After a while, Slim stopped the mower and Happy stepped down. Little Alfred led him into the yard, climbed on his back, and started riding him like a horse, using Hap’s big ears for bridle reins. The kid was having the time of his life, and so was the dog. Hap staggered under the weight of his load but never lost that big sloppy grin, with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. When Alfred lost his balance and fell off, Hap licked him on the cheek and waited for him to remount, and off they went again.

  It was really something to see, and though I didn’t particularly want to be impressed, I was. If you’d wanted to capture the scene with a song, it would have gone something like this.

  Happy Dog

  Happy day, happy night,

  Happy eating appetite.

  Wag your tail, run and hide,

  Give the kids a pony ride.

  Happy dog, pollywog,

  Fetch a stick, chase a frog.

  Eat your food, don’t be rude.

  Always smile.

  Deedle dee, deedle dum.

  Fiddle faddle fodle fum.

  Rickie tick, rockie tock.

  Snicker doodle bobbie socks.

  Dingaling, birdies sing

  Tickle tockle tammerling.

  Murgle skiffer rambling.

  Always smile.

  I watched for several minutes and returned to the office. For some reason, it left me feeling…well, depressed.

  Half an hour later, when Sally May called Alfred into the house for supper, I heard big footsteps approaching. Happy chugged into the office, said “Hi,” and flopped down on Drover’s bed. He stretched out and appeared to be ready for sleep.

  I broke the silence. “You’re good with kids.”

  He sat up and looked at me. “Beg pardon?”

  “I said, you’re good with kids.”

  “Oh, thanks. Yeah, I like ‘em.”

  “I like ‘em too, but only up to a point. I can’t believe how patient you were with Alfred, letting him ride you around. Doesn’t that hurt your back?”

  “Oh yes, a little. Mostly it bothers my hips.”

  “So…why did you do it? I mean, most dogs wouldn’t stand for it.”

  He gazed up at the sky and took a deep breath. “A guy likes to do what he’s good at. Maybe it makes up for all the things he don’t do so well.”

  “Explain that.”

  His eyes drifted down to me. “I’m not a very good bird dog—near-sighted, can’t smell, can’t find a covey of birds, can’t retrieve. And when they start shooting off guns…I’m scared of loud noises. Guns go off, I’m out of there.”

  “Hmmm. That’s not so good—I mean, for a bird dog.”

  “Yeah, but it’s worse than that. I do things that are ridiculous, all the time.”

  “Ridiculous?”

  “Yeah, like sticking my head into a bird cage. That was really a dumb thing to do.”

  I laughed. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “I do stuff like that. I chew things up and dig holes and knock over flower pots. Listen, buddy, I ate a garden hose one time—three feet of rubber hose.”

  “You swallowed it?”

  “I did. I was sick for three days.”

  I didn’t want to laugh but, well, that was pretty funny. “That’s a hard way to learn, but I bet you didn’t try it again.” There was a long moment of silence. “You didn’t try it again, did you?” Another silence. “You did?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you. I do ridiculous things, over and over. I really didn’t want you to know all this.”

  I got up and paced a few steps away. The sun had dropped below the horizon and pleasant smells hung in the air. “Okay, Hap, let’s talk. First of all, I’m sorry I’ve been so grouchy. I’m ashamed of myself. Second, it appears that you’re going to be here on the ranch for a while, and third, while you’re here, you must refrain from doing ridiculous things.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been worrying about that. I just don’t know how to act.”

  I whirled around and paced back to him. “It’s very simple. When you get an urge to do something ridiculous, don’t do it. Say no to the urge.”

  “Sounds good, but it don’t always work.”

  “All right, then here’s an idea.” I laid a paw on his big shoulder. “When you get a silly notion, find me and we’ll talk it out. I’m willing to help if you’re willing to let me.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Absolutely. Look, we dogs are in this together. You helped us load a bad bull, maybe I can help you resist crazy ideas. What do you think?”

  His eyes filled with tears. “Nobody’s ever cared that much about me. I just hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  My eyes grew misty and I turned away. In a voice that trembled with emotion, I said, “Happy, with two sincere, intelligent dogs working on this deal, what could go wrong?”

  That was a pretty emotional scene, wasn’t it? You bet. And to be honest, it left me a little dizzy. I mean, I’d started the afternoon mad at him, just because he was there, and ended up talking to him as though we were old friends.

  It doesn’t make much sense unless you factor this into the equation: it’s hard to stay mad at a Lab. They are such nice, happy, honest, decent guys, who can not like them? Any time I get to thinking that I’m a good dog, all I have to do is hang out with the nearest Lab for an hour and that sets the record straight.

  I’m not a lab, not even close. Labs seem to be born nice and kind and gentle and everything else a dog should be, and it comes without effort.

  Yes, I know they’re bird dogs and, yes, I don’t like bird dogs (Plato comes to mind), but…it’s confusing, isn’t it? Just when you think you’ve got Life figured out, a Lab shows up at the ranch and blows all your theories.

  So there we were in my bedroom/office under the gas tanks. I curled up on my gunny sack and Happy sprawled out on Drover’s. Perhaps you’re wondering what had become of Drover, and here’s the scoop on that.

