“You could let me ride Shotgun.”

  I whirled around and glared at him. “You really think that would make you happy?” He grinned and bobbed his head. “All right, I guess you’re old enough to give it a shot.”

  “No fooling?”

  “But if it doesn’t bring you Happiness and Bliss, I don’t want to hear you complaining about it. Can you handle that?”

  He was almost beside himself. “Oh yeah, this’ll be great!”

  We traded spots and I gave him a few minutes to settle into his new position. “Well? Is your life any better?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The window’s rolled up and the air stinks over here too.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Can I have my old place back?”

  “No, sorry. I’ve decided that I like it here in the middle.”

  “I miss my old spot. Please?”

  “Oh, all right.” We traded places. “There. Are you happy now?”

  “I don’t know. I’m all confused.”

  “But did you learn anything from this experience?”

  “Yeah, you cheat.”

  “Drover, it’s not my fault that the window was rolled up.”

  “Yeah, but you could have told me.” His lip quivered. “I never dreamed you’d turn into a cheater-cheater-rotten-egg-eater.”

  I laid a paw upon his shoulder. “Son, there’s a very important lesson here, so pay attention. The grass is always greener when the grass greens up.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Brown grass never looks as green as green grass, because brown grass has a brownish color.”

  “Gosh, I never thought of that.” His eyes brightened and he beamed a silly grin. “Does it mean that I’m happier than I thought?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not depressed any more?”

  “That’s correct, and you didn’t even have to eat grass.”

  “Gosh, thanks. I feel a whole lot better now.”

  “Good, good. Now sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  You know, a lot of dogs in my position wouldn’t have taken the time to coach their employees through difficult times, but me? I considered it part of my job. See, I knew that deep down inside, Drover wanted to ride in the middle of the seat, but he needed a friend to guide him to the right conclusion.

  Pretty touching, huh? You bet. Drover seemed as chirpy as a little sparrow, now that he was right back where he’d started in the first place.

  Weird.

  We made the rest of the trip without any problems…wait, there was one small incident. As we were chugging along, Slim hit the brakes to avoid hitting a raccoon that was crossing the road.

  “Good honk, that coon’s got a red ball in his mouth! Now, that’s one for the record book. And he kind of looks like Eddy.”

  I admit that I didn’t see the coon or the so-called red ball, because I was trying to scratch an itch on my nose. It’s a very delicate procedure that requires concentration and a soft touch with a hind foot. See, if you bear down too hard with the Scratcher, you can put a big hurt on your nose.

  So, yes, I was distracted, didn’t witness the coon with my own eyes, and didn’t give it another thought until hours later. By that time…well, you’ll see. It turned out to be a major clue in a case that hasn’t yet begun to begin.

  Chapter Three: A Town Mutt Shows Up on the Ranch

  When we reached headquarters, we saw Loper coming out of the house. He walked over to Slim’s window. “Afternoon.”

  “Loper, it’s morning and I got here as quick as I could.”

  “Morning.”

  “Does that mean ‘good morning?’ Or ‘Good morning, Slimbo, it’s great to see you again’?”

  “It was a simple statement of fact. It’s morning and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Yeah, but are you thrilled to see me?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Come on now, dig a little deeper. Don’t seeing me first thing in the morning make everything seem just a little brighter?”

  Loper gave him a blank stare. “What’s wrong with you? Have you been drinking mouthwash?”

  “Loper, I’m just trying to spread a little sunshine to make up for your warped personality.”

  “The nice thing about a radio is that you can change stations.”

  “You need to lighten up and be thankful for little blessings.”

  “If you find one, let me know.”

  “Well, I’ve got one. Listen to this. I found weevils in my breakfast food this morning, and almost ate ‘em.”

  “And that’s a blessing?”

  Slim reached across the cab and gave me a pat on the head. “Hankie stepped in and saved me. He ate every bug. John Wayne never did anything that brave.”

  Loper finally surrendered to a chuckle. “Okay, our dog’s a hero. That’s something to celebrate.”

  Wow, did you hear that? Me, a hero! I was amazed. I mean, it was true, of course, but on this outfit, a dog can wait years for that kind of recognition. I sat up straight and thrashed my tail against the seat. This was a very proud…

  They weren’t even looking me. Boy, you’ve got to grab your glory fast, while it’s there, because it doesn’t last long.

  Loper’s smile had faded and his face had returned to its earlier, frozen state. “We’ve got ten tons of cottonseed cake headed this way.”

  “I thought they were bringing it tomorrow.”

  “They’re bringing it today and he’ll be here any time. The truck driver won’t be bringing an extra hand. His helper called in sick.”

  Slim stretched out his arms and yawned. “No problem. A couple of big strapping lads like me and you won’t have any trouble with ten tons of cake.”

  Loper looked at his wristwatch. “I’ve got a meeting with the accountant and need to get moving.” He smirked and gave Slim a pat on the arm. “Take your time, drink plenty of water, and don’t wear yourself out.”

  Slim beamed him a glare. “Loper, you’re a skunk, that’s all I can say.”

