the same stock, but all at once that didn’t matter.

  Seemed to me Little Alfred was working awful hard, digging that cake out with his hand and feeding me every bite, so I scootched a little closer to the box and showed him how to eat cake with no hands: just by George stick your face into it and go to lickin’ and chewin’.

  He loved that! And let me tell you, the kid was good at it. Well, we had our faces stuck in the cake and had just about eat the west side out of it, when all at once . . .

  “Here I come, Sweetie. Daddy put the camera in the wrong place and the phone rang and . . . ALFRED! WHAT ON EARTH . . . HANK!!”

  Huh? Our heads came up. I looked at Little Alfred and he looked at me. He giggled. I didn’t. If I had anywhere near as much cake on my face as he did, fellers, I was in trouble.

  It’s hard to deny the crime when you’re wearing the evidence.

  Sally May’s face turned red. She grabbed a rake and started toward us, in what you might call an angry walk. (Long, sharp steps.)

  At a glance, I could see that this was going to be another misunderstanding between me and Sally May. She didn’t understand about the giant rattlesnake or me protecting her baby or the wonderful relationship me and Little Alfred had built up.

  She probably thought I was in her yard, eating her cake. And she might have even suspected me of flattening her iris bed.

  I hated to walk out on Little Alfred, but I had a pretty good idea which one of us was going to get the rake used on him. “YOU’VE RUINED MY CAKE, YOU, YOU, YOU HOUND!! GET OUT OF THIS YARD! AND MY FLOWERS!”

  Just as I suspected.

  I tucked my tail and started slinking away. When she throwed the rake at me, I slank no more. I ran.

  I had solved The Case of the Giant Rattle­snake. You might even say it had been a piece of cake. But consider the price of success: my reputation was now in shambles.

  Chapter Three: On the Road Again

  Before I could get out of her yard, Sally May threw a hand trowel and Little Alfred’s toy truck at me. She missed with both but not by much. That truck would have hurt.

  I vaulted the fence, right over the top of Drover. I could see his eyes. They were as big as two fried eggs in a skillet. I ran down the hill, past the gas tanks, and didn’t slow down until I got to the sewer. By that time, Drover had caught up with me.

  “Hank, what happened! Did you get the snake? Oh my gosh, what’s that all over your face?”

  I studied the runt for a minute. “One of these days I’m going to get tired of you sending me on suicide missions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there wasn’t a snake in the flowerbed. It was a cat. Do you know the difference between a cat and a snake?”

  “No, what?” He gave me that vacant stare of his.

  “Just as I suspected. You saw Pete in the iris bed and somehow that little pea brain of yours made him into a giant rattlesnake.”

  “No, it was a rattlesnake, a huge one, and he was crawling right toward the baby. I know it was, Hank.”

  “All right, let’s check that out. How many legs did your rattlesnake have?”

  Drover rolled his eyes. “Well . . . not very many.”

  “How many ears?”

  “Well . . . I didn’t think to count ’em, Hank.”

  “By any chance did you hear the snake say ‘meow’ or ‘mew’?”

  “No, he didn’t say a word.”

  “Was there anything on the end of his tail?”

  “End of his tail. Well, if he was a rattlesnake, he must have had a rattle.”

  “But did you see it?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. But did you see
it?”

  “If it was there, I saw it.”

  “You’re being slippery, Drover, but I’m not easily fooled. Now, once again, was it there? What’s your answer?”

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  “Either yes or no. Did you see a rattle on the end of his tail or not? It’s very simple.”

  He thought for a long time. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “No. But you didn’t say I had to be sure.”

  I sighed and shook my head. “Drover, you’re the only dog in the security business whose testimony could be used by both sides at once.”

  “Thanks, Hank.”

  “That’s no compliment.”

  “Oh gosh.”

  “I guess we’ll never know if what you saw this morning was a snake or a cat or an elephant.”

