The Case of the Car-Barkaholic Bog Read online

  That was a pretty slick piece of cowboy work Jimmy Joe had just pulled off. Even though he and I were on opposite sides of the law, so to speak, I couldn’t help but admire the way he handled himself.

  But I didn’t have much time to think about it, because by that time my nieces and nephews arrived on the scene and began smothering me with love, affectation, gratitude, congratulations, and so forth. Yes sir, their Uncle Hank had rid the neighborhood of a terrible monster-dog, and by George, they just couldn’t say enough good . . . gulk!

  HUH?

  The, uh, same noose that had snared Rambo seemed to have been tossed in my direction, it appeared, and instead of staying around to celebrate with the kinfolks, I, uh, was more or less dragged—forcibly, bodily, against my will—dragged to the dogcatcher’s cage. The cage door flew open, so to speak, and I was pitched inside.

  No reading of my rights, no explanation, no ceremony, just pitched inside like an ordinary stray dog.

  Well, yikes, the very thought of being pitched into the cage with an angry dog-eating dog who had a grudge to grind was enough to scare the liver right out of me. Fellers, I knew one thing for certain: I didn’t need to worry about spending the rest of my life in the Twitchell Dog Pound, because I wouldn’t live long enough to get there.

  But just before I was mauled and torn to shreds by the awful beast, I made an interesting discovery. The cage was divided in half. I was on one side and Rambo was on the other, with a stout partition between us.

  That was real good news.

  The dogcatcher pointed a bony finger at me.

  “That’s for leading Ralph astray, and when we get to the pound, I just might feed you to that pony there.” He jerked his head toward Rambo. “It’ll cut down my overhead two ways, pooch, and also make the world a better place. Come here, Ralph, you dummy! For running off, you get to ride in the back with the convicts.”

  And Ralph came flying into the cage with me.

  He looked up at me with his big, wet, sad basset-­­hound eyes. “Well, your plan worked a little too well, I reckon.”

  “So it appears, Ralph.”

  “What you going to do now?”

  “Well, I’ll probably . . .” I turned and cast a glance over to the next cage.

  Rambo was staring back at me. “Hi there, cowdog. Paybacks are a terrible thing.”

  “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about, and Ralph, I don’t suppose there’s a secret passageway out of this cage, is there?”

  “Well, let me think on that.” By this time we were moving down the street. I waited for his answer, and then waited some more. At last it dawned on me that he’d gone to sleep.

  “Ralph, we’ve just turned off of Main Street. We’re heading for the dog pound. I don’t want to rush you, but my life is hanging in the balance.”

  His eyes fell open. “Huh? Who am I and where are you? No, I got it backwards. Where am I and who are you?”

  “Never mind all of that, Ralph. You were about to tell me about a secret passageway out of this dogcatcher’s truck.”

  “I was, huh? Dogcatcher’s truck?”

  “That’s correct, because if you don’t help me escape, I’ll be torn to shreds by that Great Dane over in the next pen, and my tragic end will be on your conscience forever and ever. And boy, will you be sorry!”

  He shook his head. “You’re puttin’ too much pressure on me.”

  We were only about a hundred yards away from the pound. “Yes, I suppose there’s an element of truth to that, but I’m feeling a little pressure myself.”

  “My mind goes blank under pressure. How ’bout yours?”

  “No, Ralph, my mind isn’t going blank. It’s thinking really bad thoughts right now.”

  We pulled up in front of the pound and stopped. “Ralph, I hate to put it this way, but our friendship is on the line. If you don’t tell me about that secret passageway—and do it very soon—you’re going to lose a valuable friend.”

  “Boy, I’d hate that.”

  “Now, quickly, tell me about the secret passage­way out of here.”

  “Okay.” He yawned. “Far as I know, there ain’t one.”

  Our eyes met. “What do you mean, there ain’t one?”

  “I mean there ain’t a secret passage, is what I mean. What kind of dogcatcher would build a secret passage into his truck?”

  “I can’t answer that question, Ralph. My mind goes blank under pressure.”

  “Yeah, mine too. I just hate it when that happens.”

  Jimmy Joe had walked around to the cage door and was fumbling with his keys. Rambo was grinning at me and licking his chops. Jimmy Joe opened the door and snapped his fingers at me.

  “Come on, pooch, this is the end of the road for you.”

  Suddenly it occurred to me that a program of non-violent non-cooperation might work here. If I laid down at the back of the cage and refused . . . but on the other hand, I hadn’t known about his stick with the hook on the end, or that he could slip that hook around my neck and drag me . . .

  I was caught. There would be no secret passage, no way out, no happy ending. I would be torn to shreds in the line of duty. Never again would I roll in the sewer or bark at the mailman or wake up to the fresh sage-scented air on my beloved ranch. Never again . . .

  Another pickup drove in and stopped. A tall, skinny, cowboy-looking fellow stepped out, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and ambled over. There was something familiar about the way he . . .

  Holy smokes, IT WAS SLIM!

