“Oh yeah? I’ll take my chances. Go ahead and drop that winder.”

  He yipped and yapped. “I think you’re chicken. I think you’re scared to death of me, and you’re just lucky there’s a window between us, otherwise . . .”

  “Otherwise, Mister Smartie Mouth, I’d make trotline bait out of you in about fifteen seconds—if I could catch you, that is, which I doubt that I could.”

  “Oh, you’re a big talker, aren’t you? Huh? Huh? You just come through that window and see what happens! Come on, I dare you!”

  I hate getting involved in childish . . . on the other hand, a guy has to defend his honor. “Okay, we’ll just see what I can do.”

  The poodle stopped yipping. His eyes got real big. “Don’t you dare . . . you’d just better not, I’ll call for help, I’m warning you!”

  I knew I couldn’t jump through the window, but I couldn’t resist giving the little shrimp a scare. I leaped into the air, and at the top of my jump I wedged my mouth and enormous jaws through the crack and made some ferocious sounds that I figgered would give the pipsqueak a thrill.

  It did. He went screaming to the other side of the car seat. I mean, the way he was hollering, you’d have thought I’d tore off one of his legs.

  “Help, help, murder! He struck me, he bit me, he’s trying to kill me!”

  This was turning out to be more fun than I’d expected, certainly better than loafing around on the curb. I kept it up, even added a few new sounds to give him an extra . . . WHAP!

  Huh?

  Unless I was badly mistaken, something had struck me on top of the head and knocked me to the street. I looked up, shook the checkers and stars out of my head, and saw the lady’s handbag just before it struck me another blow. WHAP!

  “You leave Foo Foo alone, you big nasty bully! The very idea! You’ve scared the poor thing half to death.”

  Well, hey, her sweet little Foo Foo had . . . WHOP! Trying to explain things to crazy women has never . . . WHOP! Seemed a pretty good time for me to sell out and find a better climate.

  I think she had two rolls of quarters in that handbag.

  I shot the gap between her legs and made for the sidewalk. It was my good fortune that Slim had just come out of the store, so I made a dash for him and took cover behind his legs.

  He hadn’t seen the woman. He’d just fished into his shirt pocket for a fresh chew when she marched up to him and whopped him on the shoulder with her bag.

  “There, take that, you ruffian! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, letting your big oaf of a dog terrorize my poor little Foo Foo!”

  “Whaaa . . . ?”

  “You’ve ruined his Christmas, he’s a nervous wreck, he won’t be the same for weeks, oh, I’m SO UPSET, I think I’ll hit you again!”

  “Now hold on a . . .” WHOP!

  “Furthermore, I’m going to report this to the police, and I’m half a mind to consult my attorney, but before I do I’m going to hit you again!”

  “No, I don’t think you will,” said Slim. She swung and this time he dodged, caught her by both shoulders, spun her around, and marched her toward the car door. “Get in the car, ma’am, before you fall and break your neck.”

  She let out a gasp. “Don’t you DARE break my neck! We have laws in this town, and you’ll be hearing from my attorney. You, sir, are no gentleman.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You, sir, are a bully and a bully!”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “And my attorney will be in touch!”

  She plunged into the car, scooped up little Foo Foo in her arms, kissed his face, gave us one last killing glare, and roared out of the parking space.

  We watched her go squealing down Main Street. Slim took a bite off his chew and looked down at me. I, uh, whapped my tail on the sidewalk and squeezed up a smile.

  “Thanks a bunch, Hank. After taking a buzzard through the windshield, what I really needed was to get attacked on the street by some poodle’s mommy, the old rip.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Merry Christmas, baloney. It don’t take me long to get my fill of Christmas shoppin’. You can’t buy anything in that derned store unless you know some sizes. How’s a guy supposed to know sizes? Walk up to a lady and put a tape measure on her? I can see me doin’ that . . . and then picking up my teeth off the floor.”

  We stood there for a long time, watching the cars go down the street. “Well, let’s wander down to the saddle shop. If I’m going to be arrested and throwed in jail, I’d just as soon be amongst friends.”

  He called to Drover and Little Alfred, and the four of us hiked half a block north to Leonard’s Saddle Shop. Along the way, Slim reached down and scratched me behind the ears.

