The Case of the Most Ancient Bone Page 2

  Slim dumped his tools onto the flatbed and shrugged. “I always liked that joke. It’s the only one I could ever remember.”

  Moving at his usual pace (slow motion), Slim went sludging back into the barn. At that very moment, who should come walking up but Little Alfred, my most favorite pal in the whole world. On a normal day, I would have leaped to my feet and given him a few licks on the face, but today . . . I, uh, whapped my tail on the ground and called it good.

  “Hi, Hankie. It’s kind of hot, isn’t it?”

  Right. Very hot.

  Slim and Loper came blundering out of the barn again, loaded down with gear. Alfred said, “Hi, Dad.” Loper didn’t hear, so the boy tried again, in a louder voice. “Hi, Dad!” Alfred looked closer at his dad. “He’s got a rag in his ears!”

  Slim said, “Don’t pay him any mind, Button. He’s on a crusade to make this the worst day since the volcano went off at Palm Play. I tried to cheer him up with one of my best jokes but it only confused him.”

  Alfred went to his dad and tugged on his pant leg. “Hey, Dad, you’ve got something in your ears.”

  Loper looked down at him. “What?” He uncorked one of his ears. “Oh, hi, son.”

  “How come you’ve got a rag in your ears?”

  “I’m trying to gather up windmill tools, and I can’t concentrate with all the noise.” He jerked his head toward Slim. Slim stuck out his tongue and made a sour face.

  Alfred brightened. “Can I go wiff ya’ll and help?”

  Loper patted him on the head. “Not this time, son. It’s not likely to be much fun.”

  Slim muttered, “We can bet on that.”

  Loper shot him a dark glare. “Well, we’re burning daylight. Let’s get this over with.”

  They loaded into the pickup, and Loper started the engine. Over the noise, we heard Slim say, “Loper, you know the trouble with you?”

  “Of course I do. Poor help.” Then Loper turned up the volume on the radio, and they roared away.

  Little Alfred drifted over to us. “Hi, doggies. Want to play?”

  I gave him a wooden stare. Play?

  “We could play Chase the Ball.”

  Ha ha.

  “We could go exploring. Want to do that?”

  Exploring? I wanted to explore the inside of an ice-cold watermelon and stay there until the first snow of the season. Other than that, no thanks.

  He pushed out his lower lip at me. “Come on, Hankie, you’re no fun.”

  Right. Sometimes that bothered me and sometimes it didn’t. Right now, I just didn’t give a rip.

  He made an ugly face at me and started down to the house. “You’re just a lazy bum.”

  Exactly, and proud of it, too. Okay, I wasn’t proud of it. Being a lazy bum was nothing to be proud of but I couldn’t help myself, not in this heat.

  Ho hum. Time crawled by. Half an hour later, we heard sounds of life down at the house. A door slammed. Someone had come outside. With great effort, I swung my head around and saw Sally May standing in the yard, spraying her flowers and shrubberies with the water hose.

  “Drover, Sally May has come out of the house. One of us needs to go down to the yard gate and give her a greeting.”

  “How come?”

  “Because that’s what we do. It’s part of our job. When our people come outside, we’re supposed to greet them. Dogs have been doing it for thousands of years.”

  “No wonder I’m so tired.”

  “What?”

  “I said . . . I’ll be derned. Which one of us will do it this time?”

  I pondered that for a moment.” Actually, I was wondering if you might take it, Drover. It wouldn’t have to be anything fancy or special.”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “Not much, just our basic Howdy Routine—chug down to the gate, give her some wags and a smile, tell her that you care deeply about her life, and come right back. It would be an easy way for you to build up some points.”

  “I guess I could use the points.”

  “Exactly. It never hurts to build up a few extra points with Sally May.”

  “Yeah, but I have a problem.”

  I rolled my eyes. “All right, Drover, tell me about the problem.”

  “Well, I hate to admit it. You’d probably think I’m a louse if you knew the truth.”

