The Disappearance of Drover Page 3

  Over in the other direction, I caught sight of a place that brought back memories that weren’t so pleasant: the Twitchell Dog Pound, otherwise known as Devil’s Island for Dogs. Yes, I had spent some time in that . . . you know, we probably shouldn’t be talking about this (the little children), so for the record, let’s just say that I’d heard about the place and about the guy who ran it (Jimmy Joe Dogcatcher), and it was no place where a respectable dog wanted to spend any time.

  There. Let the record state that I knew almost nothing about Devil’s Island for Dogs.

  As we cruised down Main Street, Drover and I sat up and gawked at all the wonderful sights. By the time we had reached the stoplight in the middle of town, I had decided to give Drover a history lesson. I mean, the little mutt had lived a sheltered life and needed to expand his tiny mind.

  “Drover, do you realize that Twitchell was one of the first towns ever built in Texas?”

  He had been staring off into space. His gaze drifted down and landed on me. “Oh, hi. Did you say something?”

  “I did, yes. We’re going to begin our unit on Texas history.”

  “Well, I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “You’re not busy. You’re just sitting there like a stump, and you might as well learn something.”

  “Oh, rats.”

  “What?”

  “I said, Oh, yes.”

  “That’s the spirit. In today’s lesson, we learn that Twitchell was one of the first towns ever built in Texas.”

  “I’ll be derned. How’d you know that?”

  “I know it because I observe. I pay attention. While you were in your dreamy state, we passed five buildings that should have given you a clue. Did you notice even one of them?”

  He glanced around. “Well, I saw the Dixie Dog.”

  “That wasn’t one of them. Now pay attention. In the last five minutes, we have passed the First National Bank, the First State Bank, the First Methodist church, the First Baptist church, and the First Christian church.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “Exactly. Those were the first churches and banks ever built in Texas. Following the path of simple logic, we must conclude that Twitchell is the oldest town.”

  He was impressed. “I’ll be derned. History’s all around us.”

  “Yes indeed. Twitchell is not only older than Austin and San Antonio, it might even be older than dirt.”

  “Yeah, I just saw a street that wasn’t paved.”

  “Exactly my point. It was a dirt street, and it’s been here since the very day dirt was invented.”

  His face bloomed in a smile. “You know, I never cared much for history, but it’s pretty interesting.”

  I gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Stick with me, son, and you’ll learn a lot. With me, the education never stops.”

  You know, a lot of dogs wouldn’t have taken the time to school Drover. They’d have seen him as a hopeless case. To be honest, there had been times when I’d considered him a hopeless case, but those of us who live on the mountaintop have a responsibility to help our fellow dogs; and any time I can drag Drover up the Hill of Knowledge, I’m glad to do it.

  Okay, I’m not exactly glad to do it, but I do it.

  That was a pretty awesome history lesson, wasn’t it? You bet. And now you know that Twitchell was the very first town in Texas. What you don’t know is that the citizens of Twitchell were having a big parade that day, and I probably shouldn’t tell you who or whom they were honoring.

  Or maybe I will. Me. No kidding.

  Chapter Five: My Parade

  It came as a complete surprise. I mean, nobody had said a word to me about the parade, and I was . . . well, you can imagine. Proud but also very surprised, and humbled. Here’s what we saw as we drove down the main street of the oldest town in Texas.

  We were sitting at the stoplight, the one that sits in the middle of town, and Drover’s ears shot up. “Hey, I hear drums.”

  I hoisted up my left ear and twisted it around. “Hmm, it does sound like drums. Why would we be hearing drums at this time of day?”

  “I don’t know. What time is it?”

  “It’s too early for drums. Nobody beats on drums in the morning.”

  Drover listened some more. “Yeah, but somebody is. And you know what else? I think it’s a marching band.”

  “Impossible.” I hopped my front legs on the side of the pickup bed and looked up ahead. “Holy smokes, it is a marching band, and look at all the people lining the street. Drover, this is a parade!”

  “I’ll be derned. How fun. I wonder what they’re celebrating.”

  We had left the stoplight by this time and were creeping down the street behind the marching band. On both sides of the street, throngs of people waved and cheered. Above the roar of the crowd, I heard a child exclaim, “Oh, look at the dog!”

  That’s when I figured it out. “Drover, is it possible that they’re giving this parade for us?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “Then why are they here at this time of day? Why did they let the children out of school? Why are they cheering and looking at us?”

  “Well . . .”

  I turned to the crowd on the east side of the street and waved. “Thank you so much! I’m speechless.” I whirled back to Drover. “Don’t you get it? They heard about my Badger Campaign. Someone must have told them I was coming to town.”

  “Yeah, but nobody knew about it.”

  I faced the crowd again and blew them a kiss. “Thank you, thank you! You know, Drover, words fail me at times like this. All my life I’ve tried to be a good example for the little children, and now . . . just look at them! They’ve turned out in droves . . . and listen to their shouts of joy and admiration!”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s for us.”

  “It’s for ME. Don’t forget who’s Head of Ranch Security.” I turned back to the cheering throngs and waved. “Thank you! You’re all wonderful!” Back to Drover. “Slim must have arranged it, and the rascal never said a word about it.”

