The Case of the Missing Birddog Read online

  “Okay, where are we? What day is this? And most important of all, what did you mean when you said your belly is on your back?”

  “No, I said it’s Billy and he’s back. I guess you were asleep.”

  I blinked my eyes and things began coming into focus. “Okay, I was asleep, Drover, but now I’m back on the job. Now tell me again about your belly­ache. How’s it feeling now?”

  “Oh, pretty good, thanks.”

  “Good, good. So the crisis has passed?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. He just got here and he looks kind of worried about something.”

  “Ah, so maybe the crisis hasn’t passed after all. I was afraid of this.” I began pacing, as I often do when my mind is reeling . . . uh, racing. “And tell me again who he is, Drover. This could be a crucial piece of information.”

  “Billy.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Billy? I thought you said ‘belly.’ Well, this throws quite a different light on the case, doesn’t it? For you see, Drover, we don’t know anyone named . . . wait a minute, hold everything, halt.” I marched over to him. “Did you say ‘Billy’?”

  “Yeah, about five times.”

  “Just answer the questions, Drover, and let this court decide if you said it five times. Did you say ‘Billy,’ our neighbor from down the creek?”

  “Yep, same guy.”

  “But he was just here, only moments ago. I saw him myself.”

  “Yeah, but you slept for two hours.”

  Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle began falling into a suspicious pattern. I shot a glance over at the pickup that had just pulled into headquarters. “Wait a minute, Drover, do you see what I see? Do you recognize that pickup? Holy smokes, it’s Billy, and he’s back!”

  “I’ll be derned.”

  “And do you see what else I see? In the back of the pickup, Drover. It’s . . . it’s Beulah! And be still my heart, there’s no bird dog with her! She’s alone, Drover, she’s come back to me!”

  And with that, I went flying out to greet my Lady Love.

  Chapter Six: Plato Is Missing

  WOW!

  There she was in the pickup, even more beautiful than I remembered. The very sight of her healed my wounded soul. In a flash, I felt a rush of new life surging through all my bodily parts and fluids, and suddenly I found myself . . . well, jumping up and down. And howling.

  A-WHOOOO!

  That was odd. I’d never been much of a howler, but that just goes to show what a powerful effect she had on me. One minute a broken invalid, the next . . .

  It was then that I noticed Drover. He was jumping up and down, and howling in a childish and disgraceful manner. “Drover, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Oh my gosh, do you see who’s in the back of that pickup?”

  “Of course I do. She has finally come to her senses and . . .”

  “It’s Beulah. She’s come to see me, and she’s so pretty, it makes my heart jump like a sack of rabbits.”

  “Drover, please, try to control yourself. You’ll give the entire Security Division . . . A-WHOOOO! Holy smokes, I’ve lost it!”

  “A-WHOOO! A-WHOOOO!”

  And so it was that, when the pickup pulled up in front of the corrals, Drover and I were . . . well, leaping around in the air and uttering howling sounds, you might say, and we couldn’t help ourselves. We had both fallen under the spell of her gorgeousness.

  Billy got out of the pickup and stared at us as we . . . uh . . . carried on. “What’s got into your dogs? They act like they’ve taken the fits.”

  Slim shook his head. “They’re both three bales short of a full load of brains, is all I can figger.”

  There, you see? That’s the kind of respect we get from the cowboys in this outfit. Well, for his information, it had nothing to do with so-called brains. It had everything to do with—

  A-WHOOOOOO!

  I stampeded over the top of the childish, infantile Drover and fought my way to the rear of the pickup. There, I looked up into the adoring blaze in her eyes. Yes, I could see it now. She loved me! She had finally come to her senses and had come back to reclaim her Cowdog Hero.

  No kidding, I could see it in her eyes, as plain as day, and sure enough, there was no sign of the bird dog! At last she had ditched the creep, tossed him aside like the old shoe he really was.

  “Beulah, you’ve come back to me. I knew you would, and you know what? I’ve been waiting in this very spot since the last time you were here, staring down the road and hoping . . . nay, dreaming that you’d come back to me. And here you are! A-WHOOOO!”