  “That’s a risk we’ll have to take, I suppose. What’s the truth, and hurry up.”

  “Well . . .” He glanced over both shoulders and whispered, “I really don’t care deeply about her life.”

  I stared at the runt. “What? You really don’t . . . Drover, what kind of dog are you? I’m shocked and astamished that you’d even say such a thing.”

  “See? I knew it! I never should have told you the truth, but it’s true. I just don’t care deeply about her life, not today.”

  I took a breath of air and tried to absorb this astounding rulevation . . . revulation . . . revolution . . . I was shocked. “When did this start? When did you first notice it?”

  “Well . . . about thirty minutes ago. I think it has something to do with the heat. I just don’t give a rip about anything, and I don’t think I can care deeply about her life right now.”

  “What about last evening when it was cooler?”

  “Oh yeah, I cared back then, but now . . . I just don’t think I could pull it off. It would be a big fat lie.”

  “Hmmm. This is serious, Drover. It cuts to the very heart of what we are as dogs. I mean, if a dog doesn’t have deep feelings about his own people, what’s left?”

  “I don’t know. Four legs and a stub tail, I guess.”

  “That’s not much.” I jacked myself up off the ground. “All right, son, I’ll take this one, but I’m warning you. If we don’t see some improvement in your attitude, we’ll have to take some drastic measures.”

  He gave me a sad look. “Thanks, Hank. I’ll do better when the weather cools down, I promise.”

  Chapter Three: Sally May’s Oasis

  I left him lying in the shade. Just imagine, a dog that didn’t care about the lady of the house, the very lady who fed us scraps! What was the world coming to?

  Oh well. I tried to forget the sorry state of the world and made my way down the dusty dog trail to the yard gate. I could feel the sun baking the hairs on my back. My mouth was parched and dry.

  But in spite of it all, I marched to the gate, sat down in front of Sally May, and launched myself into the Howdy Program—switched the tail circuits over to Broad Caring Sweeps, went to Bright Lights on the eyes, and squeezed up a smile of Utter Sincerity.

  “Why, Sally May! I see you’ve come out of the house and you’re watering your shrubberies. I haven’t seen you in several hours and I just wanted you to know how deeply I care about . . .”

  What a pack of lies! I couldn’t go on with it. I flopped down on the ground. The Caring Wags came to a sudden stop. The Bright Lights went out in my eyes, and I found myself staring at the dusty ground.

  Who could care about anything in this heat? I had thought that I could pull it off, that all my years of training and discipline would get me through the routine, but the awful heat had dragged me down.

  I turned a pair of glazed eyes toward Sally May. She saw me and smiled. “Hello, Hank. It’s hot, isn’t it?”

  Yes ma’am, it was hot. Furthermore, I didn’t give a rip about . . .

  I noticed a cool breeze blowing across the yard and into my face. It felt good . . . wonderful. At last, something cool and refreshing! It was the water, see, the wind blowing across the spray of Sally May’s water. And then I noticed that everything inside the fence was GREEN—as green and refreshing as green refreshing greenery.

  Wow!

  I mean, the whole world was baked to a crisp and shriveled up in the heat, but that little oasi
s in Sally May’s yard . . .

  Hmmmm.

  I, uh, returned to the control room of my mind and began reprogramming the program: up on all-fours, Broad Caring Wags, Bright Lights in the eyes, big cowdog smile . . .

  I stood up and smiled. “Why, Sally May, how nice to see you again! I’m here to deliver a very special message and to let you know that, well, I care DEEPLY about your life. No kidding. How are the children? How’s your day been going?”

  At this point, I hooked my front paws over the top of the fence and mushed on with my presentation. “Oh, and by the way, I was just noticing your yard—admiring it, actually. It’s so . . . well, cool and damp and fresh, and I was wondering . . .”

  You might find this part hard to believe, but here goes. I slithered myself over the fence and oozed down into the cool, green refreshingness of the grass. Pretty amazing, huh? You bet. And even more amazing was that I did it with Maximum Stealth, so quietly and cunningly that she didn’t even notice.

