Oh good, it was Slim after all, and he was exactly right. DUH. Everything was red because the house was on fire, and if he didn’t pry himself out of that bed, we were all going to get barbecued!

  He kicked off his blankets, dived out of bed, and trotted down the hall in his Winter Sleep Outfit: one-piece red long-john underwear, bare feet, and a buzzard’s nest of hair. Drover and I were right behind him, scared out of our wits. He ran to the door, threw it open, and stared at the…well, at the sky, I suppose, which appeared to be ablaze with fiery red and orange colors.

  Good grief, the fire was outside too! In other words, the whole world was on fire, not just the house! And when the whole world is on fire, where does a dog go to hide?

  Hey, I tried to warn you that this was going to be a spooky story, but did you listen? Oh no, you thought you were old enough and tough enough to handle anything that came along. Now look at the mess we’re in!

  So what do we do now? I can tell you what Drover did. His eyes almost bugged out of his head. He let out a squeak, “Oh my gosh!”, and fainted right there on the floor, and we’re talking about going down like a pine tree. BAM!

  That left me and Slim, staring at the flaming sky—and he was still in his underwear! How do you suppose that made me feel? The guy in charge, the guy whose house was about to burn down, was running around in underwear that was the same color as the inferno outside, RED!

  Wait, was that some kind of clue? It sounds kind of mysterious, red underwear and red sky. Maybe not.

  Even so, things were looking bad, maybe even hopeless. I can’t guarantee that there’s any way out of this deal, but if you want to stick with me, we’ll find out what happened—good, bad, or awful—in the next chapter.

  If you can’t hang on, I understand. I don’t want to hang on either, but I’ve got no choice. Wish me luck.

  Chapter Three: Smoke, Flames, Awful!

  Are you still with me? Good, I wasn’t sure which way it would go, but I’m glad you stuck with me. It’s pretty scary when the whole world is on fire, when one of your companions has fainted like spilled milk on the floor and the other is running around in his underwear.

  Okay, let’s take a deep breath and try to get organized. Maybe we can find a way out.

  Let’s start with a clue that you might have missed. Remember that cloud of choking smoke inside the house, the same smoke that set off Drover’s allergies and caused him to speak in an unknown language?

  Here’s the clue: THERE WASN’T ANY SMOKE!

  I had made this discovery when Drover and I were hiding in the bunker, and I said that we seemed to be involved in some kind of mysterious “smokeless fire.” Remember that? When I made the comment, Drover’s allergies suddenly vanished and he began speaking in Normal Bow Wow.

  Do you see what this means? Number One, Drover’s allergy attack was a bogus event, which, Number Two, confirmed something we have known for years, that Drover is a notorious hypocardiac.

  You can’t trust the little mutt when he goes into his sneezing fits and starts talking about how his “doze is stobbed ub.” At least half the time, he’s making it up.

  Oh brother. But there was a third clue in this Mystery of The Whole World On Fire, and it came from the guy who was running around the house in his red long-john underwear: Slim Chance.

  Let’s reset the stage. Slim opened the front door and was looking outside at the eastern horizon…or was it the western horizon? No, it had to be eastern because this was morning and the sun comes up in the east, right? Okay, we’re making progress.

  So Slim was looking at the flaming sky. Drover fainted and fell on the floor. I was wondering how a dog escapes from a fire that is engulferating the entire world, and waiting for Slim to come up with some kind of plan to save us.

  At that very tense and scary moment, Slim’s eyes grew wide and he said something that blew the case wide open, and this became the crucial Third Clue. He said, and this is a direct quote, he said, “Man alive, I’ve never seen such a red sunrise!”

  WHAT!

  Sunrise?

  Okay, we’re going to call off the Code Three and try to relax a little bit. Ha ha. Do you get it now? Whew! Boy, you talk about getting scared out of six months’ growth!