  Drover pointed to a banner that had been hung across the street. “Yeah, but look at that.”

  I narrowed my eyes and studied the lettering on the banner. It said, Welcome Home AA State Basketball Champs. “Okay, so there’s a banner. What’s your point?”

  “Well, we don’t play basketball.”

  “Drover, that banner has probably been there for years. Don’t you remember seeing it the last time we were in town?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I do. This parade has nothing to do with . . .” Just then, I caught sight of a very attractive lady dog sitting on the curb. I rushed to the side of the pickup and beamed her a wolfish smile. “Good morning, my lovely sugarplum! This is very impressive, isn’t it? I’m so glad you could come and share my day of triumph.”

  I blew her a kiss, and she . . . well, she laughed and I wasn’t sure what that meant, but when the women are laughing, it’s no bad deal.

  I turned back to Drover and noticed that he had shrunk down behind the side of the pickup bed, almost as though he was . . . well, hiding. “Hey, you’re missing the show. I know it’s all for me, but I don’t mind sharing a piece of it with you.”

  “Well, this old leg started acting up, and I needed to lie down.”

  “Drover, this is so overwhelming, it almost brings tears to my . . .” At that very moment, I caught sight of two scruffy dogs on the edge of the crowd. They were smirking and pointing at me. I knew them: Buster and Muggs.

  Remember Buster and Muggs? They were stray dogs, tough guys who made their living tipping over garbage barrels, and I’d had a few encounters with them—enough to know that I didn’t like them.

  And there they were, down in the dust of the street while I passed by in my open limousine. A sudden impu
lse seized me and I made an ugly face at them, crossed my eyes, and stuck out my tongue. And I yelled, “What do you think, guys? Anybody ever throw a parade for you? Ha ha.”

  Drover had been watching, and he started fretting. “Hank, I don’t think you ought to be saying things like that. You might make ’em mad.”

  “Hey, this is my parade, and I can do whatever I want.” I turned back to the mutts and yelled, “Come around after the show and maybe I’ll give you an autograph!”

  Hee hee. That really got Muggsie wired up. He was Buster’s stooge, don’t you know, and he thought he was hot stuff. He started bouncing up and down, and talking trash.

  Buster gave me a sour look and yelled, “Cowdog, you’re such a loser! You ain’t got sense enough to pour sand out of a boot!”

  “Oh yeah? Tell that to the citizens of this town, Buster. Tell it to all the mothers who brought their little children to see a dog whose life has made a difference. Oh, and by the way, Buster, when are they going to have your parade, huh?”

  Boy, I got ’em told, and all they could do was sit there and take it. Hee hee. I loved it. One of the great things about being in a parade is that you don’t have to be humble about it. Most of the time, humble is the best course, but once in a while a guy can’t resist mouthing off.

  Well, this outpouring of support from the community was almost overwhelming, but all good things must end. At the north end of town, the band halted, broke ranks, and melted away, the kids carrying their horns and drums. Many of them saw me standing tall in the back of the pickup and waved a last farewell. I’m sure it was a day they would always remember and cherish.

  Slim sped up, turned left, and headed for the livestock auction on the north edge of town. I heaved a sigh and turned to my companion. “Isn’t it touching that Slim planned all this?”

  “Yeah, especially since he doesn’t even know we’re back here.”

  The smile I had been wearing began to fade. “Hmm. That’s an interesting point. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of that. Do you suppose . . .”

  “They had a parade for the basketball team. We just got stuck in the traffic.”

  “What are you saying, Drover? Are you trying to tell me . . .”

  “It wasn’t for you.”

  Huh? My mind swirled. “But everyone was laughing. They seemed so happy. Surely they weren’t . . .” I began pacing, as I often do when Life has dealt me a blow. “Drover, I’ve been the victim of a cruel hoax. That parade was for the basketball team.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And maybe I shouldn’t have run my mouth off to Buster and Muggs.”

  “Yeah, you get carried away.”

  “I mean, a guy shouldn’t go out of his way to make enemies.”

  “I tried to tell you.”

  I whirled around and gave him a ferocious glare. “Why didn’t you tell me? You just sat there and let me make a fool of myself!”

  “You’d better hide before Slim sees us.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. “Maybe we’d better hide. If Slim finds us back here, he’ll blow a gasket.”

  Anyway, we’d got caught in a traffic jam, and it took us a while to make our way down Main Street. Traffic jams aren’t too common in Twitchell, but this one had something to do with . . . I don’t know, the local basketball team had done something and I guess the town thought it was a big deal. If you ask me . . . never mind.

  At last we made it to the livestock auction, and Slim pulled into the parking lot. Even though the sale didn’t start for another half-hour, the parking lot was filling up with pickups of all colors and sizes, and most of them were hooked up to stock trailers.

  Do you know why? Because most of the people who attend a livestock auction are either buying or selling cattle. If they’re selling, they haul their stock into town in a trailer. If they’re buying, they’ll need a trailer to haul their cattle back to the ranch.

  It’s kind of impressive that a dog would know so much about the business, isn’t it? A lot of mutts (Drover, for example) don’t pay any attention to the details of livestock marketing, but the Head of Ranch Security needs to have a pretty firm grisp of the Big Picture.

