The Almost Last Roundup Read online

  See? When they don’t listen to their dogs, this is what happens.

  Okay, that did it. Code Three. I hit Sirens and Lights and rushed back to the scene. Kitty didn’t want to leave the cake, but I was able to root him out and send him back to the iris patch.

  “There, you little crook, and let that be a lesson to you!”

  I whirled around and started back to the cake, and that’s when I saw something that almost broke my heart. One of my own men, my assistant Head of Ranch Security, had taken the cat’s place. Drover was in the middle of the cake. Alfred was trying to pull him off, but the little dunce had lost what was left of his mind, and was gobbling like a maniac.

  I zoomed back to the scene. “Okay, that’s enough! Drover, hands up and back away, move it!”

  He lifted his head and stared at me. He had an icing mustache and looked ridiculous. “Yeah, but…”

  “I’m so ashamed of you, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “You’ve broken discipline and yielded to temptation. You’re acting just like a common alley cat!”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Go to your room immediately. I’ll deal with you later.”

  He left, hanging his head and sniffling, and I turned my full attention to Little Alfred. He flopped down beside the ruins of his daddy’s birthday cake and buried his face in his hands. The kid was on the virgil of tears and needed some help. I stepped forward and gave him licks on the face.

  He uncovered his eyes and gave me a pleading look. “Hankie, they ruined my dad’s cake. What am I going to do? If my mom finds out…” He started crying.

  You know, a lot of dogs would have walked away and left the kid to face the music all by himself. I mean, I had tried to warn him and he hadn’t listened. But you know how I am about these kids. My slurp goes out to them.

  My heart, that is.

  I licked the tears off his cheeks and beamed him a message that said, “Hush now, don’t cry. I’ll clean up the mess and dispose of the evidence. Maybe your mother will think…I don’t know, maybe she’ll think the cake flew away or something.”

  He smiled, and fellers, let me tell you, it was as though the sun had peeked out from behind a big black cloud. In my line of work, there’s nothing that brings us more satisfaction than helping a little friend when he’s gotten himself into a hopeless mess.

  But now I had to get to work.

  Most dogs wouldn’t attempt to eat a whole cake at one sitting. I mean, that was a BIG cake. I wasn’t sure I could handle the job, but I had to give it my best shot.

  I stuck my face into the cake and went to work. We’re talking about a high-powered vacuum sweeper or one of those big machines that clears deep snow off a highway, a four-legged high-tech device that had been designed for this very project—cleaning up crime scenes and protecting little children from…

  “ALFRED LEROY, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING!”

  Huh?

  I’d heard a voice in the distance, a loud piercing voice, but it was calling “Alfred Leroy,” and, well, that wasn’t me, so I continued to sweep and mop the scene. Maybe the person who belonged to the voice would go away. That happens sometimes, right?

  Gobble, gulp, smack.

  In a quiet sector of my mind, I heard the squeak of the gate and the sound of footsteps approaching. Or maybe it was just my imagination. That happens sometimes, right? I ignored it and tried to concentrate on my work.

  Then I heard another voice. It said, and this is a direct quote, it said, “Hankie, stop! My mom’s coming!”

  HUH?

  Somehow the word “mom” penetrated the outer layers of steel that encased the Control Room of My Mind. It was a tiny word, only three letters, but somehow it, uh, resonated. I stopped gobbling, lifted my head, and…

  Yipes.

  I blinked my eyes and ran Damage Assessment. Bad. Real bad.

  There she stood, looming over me like one of those giant redwood trees, two hundred feet tall, only trees don’t have faces. This one had a face and it froze my gizzard.

  Well, a dog can’t expect to live forever and I’d had a pretty good life. My last wish was that they would carve a message on my tombstone that would sum up my whole career: “Anything for the kids.”

  In the poisonous silence, I went to Slow Mournful taps on the tail section, and waited for the hammer to fall. I mean, I knew something awful was coming. I could see thoughts flashing across her face and, well, they weren’t encouraging. Dangerous.