  “You ain’t much of a dog, Hank, but I’m sure glad you ain’t a Foo Foo.”

  Say, that made me proud! I held my head and tail high in the air and marched a few steps out in front of everyone else. In this old life, a dog takes the roses as they come, even if they are a little wilted.

  Chapter Seven: Leonard’s Saddle Shop

  Iwas the first to arrive at the door of Leonard’s Saddle Shop, and when I looked through the glass, I saw a big friendly gas stove over near the south wall.

  It was cold outside on the street. Very cold. Even though I was accustomed to roughing it, sleeping in the snow, taking the very worst that Nature could throw at me and laughing it off as if it were . . . I was not unmindful of just how pleasant life in front of a gas stove could be.

  Of course there’s a price for all these luxuries. I was aware of that, too. A dog can get used to the easy life and it can sure ruin him for the . . .

  But on the other hand, there was a nice friendly stove and, what the heck, when Slim pushed open the door, ringing the cowbell that hung above it, I squirted through his legs and made a dash for the stove.

  Drover was only a few steps behind me. We curled up in front of the stove and showed through our actions and outward signs that we would be models of good behavior, if only we could stay inside by the stove.

  Leonard, the guy who ran the place, was back in the shop driving wooden pegs into the sole of a boot. He looked at me and Drover over the tops of his glasses, then he turned to Slim and smiled.

  “Well, lookie here what’s walked into my store! One broke cowboy, two fine ranch dogs, and an urchin child, and I’ll bet all four of you couldn’t scrape together the price of a cup of coffee. I might as well lock the door and close up for the holidays.”

  Slim chuckled at that. “Leonard, I’ll throw them dogs outside if you don’t want ’em in here.”

  Leonard laid down his hammer, wiped his hands on his apron, and came out to the counter. “No, they’re fine. I never wanted to work in a place where a dog wasn’t welcome. If it ever comes to that, I’ll close the doors and go back to cowboying. Besides, them’s bound to be high-dollar cowdogs.”

  I whapped my tail against the wood floor. Leonard was a pretty sharp judge of dogs, I could see that right away.

  Slim laughed. “They EAT high-dollar, but they WORK low-peso. Old Hank there just got me whupped on the street by a mad old woman.”

  He told the story about the poodle, and Leonard got a big kick out of it. Then Slim told him the story about running into the buzzard, and Leonard doubled up and slapped his knees.

  “Say, Slim, you’ve just about gone through your good luck and started on the bad, sounds to me like.”

  “And I’ve still got to buy Christmas presents for two ladies, and I’ll just be derned if I know what to get. I prowled around in Foxie’s and didn’t see one thing that didn’t cost too much, embarrass me to ask about, or need a size. And I’m runnin’ out of time.”

  Leonard’s eyebrows rose. He licked his lips. “You got any money?”

  “Oh sure. I just drawed my two-weeks’ wages.”

  “Uh-huh! Well now, this is your lucky day and you have come to the right place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Leonard hitched up his pants and laid his hand on Slim’s shoulder. “You have stumbled into a store that is famous for its Christmas gifts for ladies.”

  “Aw heck.”

  “It’s true, honest, cross my heart. I wouldn’t fib to an old cowboy friend. Just tell me who you’re buying for.”

  “Well . . . Miss Viola and Sally May, but . . .”

  “Perfect! Would you believe that this very week those same two ladies, and I mean both of ’em, were in this very store?”

  Slim reached under his hat and scratched his head. “Well, it don’t sound exactly . . .”

  “Yes sir, in this very store, just a-gushing over all my beautiful stuff and wishing they had some of it.”

  “I’ll be derned. Like what?”

  “Well, let me think here.” Leonard tugged on his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “It was Mon­day that Viola come in here, and what was she looking at?” He snapped his fingers. “Yes! She was looking at these five-buckle overshoes, come right on over here, Slim, you’ll love these overshoes, just got ’em in, new shipment, and they’ve been selling like crazy, and mostly to the ladies.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought . . .”

  He led Slim over to the overshoe department, and pushed a boot into his hands. “Now Slim, that is an overshoe. Look at them buckles. Good rubber, tough, you won’t tear out that boot.”

  Slim looked it over and nodded his head. “That’s a good overshoe, all right, but somehow . . . this is for Christmas, Leonard.”