  Heh heh.

  Which meant that . . . well, she would probably think that I’d been there all the time. No invasion of her precious yard by dogs, no big deal. We were just there, she and I, chatting and laughing about our various lives and sharing precious moments of . . . something. Preciousness.

  And caring about each other. That was the most impointant pork. We cared deeply about each other’s lives.

  Once inside the yard, I resumed my presentation. “Sally May, I can hardly express how deeply and sincerely I admire you for . . . well, for all the things you do. There are so many things a dog can admire in you that I’m . . . well, ha ha, who could list them all?”

  Was it selling? I studied her carefully. It was hard to tell. Slowly, very slowly, her gaze swung around and locked on me. I swallowed hard. The moment of truth had arrived.

  She said, “You’re in my yard.”

  Uh...yes, that was true.

  I waited for more, but that’s all she said. Her gaze returned to the flower beds, and I was left to desiphon the meaning of her words. See, I knew she had some strong opinions about Dogs in the Yard (she didn’t allow it), yet there I was in her yard and . . . well, she hadn’t screeched or chased me with a broom or anything.

  This seemed pretty strong proof that my program was working. Her heart was beginning to soften and I needed to press on with my presentation. I had already picked out the spot where I wanted to . . . well, spend some time: the iris patch on the north side of the house, which appeared to be the very coolest spot on the ranch—out of the sun, out of the dusty wind, great location.

  Oh, and it also happened to be the favorite loafing spot of Pete the Barncat, which made it even more inviting. (Of course, Pete would have to vacate the property when I took it over.)

  But I didn’t dare make my move to the iris patch, not yet. That would be too sudden, too abrupt. Before I moved into the iris patch, so to speak, I needed to do a little more . . . how can I say this? A little more “diplomatic work” with Sally May.

  Charm her. Win her heart. Convince her that I belonged in her yard.

  I switched all systems over to Heavy Charm and went back to work. Here’s the message I beamed to her:

  “Sally May, words and tail wags can hardly express my deep and sincere admiration for the fine work you’ve done in your yard. Did you, uh, do all this landscraping yourself? You have such an eye for beauty! Every little shrubbery and blade of grass is just, well, perfect. So green, so cool, so inviting. Terrific.

  “And . . . well, maybe you’ve noticed that it’s very hot today, and maybe you’ve noticed that I’m wearing a fur coat. Perhaps you’ve even been worried about me. I mean, everyone knows that you’re the kind of lady who worries about her pets and animals, and let me say right here that I’ve always admired that quality in you—the fact that you CARE so much about animals and doing the right thing.”

  I held my breath and waited. Her eyes swung around again. And she said, “You’re still in my yard.”

  That didn’t sound so good, but let me point out that she said it with a smile. Hey, this was going pretty well, and it was time to make a dash for the Bottom Line.

  “Yes, Sally May, and speaking of the yard, let me take this opportunity to express some thoughts and feelings that are . . . well, close to my heart. I know we’ve gone through some rocky times, you and I, and we’ve had our share of . . . well, misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Failures to communicate our, uh, deepest feelings about each other.

  “I’ll admit that I’ve made a few . . . that is, a few mistakes have been made, and I know that they’ve damaged our relationship. Sometimes I’ve even had the feeling that . . . well, you don’t trust me. In your yard, for example. And this has really bothered me. Deeply. No kidding.

  “But I want you to know that I’m a changed dog. An older dog. A wiser and more mature dog. And I feel that our relationship has progressed to the point where you can trust me in your yard, trust me to do the right thing, to care for all your precious little flowers and shrubberies and blades of grass.

  “Anyway, it’s hotter than blue blazes today, and since you care so much about the, uh, welfare of animals and helpless creatures and so forth. I was wondering . . . hey, what would you think if I moved into the yard for a couple of days? Huh?”

  I beamed her my broadest and most sincere smile. She studied me for a long moment, and I had a feeling that the ice in her heart was beginning to melt. Any second now, she would . . .

