Read Online The Case of the Kidnapped Collie by John R. Erickson - Free Book Online
Authors: John R. Erickson
Tags: adventure, Mystery, Texas, dog, cowdog, Hank the Cowdog, John R. Erickson, John Erickson, ranching, Hank, Drover, Pete, Sally May
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you realize that wild turkeys are a whole lot tougher and meaner than your average chicken.
No comparison.
Turkeys stay wild and alive by kicking, gouging, clawing, pecking, and wing-thrashing anything foolish enough to take hold of them. In the first five seconds, I had the turkey. Over the next two minutes, which seemed like two hours, he had ME, and fellers, I thought I never would get away from that stupid . . .
I, uh, gave him a stern dose of Ranch Justice and hurried back to the house.
Actually, I limped back to the house, but at a high rate of speed, while throwing barks over my shoulder.
It was pretty clear by then that I had chosen to jump the wrong guy, a Green Beret commando with five black belts in Turkey Karate.
He wanted Sally Mayâs precious corn? Fine. He could be my guest. He could eat all the stupid corn he wantedâcanned corn, creamed corn, corn on the cob, popcorn, I didnât care what kind of corn he ate, and I hoped he choked on it too.
The dumb bird. I had a claw mark for every piece of corn in the bucket. And bruised ribs. And a gash on the end of my nose.
I limped to the yard gate. There, I turned and looked back toward the corn bucket. All the turkeys had fled to the creek, even the cheating bully who had . . . even the bully cheater I had beaten to a pulp.
I paused at the yard gate and gave them one last withering barrage of barking. âLet that be a lesson to you! Just remember that youâre nothing but a bunch of turkeys with skinny legs!â
Pretty impressive, huh? Yes sir, I got âem told, and then I turned back to the . . .
A long shadow had fallen across the ground in front of me. It bore some resemblance to the form of a . . . well, of a human, perhaps of the female variety. My keen eyes scanned the shadow from left to right, moving from the top to the bottom, and there I noticed . . .
Hmmm, a pair of red roper boots, and these were not shadows but rather real actual boots. My eyes moved upward from the boots, following what appeared to be a pair of jeans that might very well have contained . . . legs.
My gaze paused at the alleged waist. There, I observed a pair of hands that seemed to be, uh, jammed upon the waistline, in a manner that suggested . . . oops.
I had seen such hands jammed upon such a waistline before, and those had never been what you would call . . . happy occasions, so to speak.
Suddenly my mouth felt dry. My tail began to sink between my legs and I noticed that my head was dropping to the angle that expressed . . . well, sorrow and regret, my deepest and most sincere sorrow and regret.
It was only then that I dared to roll my eyes upward, so as to confirm my suspicion that the figure looming above me belonged to . . .
Yikes, what a face! The mouth was as thin and stiff as a nail. The eyes were like two blasts from a blue norther and they sent shivers tumbling down my spinebone.
Ho boy. It appeared that we had us another, uh, breakdown in communications.
I tapped the last five inches of my tail on the ground, very slowly: tap, tap, tap. And I threw my last reserves of energy into gathering up a smile of utter sincerity, as if to say, âHey, Sally May, howâs it going?â
Gulp.
She didnât speak. Instead, her nostrils flared so much that, all of a sudden, they resembled the head of a rattlesnake, a merciless diamondback rattlesnake that was about to strike.
I felt my body sinking to the ground. With luck, I would sink to a depth of about six feet and then pull the hole in behind me.
This was serious, I could tell. But what had I done? My mind raced back over the events of the past two weeks and came up with . . . nothing. Nothing but hard work and the purest of intentions.
Sincerity. Courtesy, kindness, obedience, reverence.
Maybe she had the wrong dog, a simple case of, uh, mistaken identity.
A terrible silence loomed between us, like a poisonous yellow cloud of sulphurous sulphur. At last she spoke.
âYou
No comparison.
Turkeys stay wild and alive by kicking, gouging, clawing, pecking, and wing-thrashing anything foolish enough to take hold of them. In the first five seconds, I had the turkey. Over the next two minutes, which seemed like two hours, he had ME, and fellers, I thought I never would get away from that stupid . . .
I, uh, gave him a stern dose of Ranch Justice and hurried back to the house.
Actually, I limped back to the house, but at a high rate of speed, while throwing barks over my shoulder.
It was pretty clear by then that I had chosen to jump the wrong guy, a Green Beret commando with five black belts in Turkey Karate.
He wanted Sally Mayâs precious corn? Fine. He could be my guest. He could eat all the stupid corn he wantedâcanned corn, creamed corn, corn on the cob, popcorn, I didnât care what kind of corn he ate, and I hoped he choked on it too.
The dumb bird. I had a claw mark for every piece of corn in the bucket. And bruised ribs. And a gash on the end of my nose.
I limped to the yard gate. There, I turned and looked back toward the corn bucket. All the turkeys had fled to the creek, even the cheating bully who had . . . even the bully cheater I had beaten to a pulp.
I paused at the yard gate and gave them one last withering barrage of barking. âLet that be a lesson to you! Just remember that youâre nothing but a bunch of turkeys with skinny legs!â
Pretty impressive, huh? Yes sir, I got âem told, and then I turned back to the . . .
A long shadow had fallen across the ground in front of me. It bore some resemblance to the form of a . . . well, of a human, perhaps of the female variety. My keen eyes scanned the shadow from left to right, moving from the top to the bottom, and there I noticed . . .
Hmmm, a pair of red roper boots, and these were not shadows but rather real actual boots. My eyes moved upward from the boots, following what appeared to be a pair of jeans that might very well have contained . . . legs.
My gaze paused at the alleged waist. There, I observed a pair of hands that seemed to be, uh, jammed upon the waistline, in a manner that suggested . . . oops.
I had seen such hands jammed upon such a waistline before, and those had never been what you would call . . . happy occasions, so to speak.
Suddenly my mouth felt dry. My tail began to sink between my legs and I noticed that my head was dropping to the angle that expressed . . . well, sorrow and regret, my deepest and most sincere sorrow and regret.
It was only then that I dared to roll my eyes upward, so as to confirm my suspicion that the figure looming above me belonged to . . .
Yikes, what a face! The mouth was as thin and stiff as a nail. The eyes were like two blasts from a blue norther and they sent shivers tumbling down my spinebone.
Ho boy. It appeared that we had us another, uh, breakdown in communications.
I tapped the last five inches of my tail on the ground, very slowly: tap, tap, tap. And I threw my last reserves of energy into gathering up a smile of utter sincerity, as if to say, âHey, Sally May, howâs it going?â
Gulp.
She didnât speak. Instead, her nostrils flared so much that, all of a sudden, they resembled the head of a rattlesnake, a merciless diamondback rattlesnake that was about to strike.
I felt my body sinking to the ground. With luck, I would sink to a depth of about six feet and then pull the hole in behind me.
This was serious, I could tell. But what had I done? My mind raced back over the events of the past two weeks and came up with . . . nothing. Nothing but hard work and the purest of intentions.
Sincerity. Courtesy, kindness, obedience, reverence.
Maybe she had the wrong dog, a simple case of, uh, mistaken identity.
A terrible silence loomed between us, like a poisonous yellow cloud of sulphurous sulphur. At last she spoke.
âYou
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