  She gave me a . . . well, it seemed kind of a weak smile, to be honest, but then she said, “Hello, Hank.”

  Did you hear that? Those were the words of a lady dog who had been counting the days and nights and hours, waiting for the moment when she could return to her Beloved Cowdog. But just then, Drover was there, hopping around like a grasshopper and embarrassing all of us with his childish displays.

  “Hi, Beulah. Gosh, you’re so pretty, all I can think of to say is . . . A-WHOOOOO!”

  She said, “Hello, Drover.”

  The little mutt almost fainted. “Hank, did you hear that? She remembered my name, and you know what? I think she really likes me.”

  “She’s just being polite, Drover. She feels sorry for you because . . . A-WHOOOOO! Sorry, Miss Beulah, but as you can see . . . hey, would you like to hear a poem? I wrote it especially for you. Let’s see here . . .

  Miss Beulah the collie, I see that by golly

  You’ve come to your senses at last.

  I’m feeling more jolly, I sense that your folly

  Of loving that bird dog has passed, heh heh.”

  Pretty awesome poem, huh? I thought so, but when I studied her face, I saw another weak smile. What was the deal? How could she . . . hey, that had been one of my very best poems. Well, I would just have to reload and fire off another one, but before I could get that done, Drover pushed his way to the front and butted into the conversation. “I’ve got one too, Miss Beulah. Here goes.

  Petunias are pretty but so is your nose,

  It’s more than a functional snout.

  It’s long and it’s graceful and shaped like a rose,

  I forget how to make this thing rhyme.”

  I glared at the runt. “Drover, please. If you can’t make a rhyme, get out of the way and stop wasting the lady’s time. This is no place for amateur poets.”

  “Well, I had it just for a second, but then I lost it.”

  “That’s my whole point. Go to your room and think about it. Come back in three weeks.” I turned back to the lovely lady and fired off another awesome poem.

  “Oh Beulah, I notice your eyes, how they dazzle,

  They’re showing the symptoms of love.

  The pieces are falling in place in the pazzle:

  You’ve given old Plato the shove, hot dog.”

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t my greatest poem, and maybe I was pushing things in trying to make a rhyme out of dazzle and pazzle. But don’t forget that this was all done on the spot, under tremendous pressure, and it was a whole lot better than Drover’s pitiful effort.

  Anyway, I turned my adoring eyes up to her and—HUH? It was then that I noticed a tear sliding down her gorgeous collie nose. I whirled around to Drover.

  “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve made her cry. I hap you’re hopey.”

  “Yeah but . . .”

  “Your poem was so bad, it brought tears to her eyes.”

  “Well, I was just trying . . .”

  “Trying doesn’t count, Drover, and when trying brings crying, it’s a sign that you’re a flop as a poet.” I turned back to the Lady in Distress. “Miss Beulah, on behalf of the entire Security Divi­sion, I would like to apologize for Drover’s ram­shackle poetry
. He wasn’t authorized to deliver a poem at this ceremony, and it’s obvious that he needs private tutoring on his rhymes.”

  “It wasn’t Drover.”

  “Of course it was Drover. I was standing right here and heard the whole thing.”

  “I thought his poem was cute.”

  I turned to Drover. “She says that was the worst poem she ever heard.” Back to Beulah. “Well, I can assure you, ma’am, that this will be taken care of. We’ll send him to his room at once, and I give you my word of honor that he will never . . .”

  Her eyes flashed. “It wasn’t Drover or his poem. It was your poems.”

  “My poems? You mean . . . oh, I see now. You were so moved by my work that tears sprang to your eyes. Well, I hardly know how to respond, Miss Beulah. I am honored and flattered to the very depths of my . . .”

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes up to the sky. “You are so obtuse.”

  I whirled back to Drover. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, but what does it mean?”