  So there we were. Slim parked in the shade of a scraggly Chinese elm tree and shut off the motor. At that point, I knew that we had reached a crucial point in this adventure. If he saw us in the back of the pickup, he would throw a fit and we would have to listen to him fume and bellow, so I gave Drover the signal to move into the Stealth Configuration.

  Have we discussed SC? Maybe not. It’s a special technique we use in delicate situations when our presence might not, uh, cause the hearts of our people to sing with joy, let us say. In SC, we lie flat and put all systems on lockdown. We don’t move a hair or make a sound. We become Invisible Dogs and even radar can’t find us.

  We initiated SC and waited in the brittle silence. Slim opened his door and got out. We heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel. He went to the back of the stock trailer and unloaded his horse. So far, so good.

  At that point, we heard the door of the auction barn open and close. Someone had come outside, and he spoke to Slim. “Morning. You ready to pen some cattle?”

  “You bet. Sorry I’m late, but I got caught on the tail end of a parade.”

  “Yeah, our boys won state. Well, come on and I’ll get you set up.”

  The footsteps moved away from us. Our Stealth Program had worked to perfection, but then . . . I couldn’t believe this! You won’t believe it either. Drover picked this time, of all times, to hiccup!

  Chapter Six: Drover Disappears

  “HICK!”

  The footsteps stopped and Slim said, “What was that?”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  There was a moment of tense silence, then they began walking away from us again. Whew! It appeared that we had dodged a bullet.

  “HICK!”

  I couldn’t believe it! I gave the runt a scorching glare that said, “What’s wrong with you!” And he gave me a pitiful look that said, “I couldn’t help it.”

  Oh brother! The footsteps stopped and the other man said, “I heard it that time. It came from your pickup.”

  “Huh. You don’t reckon . . .”

  The footsteps were coming in our direction. Well, Drover had blown our cover and we were about to be exposed. I switched off Stealth and went into a routine called “We Don’t Know How We Got Here, Honest.” (We shorten it to “WDKHWGHH,” which is pronounced “Wuh-Duh-Kuh-Huh-Wuh-Guh-Huh-Huh”) In Wuh-Duh-Kuh- Huh-Wuh-Guh-Huh-Huh, we go to Sad Eyes and Mournful Thumps of the tail, and hope for the best. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.

  Seconds later, Slim’s face appeared over the side of the pickup bed. When he saw us, his eyebrows rose, then fell into an avalanche of wrinkles. “I ain’t believing this.” He rolled his eyes up to the sky, rocked up and down on his toes, and muttered something I couldn’t hear. I held my breath and waited for the fire and brimstone. I knew it was coming.

  After a moment of deadly silence, Slim’s gaze sliced through the air and landed on. . . . Why was he glaring at ME? The guy who’d hiccupped was sitting right beside me. Could we glare at him?

  “All right, geniuses, you’re here and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve got to pen cattle behind the auction barn, and I won’t be done till four o’clock. Stay in the pickup and don’t bark. Understand?”

  I gave my tail three slow taps. Yes sir.

  Slim’s eyes narrowed and he looked closer at . . . well, at my face, it seemed. “What happened to your nose? Looks like you stuck it in a lawn mower.”

  Well, there was this badger, see, and . . .

  “Try to act your age, not your IQ. Bozo.”

  And that was it. He left, walked away and led his horse to the pens be
hind the sale barn.

  You see how they treat their dogs? Hey, there was a very good reason why my nose had taken a beating. I’d been protecting his ranch from . . . oh well.

  I whirled around to Drover. “Well, thanks a lot, you little goofball. We were home free, had it made, but then you just had to hiccup.”

  “It slipped out, sorry.”

  “And, as if that weren’t enough, you did it a second time! What’s wrong with you?”

  His head sank. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just lose control of myself.”

  I rose to my feet and began pacing back and forth in front of him. “That’s exactly right. You have no control over your life, and that’s why your life is out of control.”

  “It was just a hiccup.”

  “Drover, today it was a hiccup. Tomorrow it might be something far worse. Until you take control of your . . . hick . . . impulses, you’ll never amount to a hill of bones.”

  “You mean beans?”

  “Mean beans? What are you talking about?”

  “You said I’ll never amount to a hill of bones, but I think you meant a hill of beans.”

  “That’s what I said: you’ll never amount to a hick of bricks.”

  He stared at me and grinned. “Did you hiccup?”

  “No, I did not. Don’t try to change the subject, and wipe that silly smick off your licks.”

  “You did hiccup.”

  I looked into the vacuum of his eyes. “Drover, I’m trying to hick you . . . help you. The sad truth is that you’ll never go anywhere in the Security Division until you learn to contrick your basic impulses. Hick.”

  “I think you’ve got the hiccups.”

  “I do not have the hiccups! Are you trying to make a mockery of my life? Because, if you are . . . hick . . . let me remind you that . . . hick . . .” I stuck my nose in his face and screamed, “You see what you’ve done? You ruined my parade and now you’re trying to . . . hick. Never mind, just skip it.”