  “I know, I hate it.” He winked and headed for the house. “Be happy in your work.”

  Slim turned to me. “He’s a skunk and this is a put-up deal. One of these days, the hired hands are going to rise up and protest the injustice of this world.” I guess he was talking to me but, well, I happened to be in the middle of a yawn. “Hey, pay attention! Injustice rules the land and all you can do is yawn about it.”

  Well, excuse me! Was it my fault that Loper was a skunk? And for his information, dogs need to yawn once in a while.

  Gee, what a grouch.

  We drove around to the cake house, which sat on a piece of flat ground northwest of the machine shed. Actually, it was an old one-room school house that Loper had moved to headquarters years ago, and that’s where we stored our winter’s supply of cake.

  By the way, we’re not talking about birthday cake. It was “cow cake” made of cottonseed meal, also known as “pelleted feed.” It’s kind of amazing that a dog would know so much about this stuff, isn’t it? You bet.

  A truck was backing up to the door when we got there. The driver set his brakes, shut off the motor, and climbed out of the cab. He wore striped overalls and an old felt hat, and he’d brought his dog, a homely mutt named Roy. He had a bob tail and a patch of black over one eye—Roy did, not the driver—and might have been part-Australian shepherd—again, the dog not the driver.

  Most of your Aussies are okay. They do good work and mind their own business, but this guy…I don’t know, there was a cocky air about him, and a shifty look. After you’ve been in the Security Business for a while, you can pick ‘em out. They think they’re just a little bit better than the rest of us, and it usually leads to trouble.

  Whilst the men went to work unloading fifty-pound sacks of feed, I kept a close watch on Roy. Sure enough, he went to the southwest corner of the cake house and lifted his leg. (What did I tell you?)

  “Hey, you! No marks on my barn.”

  He dropped his leg. “I’ve been in that truck for a long time.”

  “That’s not my problem. Go find a weed.”

  “Well, whatever you think.” He went to a clump of ragweed and sniffed it. “How about this one?”

  “No, that’s a special weed. Go out in the pasture.”

  He shot me a sour look and trotted out in the pasture until he came to a clump of yucca. “This be okay?”

  “No, that’s special too. Keep going.” He moved farther north until he came to a clump of broom weed. “That’ll work, go for it.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so fussy—I mean, let’s be honest, I didn’t care about the weeds—but a guy has to be firm when town dogs show up on his ranch.

  When Roy returned from his mission, I went straight to the southwest corner of the cake house and laid down a good, strong mark. “This is MY barn, so don’t get any big ideas. And by the way, I’m Head of Ranch Security.”

  He shrugged. “Fair enough…but don’t be messing with the tires on my truck.”

  My ears shot up. “What did you say?”

  “That’s my truck. I ride Shotgun.”

  “And that’s a big deal?”

  “Yep, big deal. Guess who barks at every car we pass. Me. And cattle trucks get a double shot.”

  We glared at each other for several seconds and things got pretty tense. Then I decided to defuse the situation.

  “Let’s move on to something else. This seems a little childish.”

  “I agree. Plumb silly, in fact.”

  I stepped away from him. “Sometimes we take ourselves too seriously.”

  “I guess we do. Dogs are funny.” We shared a little laugh. “But you have to admit that riding Shotgun in a big old Peterbilt is about as awesome as it gets.”

  “Why do I have to admit that?”

  “Well, because it’s true. I mean, you might think that riding around in a ranch pickup is hot stuff, but that’s only because you don’t have a real truck.”

  “Ha! That truck of yours is a piece of junk.”

  “Yeah? It’s ten times better than that pile-of-junk barn of yours.”

  Again, we glared and bristled, then I paced a few steps away. “You know what? This is a ridiculous conversation.”

  “I agree.”

  “Let’s end it here.”

  “Done. All I’m saying is, that’s my truck.”

  “Fine, it’s your truck.”

  I thought that would put an end to the nonsense, but he just had to keep running his big mouth. “And don’t be messing with my tires.”

  I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck. “I couldn’t care less about your tires, but let me point out that your truck is parked on MY ranch.”

  “Hey, George, you got it backwards. Your ranch is parked under MY truck, so maybe you ought to move your ranch.”

  We began circling each other. “Did you call me ‘George’?”

  “I sure did, and I’ll call you George any time I want.”

  “I’d advise you not to do that.”

  “George, George, George!”

  Well, that did it. The mutt had crossed the line, calling me George, and I was ready to go into some heavy combat. I stuck my nose in his flanks and he stuck his nose in mine. We bristled and made teeth at each other. We circled and growled and snarled, and I was just about ready to clean his plow, when a voice ripped through the tensionous air.

  “Hank, knock it off!”

  Huh? Okay, Slim and the driver had stopped for a water break. They were standing outside the cake house and…well, watching us, it appeared. Slim yelled, “Come here!” I went to Slim and The Mouth went to his guy. Slim said, “Hank, what’s the problem?”

  Well, I…we…he called me George.