  Let’s take it a step at a time. Remember all that red color inside the house? You thought the house was on fire and you thought burning rafters were falling around our ears. Hey, even I was fooled for a minute or two, and that’s why I raced down the hallway and took cover in the bunker. But it didn’t take me long to figure out…

  Okay, let’s try to be honest here. Being honest isn’t always fun, but it’s always right. The truth, the painful truth, is that I got sandbagged, completely fooled by the bright red sunrise, but let me hasten to point out that any dog would have been fooled. Hey, when you wake up and the whole house is red, you naturally think it’s on fire.

  Furthermore, Drover was no help at all. In fact, he got fooled ten times worse than I did, and don’t forget that he was choking on smoke that didn’t exist. That gives you some idea of what I have to put up with in this job. My assistant is a ninny and a harpofoliac.

  Let me point out another important piece of evidence: I was operating under the influence of wasp poison. That was a huge factor in the overall so-forth of this case, because wasp poison is very toxic, right? And it stings like fire, right?

  There you are, that explains everything. Any dog who’d been stung by a wasp and saw red inside the house would have thought that the house was burning down.

  And don’t forget that Slim had never seen such a bright red sunrise in his whole life. Was it my fault that the brightest, reddest sunrise in history happened on my watch? No sir. They try to blame the dogs for everything that goes wrong on this outfit, but they can’t blame us for the sunrise.

  Anyway, we made it through a very scary situation and I’m glad you stuck with me. I really appreciate your help.

  Where were we? Oh yes, Slim was standing in the screen door, admiring the sunrise that had turned the clouds, the horizon, and the inside of our house a bright shade of red.

  “You know, my ma used to say, ‘Red sky at morning, sailor take warning. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.’ Makes me wonder if our weather is fixing to change.” He was quiet for a moment. “Boy, I wish I had a camera. You know, I used to have one. Maybe I can find it, but I’d better hurry. Out of the way, dogs!”

  Huh? Suddenly and without warning, he changed from being a slow-walking, slow-talking bachelor cowboy, into a stampeding buffalo. What was I supposed to do? In the morning, he usually moves around like a man under water. I had never seen him sprinting around the house at that time of day. I was so shocked, I just sat there and, well, he ran over me…and tripped.

  He kept his feet for a few thundering steps, then plowed into that little table beside his sitting chair. Plowing the table wasn’t a big deal, I mean, it was stout enough to take some bumping around, but there was a lamp sitting on it, the antique lamp he had inherited from Aunt Olive, as I recall. It had a big shade and a light bulb, and it was mostly made of some kind of breakable material—porcelain or china, the stuff plates are made of, and it had flowers painted on it.

  Why would anyone make a lamp out of breakable material? And why did Slim keep it in his shack? Beats me. If a bachelor cowboy is going to keep a lamp in his house, it ought to be made of rebar and cement, something tasteless and ugly that won’t break.

  And the painted flowers were a total waste. Slim was flower-blind. He wouldn’t notice a flower unless it jumped out and bit him.

  Anyway, he plowed into the table and the lamp went crashing to the floor. It sounded bad and it didn’t look so pretty either—we’re talking about things broken into little pieces—and, naturally, I felt terrible. After all, I had played a small but tiny part in the tragedy.

  I rushed to his side and gave him a juicy, healing lick on the cheek. Actually, I aimed for his cheek but got his nose. He must have moved his head at the last second, but nose-licks can deliver almost as much emotional punch as a cheek-lick, and I gave him a big, juicy nose-lick with all my heart and soil.

  He pushed me away and yelled, “Now look what you’ve done! Get out of my way!” He pushed himself up to his feet and limped to the closet.

  Obviously, my lick had been wasted. And notice who got blamed for the busted lamp. ME.

  He jerked open the closet door and, well, that was a mistake too. I could have told him, but he didn’t ask and he never listens anyway. The closet was crammed with all kinds of stuff: boots, coats, vests, a yellow slicker, chaps, gloves, straw hats, felt hats, and three rolls of toilet paper. It had all been jammed inside and when he opened the door, some of it—a lot of it—spilled out into the room.