  Around sundown, he came skipping down the hill, stopped in his tracks, took one look at the big lug that was occupying his bed, did a one-eighty, and left. I saw him and yelled, “Hey, where are you going?”

  “It’s too crowded. I’m leaving.”

  That was it. He trotted back to the machine shed and disappeared inside. Make no mistake, that’s a weird little mutt.

  Oh well. Hap and I had our bunks and we put them to good use. Within moments, Hap was conked out and doing some serious snoring. Over the years, I had adjusted to Drover’s sleeping patterns, which included a whole orchestra of mostly-comical sounds: squeaks, wheezes, whistles, honks, grunts, and periods of incoherent babbling.

  Hap’s night-noise was something different. Big dogs make big noise, and we’re talking about a soundtrack that included trucks, trains, bulldozers, motor-graders, elephants, and water buffalo. As a snorer, he belonged in the same class with Slim Chance, who could bend rafters and burst water lines.

  I thought I would never get to sleep, but did, finally, and didn’t even crack an eye until something woke me up in the middle of the night. I heard my name. “Hank? I think you’d better wake up.”

  My eyes flew open and I leaped to my…let’s be honest here. I sloshed to my feet, and although my eyes might have been open, they weren’t seeing much that made sense. I saw this…this water buffalo standing in front of me, only he was a blondish-yellow color instead of brown.

  In my confusion, I blurted out, “You’re supposed to be plowing the rice paddy, and two pounds of garlic will never make a sandwich.” I blinked my eyes and glanced around. “Where am I? Who are you?”

  “It’s me, Happy. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “No, that’s okay, I was awake and watching the construction.”

  “What construction?”

  “They’re building a new highway. I heard trucks and bulldozers.”

  “Where?”

  “Right over there. No, wait, it was a rice paddy. They were using water buffalo to…who did you say you were?”

  “Happy, the new guy, Labrador. Remember?”

  “Oh yes, of course.” I took a few steps and tried to clear my head. “Okay, I’ll take charge. We need to get those water buffalo out of here. They’re very destructive. If they get into Sally May’s yard…” I paced back over to him. “Did you see any water buffalo?”

  “Nope. Well, maybe. I spotted something in the yard. I was going to bark at it, but figured I’d better check with you first.”

  “Good thinking. Barking at night can get a dog into big trouble on this outfit.”

  He rolled his eyes around. “Maybe you could come with me and check it out. I don’t want to do anything foolish.”

  “Right. I remember now. We want to prevent Ridiculous Behavior at all costs.”

  “Boy, yeah, especially my first night here.”

  “Exactly. I’m glad you called. Let’s go check it out.”

  We crept through the darkness and made our way toward the house. I took the Lead Position because…well, because that’s what I do. Some dogs are born to lead and some are born to swallow. Follow.

  About halfway there, I broke the silence. “Let’s go over this again. How did this get started? I need facts, details.”

  “Well, sir, what woke me up was…well, I get hungry in the night.”

  “Hap, I stood there and watched you gulp down two bowls of Co-op dog food.”

  “I know, but I get hungry. Wait, we’d better stop here.” We stopped and he pointed his paw to the east. “Lookie yonder and tell me what that is.”

  I switched my eyes over to Infra-freckle Night Vision and scanned the yard. “What I see is the lawn mower.”

  “Well, that’s what I thought too, at first, but then…it moved.”

  “It moved?”

  “Yes sir, it moved. I think it moved. Yes.”

  I took a closer look. “That’s the riding lawn mower. Slim must have left it in the yard. See the handle bars?”

  “Well, I thought that too, but I kept looking and…I think those are horns.”

  “Horns?”

  “Yes sir. Remember that big cow that hopped in the trailer?”

  “He was a bull and…hmmm, he had horns, didn’t he?” I adjust the focus on the scanner and zoomed in on the object. “You know what? Those might be horns.” I put the scanner away and turned to my comrade. “It’s the bull!”

  Chapter Seven: A Bull In Sally May’s Yard

  I lowered my voice and spoke to Happy Lab. “How did the bull get out of the corral? Wait. You know those bulldozers and water buffalo I was hearing? It was him, snorting and tearing down the corral fence.”

  “Well sir, I sure thought something was wrong, but I didn’t want to do anything foolish.”

  I laid a paw on his shoulder. “Hap, there’s nothing foolish about reporting a bull in the yard. You did the right thing.”

  He heaved a big sigh. “Boy, that makes me feel better.”

  My mind was racing. “We’ve got a big problem here. The first time we went into combat with this guy, we got skunked, but then you showed up with that bird cage on your head. That spooked him.”

  “Reckon we ought to look for another bird cage?”

  I had to chuckle at that. “There are no bird cages on this ranch. You found the only one in the whole county.”

  “Gosh, what’ll we do?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” I began pacing, as I often do when I’m gazing down at the Chessboard of Life and trying to formaldehyde a plan of battle. “If we went over the fence and stormed the yard, he would clean our clocks.”

  “Maybe we ought to bark, reckon?”