  HUH?

  What happened next almost broke my heart. I mean, after all the time and care I had poured into my presentation . . .

  Here’s what happened. She said, “Hank, you know the rules. No dogs in the yard.”

  Yes, but I was wondering . . .

  “Hank . . . out!”

  Sure, but maybe this time we could . . .

  And then she . . . SHE SPRAYED ME WITH THE GARDEN HOSE!

  Okay, fine, if that’s the way she felt about it. If I wasn’t welcome in her yard, I would just . . .

  Battered and wounded by the piercing spray of the garden hose, I made a dash to the fence and went sailing over the top. Safe on the other side, I paused long enough to beam her a look we call “My Life Is Ruined and You’re the Cause.” It’s a facial expression we save back for the very darkest moments, and it should have caused her to . . . I don’t know, cry or feel awful or something.

  But I guess it didn’t work, because she chirped a little laugh and said, “Hank, I’m sorry, but what can I do? You don’t take hints, and I’m not going to let you trample and dig up my yard. Period.” She turned off the water hydrant and started toward the house. At the door, she turned and said, “Stay out of my yard.”

  Those words cut me to the crick. After all the time I’d spent trying to win her heart and convince her . . . what does it take to please these women? What does a dog have to do to convince them that . . .

  Suddenly I had to face the crushing reality that my presentation—my very best and most sincere presentation—had fallen into the dust like a...something. A crippled buzzard. A wounded goose. A ruptured duck.

  I had opened my heart to her, exposed my deepest and most secret feelings, and she had washed them all away with one splat of the garden hose. I was so wounded and damaged, I wasn’t sure I would ever . . .

  Oh well. It had been a long shot anyway. Sally May had always been a tough sell, so getting the bum’s rush from her wasn’t exactly the biggest surprise in the world. And getting sprayed with water had felt pretty good.

  Huh?

  A cat was standing on the other side of the fence, grinning at me and flicking the end of his tail back and forth.

  Chapter Four: A Conversation with the Cat

  It was Pete the Barncat—who, for your information, never spent any time catching mice in the barn or anywhere else. He spent his whole life lounging in the s
hade of the iris patch and making a nuisance of himself.

  Have we discussed cats? Maybe not. I don’t like ’em, never have. And the cat I dislike the most in the whole world is Pete, who has some kind of genius for showing up at the very worst of times.

  Such as now. And there he was, giving me that simpering grin that drives me nuts. “Hi, Hankie. Did you get sprayed?”

  I gave the little snot a withering glare and marched away. He probably thought he could provoke me into a childish display of temper. Ha! The foolish cat. Little did he know that I was a very busy dog and had more important . . .

  On second thought . . . I whirled around and marched back to the fence. “What did you just say?”

  “I said,” he grinned and blinked his eyes, “you got sprayed.”

  “That’s correct, kitty, I got sprayed. Perhaps you think that’s funny.”

  He snickered. “Yes, yes, it was very funny. You should have seen that look on your face when she . . . hee hee . . . turned the hose on you!”

  I felt my lips curling up into a snarl, but I caught it just in time and turned it into a calm, pleasant smile. See, I knew what the cat was trying to do: provoke me into an “incident,” let us say, right there in front of Sally May, which would get me into even more and deeper trouble with the Lady of the House.

  But I knew Pete’s tricks and I wasn’t going to fall for this one. I beamed him a sweet smile and said, “You’re right, Pete, I got sprayed, but I wanted to get sprayed. That’s why I went into the yard, so that Sally May could cool me down with a nice little shower of water.”

  “Oh really?”

  “That’s correct. Why else would I have gone into the yard? It was part of a clever plan, Pete, and as you can see, it worked to perfection. See? I’m wet, cool, and refreshed.”

  “Hankie, I think,” he began purring and rubbing on the fence, “you’re jealous because I get to stay in the yard, and you don’t.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “And it just eats your liver that I’m Sally May’s special pet.”