  “Morning,” he said to Jimmy Joe. “Looks like you found my dog. I didn’t know he’d come to town with me, but I’m thinkin’ maybe he did.”

  “Yeah? Well, you can sure have him back.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Slim reached for me but the dogcatcher puffed away. “Not so fast, pardner. No tags, no collar, no shots, no leash, barking at cars, and making a public nuisance. This dog’s worth about $145, the way I figger it.”

  Slim swallowed. “You take checks?”

  “Not from cowboys.”

  “That makes sense.” Slim lifted his hat and scratched his head. “You caught any good fish lately?”

  “Nah. That old lake’s fished out and . . . how’d you know I fish?”

  “Oh, just a shot in the dark. You look like the kind of feller who might wet a hook now and then.”

  “Every weekend, and I haven’t caught a decent fish in three months. You know any good places?”

  Slim arched his brows and . . . did I see him wink at me? Yes, I was almost sure he did. “Well, yes, now that you mention it, I know several good holes.”

  Jimmy Joe moved closer. There was a new light in his eyes. “Around here?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Private land?”

  “Yup.”

  “Catfish or bass?”

  “Both.”

  By this time Jimmy Joe was chewing on his lip and studying old Slim pretty hard. “Where?”

  “Heh heh.”

  “I don’t suppose you know the owners, do you?”

  “Uh-huh, real well.”

  “Could a guy get written permission to fish?”

  “He might, he sure might.”

  All at once Jimmy Joe set me on the ground and patted my head and gave me a big smile. “Fine dog you’ve got here, but be more careful the next time you bring him into town, hear? And if you’ll just write down the directions to that pond, and sign it, we can all get on about our business.”

  Slim did the deal and minutes later we were on our way back to the ranch.

  Well, what more can I say? I had saved my widowed sister and her kids from a terrible bully, had introduced Dog-Pound Ralph to some of Life’s more exciting moments, and had even managed to save my own life at the very last second . . . ok
ay, with a little help from outside sources, but you don’t need to spread that around.

  Yes, Slim did have a few harsh words for me on the way home, but shucks, that was a small price to pay for another happy ending.

  Case closed.

  Further Reading

  Have you read all of Hank’s adventures?

  1 The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog

  2 The Further Adventures of Hank the Cowdog

  3 It’s a Dog’s Life

  4 Murder in the Middle Pasture

  5 Faded Love

  6 Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

  7 The Curse of the Incredible Priceless Corncob

  8 The Case of the One-Eyed Killer Stud Horse

  9 The Case of the Halloween Ghost

  10 Every Dog Has His Day

  11 Lost in the Dark Unchanted Forest

  12 The Case of the Fiddle-Playing Fox

  13 The Wounded Buzzard on Christmas Eve

  14 Hank the Cowdog and Monkey Business

  15 The Case of the Missing Cat

  16 Lost in the Blinded Blizzard

  17 The Case of the Car-Barkaholic Dog

  18 The Case of the Hooking Bull

  19 The Case of the Midnight Rustler

  20 The Phantom in the Mirror

  21 The Case of the Vampire Cat

  22 The Case of the Double Bumblebee Sting

  23 Moonlight Madness

  24 The Case of the Black-Hooded Hangmans

  25 The Case of the Swirling Killer Tornado

  26 The Case of the Kidnapped Collie

  27 The Case of the Night-Stalking Bone Monster

  28 The Mopwater Files

  29 The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper

  30 The Case of the Haystack Kitties

  31 The Case of the Vanishing Fishhook

  32 The Garbage Monster from Outer Space

  33 The Case of the Measled Cowboy

  34 Slim’s Good-bye

  35 The Case of the Saddle House Robbery

  36 The Case of the Raging Rottweiler

  37 The Case of the Deadly Ha-Ha Game

  38 The Fling

  39 The Secret Laundry Monster Files

  40 The Case of the Missing Bird Dog

  41 The Case of the Shipwrecked Tree

  42 The Case of the Burrowing Robot

  43 The Case of the Twisted Kitty

  44 The Dungeon of Doom

  45 The Case of the Falling Sky

  46 The Case of the Tricky Trap

  47 The Case of the Tender Cheeping Chickies

  48 The Case of the Monkey Burglar

  49 The Case of the Booby-Trapped Pickup

  50 The Case of the Most Ancient Bone

  51 The Case of the Blazing Sky

  52 The Quest for the Great White Quail

  53 Drover’s Secret Life

  54 The Case of the Dinosaur Birds

  55 The Case of the Secret Weapon

  56 The Case of the Coyote Invasion

  57 The Disappearance of Drover

  58 The Case of the Mysterious Voice

  59 The Case of the Perfect Dog

  60 The Big Question

  61 The Case of the Prowling Bear

  About the Author and Illustrator

  John R. Erickson, a former cowboy, has written numerous books for both children and adults and is best known for his acclaimed Hank the Cowdog series. He lives and works on his ranch in Perryton, Texas, with his family.

  Gerald L. Holmes has illustrated numerous cartoons and textbooks in addition to the Hank the Cowdog series. He lives in Perryton, Texas.