  I paced over to him. “Hap, I’m in charge here. Don’t strain yourself.” I began pacing again. “We must alert the house and, unfortunately, that means barking. That will expose us to danger on two fronts. Number one, the bull might tear down the fence and come after us. Number two, we could face an enraged Loper or Sally May.”

  “Who?”

  “The people in the house. They don’t always understand the deeper layers of meaning when we bark at night.”

  “Huh. You mean…”

  “I mean they get really crabby when we wake them up, and, we’re talking about hostile and irrational, hissing and screeching and hurling threats and insults.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Wow. Maybe we ought to let it slide.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. What if the bull is still there in the morning? What if Little Alfred walks out of the house?”

  He nodded his big head. “I hear you. We’ve got to protect the kids.”

  “Exactly. Hap, a lot of dogs wouldn’t care, but you and I…we’re different. We have a special place in our hearts for the little children.”

  A quiver came into his voice. “Yes sir, I get all teary-eyed just thinking about ‘em.”

  “Save it for later. There’s a time for tears and there’s a time to bark. This is the time to bark, and I mean bark as we’ve never barked in our whole lives.”

  He pulled himself up to full-attention. “I’m ready, let’s do it.”

  It was a touching moment, the two of us out there on the field of battle, moments before launching ourselves into combat. But we didn’t have time to think about it. We had a job to do.

  I gave the signal and we crept forward. About ten feet from the yard gate, I gave the signal to halt, and it was then that I noticed…the cat. He was sitting beside the yard gate, staring at us with his weird cattish eyes.

  “Well, well! It’s Hankie the Wonderdog, with a friend.”

  “Pete, we’re on a mission and I don’t have time for chatter. Hap and I are here to do something about that bull.”

  “Oh really. What bull?”

  “There’s a bull in the yard, right over there.”

  Pete twisted his head all around and searched the yard. Then his eyes popped open. “Oh, that bull!”

  “Stand back and try to stay out of the way. We’re fixing to unload some heavy ordinance.”

  “Oh good, good! I’ll take cover.”

  “You do that. Or don’t, I don’t care.” The cat disappeared into the shadows and I turned to my comrade. “The bull hasn’t moved. It makes me wonder…”

  “Oh, he moved.”

  “He did? Are you sure?”

  “Yes sir, I’m sure. I’m pretty sure. He moved. I think I seen him move.”

  I studied Happy’s face in the pale moonlight and a thought popped into my head. This was the same guy who had confessed that he was prone to doing ridiculous things. Was there any chance…nah, surely not.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, this is the Big Show, what we’ve been training for all our lives. You stand over there and I’ll set up over here. Take a wide, comfortable stance. On my signal, we’ll cut loose with Number Three Artillery Barks.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your biggest barks, Hap, and don’t hold anything back. If the bull comes after us, it’s every dog for himself. Run for your life.”

  “Yes sir, got it. I’m locked and livered.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, I’m licked and livered.”

  “It’s locked and loaded, Hap. Get it right.”

  “Okay, got it. I’m ready.” He gave me a wink. “You ever hear a Lab bark at night?”

  “Not that I can remember, no.”

  He puffed himself up. “Wait till you hear this. After dark, nobody out-barks a Lab.”

  “Good, but wait for my signal.”

  Happy Lab turned toward the house and started blasting away. In other words, he didn’t wait for my signal. I thought about scolding him, but…well, I didn’t get the chance.

  Remember that thick, heavy tail we discussed before? Apparently, when Labs do their serious barking, they swing their tail back and forth. Maybe it has something to do with maintaining their balance, I don’t know, but when that tail starts swinging, you need to back away and give it some room.

  The point is that I got whacked right on the jaw, and it did produce a spray of colored stars and checkers. “Hey, you big ape, watch what you’re doing!” He didn’t hear me, and by that time, there was no calling him back. He’d gotten into a rhythm and he was firing off a round of barking every four or five seconds.

  By then, it was clear that he hadn’t been exaggerating about his barking skills. The guy was awesome, and I say that as a dog who’s pretty impressed with his own barking ability. He had mastered every detail of the Heavy Barking Procedure: the stance (good, wide, comfortable stance), proper balance (the tail action), breathing technique (big gulps of air), rhythm (one bark after another, no breaks or pauses), and voicing (deep, piercing barks).

  Wow, I was blown away. I didn’t know whether I was looking at incredible natural talent, or if he had spent years learning his craft, but the result was something close to Art. And there I was, sitting on the front row and watching the whole show.

  It was a humbling experience. To be honest, I don’t necessarily enjoy feeling humble, but in the presence of Happy Lab, all I could do was watch and gasp and marvel at this amazing display of talent and discipline.

  When I finally dared to add my own barks to the effort, I did it with the understanding that, no matter how many hours I practiced, I would never be in the same league with this dog.

  But I tried. That’s all a dog can do. I mean, life doesn’t end when you find out that you’re the second-best barking dog in Texas.

  So we barked. Oh, did we bark! The moon rattled. The trees quivered. The house trembled. On and on we barked, fighting fatigue and cotton-mouth and legs that were weakened by the relentless recoil of our barks.