  What didn’t come out in the avalanche remained inside the closet, which was so dark he would never find the camera. I mean, that was the whole purpose of this fiasco, wasn’t it? He was looking for a camera?

  Trying to help, I barked a message: “If you want to find the camera, you’d better get a flashlight.”

  He turned to me with bared fangs and snarled, “Quit barking!” Then he stomped into the kitchen and began plundering drawers, in search of a flashlight.

  Gee, what a grouch. How can a dog help his people if he can’t bark? I mean, that’s what we do, we bark our messages. What did he expect me to do, oink or meow my advice? As I’ve said before, in many ways, this is a lousy job.

  Phooey on him. I had better things to do anyway, because I noticed that the King of Slackers had recovered from his fainting spell and was back on his feet. In fact, he was standing over one of the rolls of toilet paper and pointing it with his nose, like a bird dog pointing quail.

  When I marched over to him, he gave me a silly grin. “Oh, hi. I guess the house wasn’t on fire.”

  “That’s correct, but you fainted anyway.”

  “Yeah, you got me all scared, but it was just the sunrise that made everything look red.”

  “Correct again. We had no fire and there wasn’t even a whiff of smoke in the house, so how do you explain your weird behavior?”

  “Which weird behavior?”

  “You went into a spasm of sneezing and claimed that you were choking to death on the smoke.”

  His grin widened. “Oh yeah, that was pretty weird, bud subbtibes by doze geds stobbed ub.”

  “It’s worse than weird. It’s abnormal. What are you doing?”

  “When?”

  “Right now, this very instant.”

  “Oh. Look what I found.”

  “It’s a roll of toilet paper. So what?”

  “Watch this.” He nudged the roll with his nose. It moved forward, leaving a path of paper behind it. “It’s kind of neat.”

  “It’s kind of neat, but it’s not something a dog should be…you pushed it with your nose?”

  “Yeah, it was easy. Want me to show you?”

  “That won’t be necessary. In fact, step aside and I’ll show you a thing or two. Pay attention.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Move.”

  And with that, I gave the runt a lesson in Paper Unrolleration.

  Chapter Four: Decorating Slim’s House

  I must give Drover credit for discovering this new amusement, and I’ll admit that I’d never done it before, or had even thought about doing it. I mean, viewed from a certain angle, you might be tempted to say that it was a little ridiculous—a dog pushing a roll of paper around with his nose.

  But right away, I sensed that…how can I say this? I was seized by a feeling that this little exercise could transfume into something…well, artistic, something that expressed a dog’s Inner Dogness. Something with Meaning.

  Most of your ordinary mutts know nothing about this kind of thing, I mean, in an average day, they spend their time sleeping, scratching fleas, and figuring out new ways to say, “Duhhhh.” But those of us who live on top of the mountaintop have a broader, deeper view of things. We’re aware of higher emotions that can’t be expressed through barks or saying “duh.”

  It’s a powerful desire to make the world just a little nicer than it was before, through a Work of Art.

  And somehow, in a flash of insight, that’s what I saw in this exercise—an opportunity to reveal a new form of beauty that was hidden inside the Paper Roll of Life. It was right there in front of me, like a flower that hadn’t bloomed. All I had to do was make it happen.

  I cleared Mister Squeakbox out of the way, loosened up the muscles in my enormous shoulders, took a semi-crouched position in front of the paper roll, and lined up my nose. When everything was set and ready, I crept forward and gave it a nudge. It moved forward, leaving a perfect trail of white bunting material.

  “Look at that, son. Is that impressive or what?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was doing.”

  “That’s NOT what you were doing. You were just pushing and shoving without any kind of thought or pattern. It was a careless amusement. This is something entirely different.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Drover, instead of arguing, why don’t you pay attention? You might actually learn something.”

  “It kind of hurts my feelings.”

  “You’ll get over it.”