  “It wasn’t an elephant, Hank, I’m pretty sure about that.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “Me? No.”

  “That’s too bad. Just for a second there, I had a glimmer of hope.” I waded out into the water and looked down at my reflection. My face was covered with cake crumbs and icing. I resembled a clown, which seemed very appropriate. “Drover, I’m a failure.”

  “You are?”

  “I work eighteen hours a day on this place. I try to do the right thing, but it seems that every time I turn around, I’m in trouble again. It’s just not worth it. Why, up there in the yard, I could have been killed by that rattlesnake.”

  “I thought it was a cat.”

  “And for what? Why do I go on, day after day, beating my head against a brick wall?”

  “I bet that hurts.”

  “There’s just no sense in it.”

  “Sounds crazy to me.”

  “Is it for the honor? The glory? The adventure?”

  “It’s bound to be something.”

  “Drover, what do you think about love?”

  “Oh, I’m for it.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. I’ve spent too many years wrapped up in my career and never took the time to fall in love. Sometimes a guy can’t see the forest for the trees, Drover.”

  “Yeah, and most of ’em are down by the creek anyway.”

  “There’s a whole world out there that I don’t know anything about. It’s a world of birds and butterflies and flowers.”

  “And hay fever.”

  “It’s a world of sunshine and poetry and songs. Drover, do you think I’m too old to act silly again and fall in love?”

  “I don’t know, but you look pretty silly with that stuff all over your face.”

  I gazed at myself in the water. “Hank the Clown Dog, Head of Ranch Manurity. That’s what I get for my years of service. You’re right, Drover, it’s time for a change. You’ve convinced me that it’s time for old Hank to fall in love.”

  “I did that?”

  “Yes. By being such an incredible dunce. By sending me on suicide missions. By proving over and over that chaos and mismanagement are the natural order of the universe.”

  “Gosh, thanks, Hank.”

  “Now, I shall take my bath and prepare this magnificent body for the ladies of the world. And then I’ll bid farewell to this ungrateful place and travel down the creek to the next ranch, where dwells my true love.”

  Drover’s ears shot up. “Hey, that’s where my true love lives! I’ll go with you.”

  “Very well, Drover, we’ll go together, and together we’ll embark on a new career.”

  “What career is that, Hank?”

  I gave him a smile. “We’re going to become troubadours, poets, and professional lovers.”

  “Boy, that sounds like fun.”

  “Yes, fun. What a strange word to me. I know so little about it. But I’ll learn to be frivolous.” I glanced up toward the house. “And one of these nights, when the moon is dark and the coyotes are slinking through the shadows, they will regret what they’ve done to me.”

  “Yeah, they’ll be sorry.”

  What a delicious thought! Loper and Sally May, out with flashlights, calling my name, begging me to come back, promising a fresh start and a better deal. But too late.

  I plunged into the warm green water, rolled and splashed and laughed and kicked my legs in the air. When I stepped out and shook myself, I felt as though I had washed away the old Hank and become a new dog.

  Minutes later, we started off on our new adventure, heading down toward the creek. As we passed one of those big elm trees there in the flat, I caught a glimpse of Pete. He had seen us, and fearing for his life, he had begun slinking toward the tree.

  The old Hank would have taken time to whip him and run him up the tree. But the new Hank considered him an irrelevance, just another bad memory from years of squandered youth.

  “Don’t bother to run, cat. I’m finished with you and this ranch. I’m a changed dog. I don’t lower myself to chase cats anymore.”

  He reached his claws up on the tree trunk and started sharpening them. “Oh really?”

  “Yeah, really!” said Drover. “We’re not kidding this time.”

  “I bet I can make you chase me,” said Pete.

  I laughed. “I’m beyond that, Pete, it’s all behind me now. We’re quitting this ranch forever. You can have it. It’s yours.”

  He studied his claws. “I still bet I can make you chase me.”