  I waited for an explosion, but nobody said a word. It was creepy. I could hear Sally May’s rapid breathing and Alfred’s sniffles. Then the dam broke. The boy started bawling, rushed to his mother, and hugged her legs, and she burst out crying and put an arm around him, and they both sank to the ground and bawled and hugged.

  Wow. I didn’t know whether to stick around or run for my life.

  Through her sobs, Sally May moaned, “It took me two hours to make that cake!” I thought about rushing over to give her some comfort, but then she wailed, “I don’t know how long it takes to murder a dog.”

  Yipes. I cancelled that idea.

  Alfred gave his head a hard shake. “No, Mom, it wasn’t his fault. He was just trying to help.”

  That produced a chilling cackle. “Of course! I didn’t think of that. He was trying to help!”

  “Honest, Mom. It was my fault, all my fault! It was so dumb…and now you’re going to hate me!”

  Sally May stopped crying, wiped her eyes, and looked into his face. “Honey, don’t ever say that. Don’t ever think that. Never, never! You made a bad decision and we both feel bad about it, but…” She caught her breath and pushed a sprig of hair away from her face. “It was only a cake.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I ruined my dad’s birthday.”

  She pulled him into her embrace. “Honey, he doesn’t care about birthdays anyway, and maybe we can make him another cake. What do you think? Would you help me?”

  Alfred cried on her shoulder and nodded his little head.

  This was a very touching scene, and exactly the wrong time for someone to interrupt the mood with an uncouth belching sound, but sometimes, when you eat too fast, it happens. It just snuck out and I sure didn’t mean any disrespect.

  BORP.

  Sally May flinched and her gaze came at me like a spear, and for a moment of heartbeats, I didn’t know what might come next. Would she leap to her feet and try to wring my neck?

  To be honest, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But to my great relief, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I guess you liked my cake.”

  Oh yes, delicious. Awesome cake, loved the icing, and as a matter of fact…sniff, sniff…now that the storm had passed, I figured it wouldn’t hurt…

  “Hank, I think you’d better leave. Now. Goodbye. Scat!”

  Yes ma’am, exactly my thoughts. A guy never wants to push his luck. I did an about-face and hurried away. Behind me, I heard her voice. “And thanks for all your help.”

  Glad to do it.

  Borp.

  Chapter Seven: A Huge Moral Victory Over the Cat

  Iwasn’t sure whether Sally May was being sincere or making a joke, but she wasn’t chasing me with a broom, so you’d have to say it turned out pretty well. Boy, I had dodged an artillery shell on that deal.

  I hurried away, then slowed my steps. And stopped. The thought had just occurred to me…what was she going to do with the, uh, ruins of the cake? Drover and the cat had pretty muchly wrecked it beyond repair. And, okay, I had done a little damage to it myself, but the point is that the cake was in no condition to be used to celebrate anyone’s birthday.

  I sat down and watched. Sally May and Alfred had their cry. They hugged and made up, and soon they were laughing. Sally May suggested that they pull weeds in what was left of the g
arden. (The funny thing about this drought was that the deer and rabbits were eating the vegetables and leaving all the weeds).

  They walked away from the cake and started south, toward the garden. My tongue swept across my lips and I could hear my tail slapping the ground. But then…rats…Sally May went back, scooped up the cake into the plastic container, and dumped it into the trash barrel.

  Okay, we would have to refigure this deal. As soon as she started pulling weeds…

  “Hank, don’t you dare tip over the garbage barrel and try to eat that cake!”

  Huh?

  Yes ma’am. I would never…you see what I mean about Sally May? No dog is safe around her. Privacy? Forget it. She sees into every corner of a dog’s mind. Phooey.

  I whirled around and began marching toward the machine shed. If you recall, I had sent Drover to his room and we needed to get started on his court martial. The charge this time would be Gluttony and Shameless Destruction of a Cake. I had gone about a dozen steps when I heard another voice behind me, and this one belonged to the cat.

  “Oh, Hankie? Don’t worry about the cake. I’ll take care of it.”