  I returned to my work, lined up my nose, and gave the paper another nudge, this time with more punch. The roll leaped forward, leaving a perfect little highway of white paper in its wake. In a rush of inspiration, I did it again, only this time I moved beyond the Nudge Procedure and gave it a pretty solid push with an upward thrust of my nose.

  Amazing! It rolled into the hallway, while I maintained a disciplined position right behind it. See, in this kind of exercise, the disciplined position is everything. You have to maintain your spacing, don’t you know, so that when the roll slows down, you’re right there to keep it moving.

  Hey, I was really on a roll now!

  A little humor there, did you get it? I was ON A ROLL, rolling a roll of paper down the hall. Ha ha.

  Anyway, things were turning out great and I had gotten the technique down to a fine art. Halfway down the hall, I picked up speed, batted and chased the roll to the end of the hallway, into Slim’s bedroom, and under his bed.

  At that point, things got more complicated. In the confined space beneath the bed, I found it impossible to keep up the momentum of the momentum. The roll stopped unrolling, in other words, so I had to shift tactics. With a mighty upward thrust of the nose, I sent it flying out from beneath the bed, then scrambled out and….BONK…made a slight miscalculation about the height of the stupid bed, but it was only a temporary setback.

  Ouch.

  Once I’d cleared the bed, I resumed the Chasing Position and went flying down the hallway and back into the living room. I mean, it was really something to see. You’ve seen hockey players racing across the ice in pursuit of the muck? Same deal. I wasn’t wearing skates or swinging a hockey pick, but, fellers, this was pockery in motion, a dog on a mission to decorate the world with an artful expression of Papericity!

  Hey, I was bringing new forms of beauty into the drab dungeon of Slim’s shack.

  Back in the living room, I had to shut down the whole procedure because, well, I ran out of paper. I mean, the roll just vanished and became an empty tube of cardboard, which was a bummer. I was just hitting my stride with this deal.

  At that point, I noticed a strange man standing in front of the closet, shining a flashlight inside and pawing through things on the shelf. Good grief, was this a burglar who had broken into the house whilst I’d been occupied with Arts and Crafts?

  I had never seen this guy before, and he sure as thunder had no business rummaging around in Slim’s closet!

  The hair along my backbone sprang upward and I began loading up some big-time Stop the Intruder Barks. If those barks didn’t do the job, I might have to launch a Fang Missile and put a big bite right in the middle of his…

  Wait, hold everything. He was wearing red long-john underwear. Do you remember…ha ha, never mind, it was only Slim. I guess he was looking for his camera. Ha ha.

  Okay, the Take-Away Point here is that the Head of Ranch Security is never off duty. We never get time off or a vacation. Our work never ends, and we have to remain vinegar at all times.

  Virulent

  Vigital.

  Vegetable.

  Digital.

  Phooey. We have to remain alert at all times, and I can tell you from hard experience that it isn’t easy, because Slim Chance is such a goof-off, we never know when he’s really in danger and when he’s just pulling another childish prank on the dogs. This time, he wasn’t.

  Vigilant. That’s the word. We have to remain vegetable at all times.

  Where were we? Oh yes, Slim was looking for the camera so that he could, I don’t know, take a picture of something. The sunrise, the brilliant red sunrise.

  Now we’re cooking. He actually found the camera in the mess of the closet, with the help of a flashlight. He held the camera close to his face and heaved a sigh. “By grabs, it even has film!”

  He rushed to the door, flung it open…wait, is it flung or flang? It doesn’t matter, he flang open the door, stepped out on the porch in his bare feet, brought the camera up to his eye, and…oops, the sunrise that would have made such a beautiful picture had melted away, leaving nothing but a gray sky with gray clouds.

  His shoulders slumped and I heard him grumble, “Boy, the bus don’t wait long around here.”

  He came back inside the house and closed the door. At that point, his eyes began moving around the room. Ah, good, he was finally noticing my Work: a hundred feet of white bunting that decorated his house in a fresh, artistic manner it had never known before.