  “It means . . .” I whirled back to Beulah. “Drover doesn’t know the meaning of obtuse, ma’am, so maybe you could, uh, help him out.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Obtuse means ‘you don’t understand, or won’t.’ Talking to you is like talking to a stump.”

  “A stump? I’m afraid I don’t understand. I mean, who’d want to talk to a stump? It would make more sense to talk to the whole tree, although I can’t imagine why you’d want to . . . Beulah, is there something here that I’ve missed?”

  “Yes, a lot. Your poems made fun of poor Plato.”

  “Poor Plato! What’s so poor about Plato? He’s a professional thief. He’s made a career out of stealing girlfriends from worthy dogs, is how poor he is.”

  Her gaze came down and met mine. “Hank, Plato is missing.”

  “Right. He’s missing, and it’s about time you ditched him. A day without Plato is like a day with­out fleas. I love it. I only wish you’d ditched him sooner.”

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Hank, please listen. I didn’t ditch him.”

  “Huh? You mean . . .”

  “Two hours ago he left the house and went out to scout for quail. He was so excited about the opening of bird season.

  “Oh yes, birds. He chases birds—when he’s not wrecking romances.”

  Her eyes flashed again. “He doesn’t chase birds. He finds them with his marvelous nose, and he points them, and he’s very good at it.”

  “Okay, he’s good at it.”

  “He left the house and . . .” She turned away and fought back her tears. “. . . and he didn’t come back.”

  “Hey, terrific.”

  “We’re afraid something terrible has happened to him.”

  “No kidding? Well, this sort of clears the way for . . . wait a minute. Why are you crying? I mean, at last we’re rid of the pest and . . . surely you’re not saying . . .” I turned to Drover. He was gazing up at the clouds. “Drover, tell me she’s not saying what she’s saying.”

  “What? Oh, hi. Who’s not saying what she’s saying?”

  “Beulah. She just said that Plato is missing. He blundered out into the Real World and managed to get himself lost.”

  “Gosh, how sad. Maybe we ought to help find him.”

  I stared into the vacuum of his eyes. “Are you nuts? This is the chance of a lifetime. This is the bad news we’ve been waiting for. This is . . .”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Drover rushed over to Beulah and said, “I’ll help you find him, Miss Beulah!”

  The little moron.

  Chapter Seven: The Runt Has an Attack

  Well, this was a bad turn of events. All at once it appeared that Little Drover had somehow managed to seize the inside tractor in the race for Miss Beulah’s heart.

  She wiped away her tears and gave him a warm smile—the first warm smile she had displayed since she arrived, and the one I had been wanting for myself. “Oh, would you, Drover?”

  “Gosh, yes. I’d do almost anything for you.”

  “I’d be so grateful. I’ve been worried sick about Plato. Why, if anything happened . . .”

  “I’ll find him, Miss Beulah. When you’re around, I’m not scared of anything. And besides, I’ll bet he’s not far from the house.”

  “I’m afraid he is. We looked around the house. He must have strayed far out into the pasture.”

  “Far out into the . . .” Now get this. All at once, little Sir Talksalot developed a serious limp in his right front leg. “Oh, darn. This old leg picks the worst times to go out on me, Miss Beulah, and all at once—oh my leg! It’s killing me and I just hope . . . boy, I’m not sure how far I can travel on this old leg.”

  Drover is so predictable. Only moments before, his “old leg” had been good enough for him to be hopping around like a bullfrog and butting into my romantic business, but now, at the first mention of danger and hard work, it suddenly quit on him. What a little faker he was, but of course Miss Beulah fell for it.

  “Oh, my. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  Drover limped and wheezed and groaned. “Don’t worry about it, Miss Beulah. I’ll ignore the pain. I’ve got to help you find Plato.”

  Just then, and you won’t believe this, I could hardly believe it and I was standing right there . . . just then the little dunce went down like a rock. BAM! Nose-first into the dirt. He lay there, groaning and twitching and moving his legs through the air.

  “Oh, the pain! Drat this leg!”