  I froze. Our missile batteries swung around and sonar detected a potential target lurking in the iris patch. I tossed a glance to the south. Sally May was busy in the garden and nobody was watching the yard.

  Would we have time to deliver a quick strike on the iris patch?

  Data Control chewed on the numbers and flashed a message across the screen of my mind: “Full-scale bombardment too risky. Try diplomacy.”

  With great effort, I forced a pleasant expression upon my face and made a casual stroll over to the yard fence. “Hi, Pete. You said something about the cake?”

  “Um hmm. I can jump into the trash barrel without tipping it over. It’s something cats can do.”

  A snarl quivered at my lips. “How interesting. I hadn’t thought of that. So you’re saying…”

  “I’ll finish cleaning up the cake. But, well, I wanted to be sure that was all right. I’d hate it if you felt…bitter.”

  The way he spoke that word made it sting like a wasp, but I couldn’t allow myself to show it. “Me? Bitter? Ha ha. Not at all, Pete. Hey, come over here and we’ll talk.”

  “Talk about what, Hankie?”

  “Oh, you know, keeping the ranch neat and tidy. That’s a big deal and we all need to do our part.”

  I didn’t expect the little dummy to fall for this, but he did. See, cats are pretty shrewd when it comes to cheap tricks, but they have one huge, glaring weakness: over-confidence. I don’t want to reveal too many of our secrets, but maybe it won’t hurt to whisper this.

  All our diplomatic efforts are calculated to take advantage of this flaw in cats.

  We toss ‘em a bone, see, and let ‘em win the Little Game, while we set ‘em up for the Big Game.

  Heh heh. Is that wicked or what? The mind of a dog is an awesome thing.

  Here he came, slithering out of his hideout in the iris patch, rubbing his way down the fence, purring, smirking, and holding his arrogant little tail straight up in the air.

  As I watched this shameless display, I felt various parts of my body going off in twitches and quivers, mainly the eyes, ears, and lips. I had to disable the Main Circuit to prevent a blowout that would have exposed the true purpose of my so-called “diplomatic effort”.

  Suddenly he was there, two feet in front of my nose, with nothing but a hog wire fence between us.

  Your ordinary ranch mutts know nothing about this level of self-restraint. They live from moment to moment and are slaves to their emotions. They go blundering into every situation without a plan.

  But those of us who claw our way to the top and become Heads of Ranch Security mutts muster the dipple of self-restraint. Let me rephrase that. We must master the discipline of self-restraint.

  And I hate it. Self-restraint stinks, especially when you’ve got a sniveling cat sitting two feet in front of you. But for those of us who live at the top of the mountain, restraint is a tool we use to accomplish a broader purpose. I had plans for Kitty.

  He was grinning and purring and licking the icing off his paw. “Well, here I am, Hankie. But are you sure you don’t mind if I…” He flashed a grin, “…clean up the cake?”

  I was trembling inside. “Not a problem, Pete. I mean, there’s no sense in letting good cake go to waste. But you know, it would be easier to talk if you came a little closer.”

  “It would be easier, wouldn’t it?”

  “Oh yes, more comfortable and relaxed.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good. Hop over the fence.”

  He gazed up at the clouds. “If you don’t mind, Hankie, I think I’ll stay here in the yard. It’s such a nice yard.”

  “It’s a great yard.”

  “So nice and green, while the rest of the ranch is brown with drought.” He flicked the end of his tail back and forth. “Does it bother you that Sally May doesn’t allow dogs in her yard?”

  “Ha ha. Not at all, Pete. Oh, maybe a little bit. Sometimes. Okay, it rips me up one side and down the other, but let’s don’t get started on that.”

  “I agree. And let’s don’t say a word about…” He sputtered a laugh, “…how you got caught eating the cake. It was so sad!”

  “You bet it was, since you’re the little sneak who knocked it out of Alfred’s hands.”