  We stopped. “All right, go ahead. You’ll find that I’m a changed dog. Try me.” He humped up his back and hissed. “Nothing, Pete, sorry.” He yowled and spit. I only laughed at him. He flicked the end of his tail back and forth. “The feeling’s gone, Pete, sorry old boy.”

  Laughing at Pete and the whole ranch, Drover and I started out on our journey.

  “How’s your nose doing, Hankie?” That was Pete’s voice.

  I stopped. Slowly I turned my head until I could see him. He was sitting at the base of the tree, grinning and flicking the end of his tail.

  “You shut your lousy rotten mouth about my nose!”

  “Looks like somebody,” he reached up and dragged his claws across the tree trunk, “scratched it.”

  “You’ve been warned, cat. One more word out of you, and I’m liable to clean your plow.”

  “Hmm. One more word? How about . . . NOSE!”

  That did it. I went after him, and Drover was right behind me, saying, “Get ’im, Hankie, get ’im!” Derned near got him, but he managed to escape up the tree at the last possible second.

  “And let that be a lesson to you, cat!” I yelled at him.

  He smiled and flicked his tail. “Told you I could make you chase me. You haven’t changed so much.”

  “That’s what you think. We’re leaving this ranch and we’ll never be back.”

  “Oh, you’ll be back,” said Pete. “I’ll give you three days.”

  Chapter Four: The Horrible Quicksand Monster

  And so it was that Drover and I left the ranch forever, turned our backs on worry and re­sponsibility, and went out into the big wide world to find our true loves.

  We hit the creek just south of the house and followed it east through the home pasture. When we came to the Parnell water gap, Drover slipped under the fence and I stood there a moment, looking back.

  “Good-bye, old ranch. We gave you our best for a lot of years, and that was more than you deserved. And on this spot we take a solemn oath, never to return.”

  I scooted under the fence and we continued our journey.

  “That was real good, Hank, that stuff about the solemn oath.”

  “You liked that? Would you believe I just composed it on the spot?”

  “No kidding? You mean, you didn’t even have to think about it or anything?”

  “No, sir. It just by George popped
out of MY mouth.”

  We went on down the creek, and after a bit Drover said, “What happens if we decided we want to go back to the ranch?”

  I gave him a sideward glance. “What happens is that we can’t go back, ever, period.”

  “But we might change our minds.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand solemn oaths, Drover. Once you’ve taken a solemn oath, you’re bound to it for life. There’s no turning back once you’ve taken an oath.”

  “Yeah, but what if we did turn back?”

  “As far as I know, it’s never been tested. We just don’t know what might happen, but it would be very bad. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh . . . I kind of miss the ranch.”

  “We just left the ranch!”

  “I know, and that’s about the time I started missing it.”

  “Well, shake it off and toughen up, ’cause we ain’t going back.”

  “And I’m kind of hungry, too.”

  I stopped and glared at him. “Hungry! How can you be hungry at a time like this?”

  “I don’t know.” He started crying. “But I’m hungry and I’m homesick and I want to go back to the ranch.”

  “I should have known better than to bring you along. You’ve got no guts, Drover, no backbone, no sense of adventure.”

  “I know it!” he blubbered. “I’m a failure, I’ve always been a failure. Can I go home now?”

  “Sure, go on. You’d be doing me a big favor if you left right now, and the sooner the quicker.”

  He sniffed and wiped his eyes with a paw. “Thanks, Hank. You’ll be better off without me.”

  “Indeed I will. You’ll be sorry, of course, when I tell you about all my adventures.”

  “I know I will.” He started slinking back toward the water gap. “Bye, Hank, and good luck.”

  “And good riddance to bad rubbish!”

  He went his way and I went mine. I must have gone, oh, twenty or twenty-five paces when I had a change of heart. I hated for Drover to miss this opportunity. I mean, the little mutt had lived such a sheltered life, he needed a chance to widen his horizons.