  Beulah uttered a little shriek, leaped out of the pickup, and rushed to his prostrate body. “Drover, what’s wrong? Speak to me. Oh dear, what shall we do?” She raised her eyes and looked at me. “Are you going to just stand there? Something’s wrong with poor Drover.”

  “Yes ma’am, something’s wrong with him for sure, but the problem isn’t his leg. It’s his brain.”

  Her nostrils flared. “How can you say such a hateful thing?”

  “Ma’am, I can say it because I know the mutt. He’s a permanent harpocardiac.”

  “Well, at least he offered to help, and that’s more than we can say for you.”

  “Hey, Beulah, if you and Drover want to go charging off into the wilderness to look for Mister Quail King, that’s your business. If Plato was dumb enough to wander off into the pasture, he deserves whatever he gets.”

  She gasped. “Don’t say that!”

  “And besides, what’s the big deal? He wandered off into the pasture. He’s done that before. He’ll find his way back home.”

  Her chin fell on her chest and she started . . . well, crying. “No, it’s different this time. There’s danger, real danger. I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “Beulah, listen to me. There’s no danger. It’s just a pasture on the ranch. When he gets done, he’ll come home.”

  Her eyes came up, shining with tears. “No, Hank. There’s danger out there. Remember what Billy said about the wild hogs? They’re on the ranch and we saw them, just minutes ago. If they catch Plato—oh please, Hank, won’t you help? I’ve never asked a favor before, but now . . .” She turned away. “Hank, I’m begging you.”

  Wild hogs? Gulp.

  “Beulah, listen to me. I know you have some strange affection for the creep . . . for Plato, shall we say, but what he did was really dumb.”

  She gave her head a vigorous shake. “It wasn’t dumb. He just . . . he’s careless sometimes. He gets carried away.”

  “Right, and out here in the wilderness, when you make a dumb mistake, you get carried away by wild hogs and coyotes. I’m sorry to put it that way, but that’s the truth. And while we’re on the subject of bitter truth, here’s some more of it. If you think Drover’s going to be any help, you’re dreaming. He’s scared of his own shadow and he couldn’t fight his way out of a cereal box
.”

  Drover let out a groan. “He’s right, Miss Beulah. It’s too dangerous out there, and with this old leg acting up on me, I wouldn’t be much help. Oh, the pain! Oh, the guilt!”

  Beulah’s eyes darted back and forth between me and Drover. She dried her eyes and stood up. “I see. We came here to ask for help, but I guess we won’t get any from you two.”

  I shrugged. “I guess not. But listen, if old Plato doesn’t make it back, I could probably arrange my schedule to, uh, drop in for a little visit, so to speak.”

  She glared at me and shook her head. “Don’t bother. I won’t be there. I’ll be out searching for Plato, and I won’t come back until I find him.”

  With that, she leaped up into the pickup bed, went to the front, and refused to look at us.

  “Beulah, listen to reason. It would be crazy for you—Beulah, are you listening? Stubborn woman. Drover, speak to her. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

  “Well, I would, but, boy, all at once, this old leg . . . oh, the pain!”

  “Drover, you’re worthless. At the very time when you could . . . Beulah I’m speaking to you as a friend, and I must tell you that what you’re saying is crazy. If you go off looking for Plato, the wild hogs will make hash out of you too, and then where will you be?”

  With her back to me, she said, “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “Well, I guess we will. Fine. Go looking for the birdbrain and get yourself captured by the wild hogs. Beulah, I never understood what you saw in that guy in the first place. If you ask me . . .”

  Just then, Slim and Billy came walking up behind us. Slim said, “Okay, me and my dogs’ll prowl through that country north and west of your house. Let’s meet at your corrals at three o’clock and we’ll see where we are.”

  Billy nodded. “Sounds good to me. Thanks, bud, I appreciate this. If Loper gives you any trouble, tell him I’ll come over and help y’all fix the fence next week.”

  Slim chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about Loper. He growls a lot, but down deep where it counts, he’s really pretty grumpy. A guy has to ignore him sometimes.”