  The truck driver said, “Roy, what’s the problem?”

  Roy gave him a dumb look and tapped his tail. He seemed to be saying, “It’s my truck.”

  The men exchanged glances and shook their heads, and Slim said, “Bird brains. Y’all be nice. If you can’t think of anything better,” he swatted at a yellow jacket wasp, “you might do something about these frazzling wasps.”

  They took another drink of water and went back to work, lugging bags of feed into the barn and putting them into stacks. Roy and I were left alone and, well, it was kind of awkward—two old enemies left alone on the field of battle.

  I slid a glance his direction and he did the same to me. He wagged his tail three times and I answered back. We seemed to be moving toward a peaceful solution to the crisis and someone needed to step up and show some maturity, so I said, “Okay, I’ll admit it’s your truck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And it’s nice truck, not a piece of junk.”

  “Thanks, bud, that means a lot. It’s the best truck I’ve ever owned and I’m proud of it.” The expression on his face softened. “Hey, I’m sorry I called you George.”

  “Thanks. It was nothing, really. I shouldn’t be so touchy about little things.”

  “Right. I guess we both need to work on that.”

  “I agree. What matters is that we share the Brotherhood of All Dogs.”

  “You got it. Hey, without us dogs, where would the world be?”

  “Exactly. The world would be a complete mess.” There was a long moment of silence. “Well, what shall we do now?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me. Seems kind of boring, don’t it?” Then his face brightened. “Hey, I’ve got an idea, and this’ll be fun.”

  Hmm. I wondered what he had in mind for our “fun.”

  Chapter Four: I Give Roy Some Schooling

  Roy stood up, stretched, and shook the grass off his coat. He pointed a paw toward several wasps that were buzzing above our heads. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You see all those bugs?”

  “Yes, they’re called ‘yellow jackets,’ and they’re a variety of wasp. At this time of year, they come out of wherever they spent the summer and the air is filled with them. They land on every surface and become a nuisance. What else would you like to know about wasps?”

  He gave me a blank stare. “Well, I wasn’t asking about ‘em. I think I know quite a bit about wasps.”

  “Roy, you might know a few facts about wasps in general, but these particular wasps are on my ranch.”

  “A wasp is a wasp.”

  “A wasp is a wasp, but nobody knows more about the wasps on my ranch than I do. If that hurts your feelings, I’m sorry, but I must remind you that I’m Head of Ranch Security.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think you mentioned that.” He moved a step closer. “Listen, bud, I’m in charge of a feed warehouse in town, huge. It makes that barn of yours look like a chicken house, and we’ve got a billion yellow jackets.”

  “Yes, and that’s my whole point. There are two kinds of wasp in this world: yours and mine. You might know a few things about your wasps, but you don’t know beans about mine.”

  He shook his head and looked away. “Boy, talking to you is like talking to a pallet of salt blocks.”

  “All you have to do is admit that I know more about my wasps than you do.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Okay. We’ll agree on that.”

  “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

  He beamed a grin. “Now, do you know how to catch one?”

  “Well, I…why would I want to catch a wasp?”

  “Insect control. I do it all the time at the warehouse. Part of my job. Y’all don’t do that out here?”

  “I didn’t say that. Of course we do, but…well, our wasps sting.”

  He laughed. “They all do, son. You’ve got to know the right technique. Watch this.”

  He walked toward the cake house and as he walked, his eyes swept the airspace in front of him, which contained five or six buzzing yellow jackets. He stopped and studied them.

  To be honest, I found this a little boring, so I said, “Uh…Roy, let me suggest…”

  “Shhh. I can’t concentrate with you flapping your mouth. We’re getting close to something. Steady…steady…”

  When one of the wasps landed on the ground near the door, he moved forward in a rapid walk, seized the wasp in his mouth, clicked his teeth five times, and gave his head a vigorous shake. The wasp flew out of his mouth and landed on the ground.

  He turned to me with a grin. “Dead bug. What do you think?”

  “Well, it was okay, not bad, I mean, we do it all the time out here.”

  “Let’s see how you do it.”

  “Me? With a live wasp?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You can’t kill a dead one.”

  “I’m aware of that, Roy, but…actually, I wouldn’t mind watching you do it one more time.”

  “Ten-four on that.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what the mutt was trying to pull, but I was pretty sure that I had just witnessed a demonstration of Dumb Luck. Hey, I’d had plenty of experience with yellow jackets and knew what they can do. They sting and it hurts like crazy. What kind of moron would put one into his mouth?

  Roy swept his gaze across the air above his head and seemed to lock on one wasp in particular. He moved forward, two cautious steps. The wasp hung in the air about three feet above the ground.

  In a soft voice, he said, “This ‘un will be a surface-to-air deal. It can be tricky, so watch close.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t…”

  “Shhhh.”

  He stopped, froze, went into a crouch, and sprang at the wasp, snagged it out of the air, clicked his teeth, shook his head, and flipped the wasp out of his mouth.

  He puffed himself up into a ridiculous pose. “Dead bug. What do you say now?”