  “I know. It just doesn’t seem fair.” He moved closer to the fence, only twelve inches away from our missile batteries. “You got the blame and when Sally May goes back to the house, I’ll finish the cake.” He snickered and shook his head. “It’s just amazing. You keep walking into the propeller. How does that happen?”

  Steam was hissing out of my ears. “Ha ha. Great question, Pete. Come a little closer and I’ll whisper the answer.”

  His eyes lit up. “Will you? Oh goodie!”

  He moved right against the fence, and I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. Self-restraint went up in smoke. I launched myself against the fence and gave the cat one of my Train Horn Barks, right in the face.

  BWONK!

  I was a little surprised when he, well, delivered a left jab to my nose. Bam! Okay, if that’s the way he wanted it…

  BWONK!

  Bam, bam, pop!

  Three jabs in a row. “That was a lucky punch, Kitty.”

  “Which one? I threw so many, my arm’s getting numb.”

  “Oh yeah? I’ll show you numb!”

  I lunged against the fence and blasted him with another bark, this time Ocean Liner.

  BWONK!

  Bam, bam, pop!

  Okay, I had figured out his game plan. The little sneak thought he could take my nose apart with his jabs, but I had news for him. I revved up all engines and flung myself against the fence, and this time, I had every intention of taking it OUT, and we’re talking about posts, wire, staples, the gate, every bit of it.

  Bam, bam, pop!

  Let’s skip the rest of this. Never mind. Nothing happened.

  It’s been hot, hasn’t it? They say it’s one of the hottest summers in years, and also terribly dry. Our grass looks pathetic and Loper has been talking about…

  Look, it doesn’t take any skill or brains to hide behind a hog wire fence and shoot out jabs. Anyone could do it. If you want to be a fighter, come out and fight. If you want to be a little chicken, stay inside the yard and…phooey.

  He makes me sick, and one of these days…you know, he was so fat and out of shape, I wore him out. He was on the ropes, ready to go down. You know what saved him?

  Sally May heard my Train Horns and yelled, “Hank, leave the cat alone!”

  One more minute and he would have been hamburger. I whirled around and marched away. Behind me, I heard him deliver one last cheap shot. “Don’t walk into any prope
llers, Hankie!”

  See what I mean? Nobody does the cheap shot better than a cat.

  I needed to do a little work on blocking those jabs, but in the Larger Scheme of Things, I had won a huge moral victory. Kitty would devour the rest of the cake, but he would have to eat it, all alone, in a dark, lonely trash barrel—because HE HAD NO FRIENDS.

  Give me a choice between cake and friends, and I’ll…phooey.

  Chapter Eight: Fire!

  Anyway, it was time for me to take care of my business with Drover: place him under arrest and get his court martial out of the way. I had sent him to his room, but I knew where to look for him: in his Secret Sanctuary, the machine shed, the place where he flees to escape all the burdens of normal life.

  I stuck my nose through the crack in the double doors. “Drover?” Nothing, not a sound. “Drover, I know you’re in here. Hello?” Not a sound. “Drover, we need to talk.”

  At last, I heard his faint reply. “Talk about what?”

  “Your career. We need to discuss that little promotion.”

  “No fooling? You’re not mad?”

  “Mad? Me? Ha ha. Report to the front, and please hurry. I’ve got a busy schedule today.”

  I waited for what seemed hours, but at last, he came lollygagging out of the gloom. He was wearing a silly grin. “Boy, old Pete sure did a number on your nose.”

  “What makes you think Pete did anything to my nose?”

  “Well, I watched.”

  “Oh, so you watched? That must have been fun.”

  “Yeah, hee hee, I couldn’t believe you kept going back for more of his home cooking.”

  “Home cooking? That’s a clever way of putting it. Sit down, make yourself comfortable.” He flopped his bohunkus on the cement and I began pacing a circle around him. “Tell this court exactly what you felt as you watched your commanding officer endure a blizzard of jabs from the stupid cat.”

  “Well, it was pretty funny.”

  “Did you laugh?”

  “Oh yeah, like crazy. I couldn’t help it.”