  Leonard stared at him. “You don’t think Viola would be surprised and delighted and as pleased as punch if you gave her this great pair of overshoes?”

  “Well, to be truthful about it . . .”

  “And she’ll never know about the special deal I’m going to make you.”

  “What special deal?”

  “Our special Cowboy Christmas Deal. Now come on over here.” Leonard took him by the arm and led him over to the bridle reins. “As I recall, Sally May was looking pretty serious at these new bridle reins. Look how thick they are. Son, those are bridle reins. Six feet long, cut out of the center of the hide, nothing cheap about these. Take ’em in your hand and get the feel of ’em.”

  Slim took hold of them and nodded his head. “Good reins, all right, but Leonard, she don’t have too much chance to ride these days now that she’s had that baby.”

  Leonard raised a finger in the air. “That’s right, she said that, I remember now, and that’s when she moved over—come on over here, let me show you what else she was looking at.” He took a long yellow rain slicker off a peg and held it out. “Slim, I thought that woman was going to carry this off, she was so crazy about it.”

  “A slicker? What in the world would she . . .”

  “Hey, she helps with the ranch work. She’s got chickens to feed and eggs to gather and children to chase all over the ranch. Would you want that poor honest hard-working mother to go out into a storm without a decent slicker?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Of course not! And once again, she’ll never know what a great price I gave you, or . . .” Leonard dropped his voice and glanced over his shoulder, “or that I sweetened the deal by throwing in a pair of boots—for you!”

  Slim’s expression changed all of a sudden. “Pair of boots, huh?”

  “Slim, how long has it been since you bought yourself a new pair of boots?”

  “Well, let’s see . . .”

  “And I’m not talking about those old rough bullhide work boots. I’m talking about a REAL pair of boots, the kind that every cowboy dreams about? Years, right? Maybe never. Okay, step right over here.”

  “Now Leonard, you’re moving kind of fast for me and . . .”

  Leonard picked up a new boot and held it up. “Slim, this is the boot you’ve always dreamed of owning but never allowed yourself to buy because, well, you’re kind of cheap, and your really fine boots do cost a little money, but are they worth it? You bet your life they’re worth it!

  “This boot was made for you, Slim. Look at it, feast your eyes on it. That’s genuine elephant ear. Tough? You can’t wear it out. And it’s got the toe you like and your kind of heel.”

  “Well, it is . . .”

  “Let’s see, you wear a 10 D, right?”

  “Uh . . . nine and a half B, I think.”

  “You’ll want a 10 D in this boot—here, slip it on.” He pushed Slim into a chair and pulled off his right boot. “Whoa, mercy! Son, something has crawled up and died inside your boot! See, that’s what happens when you wear your boots too long. They get to stinkin’ and it’s time for a new pair. Stand up. How does that feel?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Didn’t I tell you that would be the best boot you ever stuck your foot into? Slip on that other one and walk around. I want you to be sure they’re perfect for you.”

  “Well, it does feel pretty good, and I guess . . .”

  Slim pulled on the other boot and walked around in front of the mirror. While he was doing that, Leonard scratched some numbers down on a piece of paper.

  “What do you think now?”

  “I like ’em, I sure do.”

  Leonard flashed a smile. “I thought you would. Now Slim, them boots list for $400.”

  “Holy cow, get me out of these things!”

  “BUT . . . I promised you a special deal, right?”

  “It’d have to be real special.”

  “We’re talking a package deal: overshoes, slicker, and boots—no more shopping around for the ladies, you can head back to the ranch and take care of that wounded buzzard, ha! How much is that check for?”

  “Well, I don’t know, didn’t look.” Slim rummaged through his shirt pocket until he found the check. “It’s for $237.58, that’s with Social Security taken out.”

  Leonard’s face went blank. “$237.58! Whoa! There’s no way I can let all that stuff leave my store for that price.” Slim shrugged and started to pull off the boots. “BUT . . . we can sure set up the balance on monthly payments.”

  “Uh-uh. Me and monthly payments don’t get along.”

  Leonard threw up his hands and shook his head. “All right, okay, keep the dadgum boots, take it all, it’s Christmas and what the heck, a deal’s a deal. Endorse that check and get out of here before I break down and cry.”

  Leonard watched while Slim wrote his name on the back of the check, then he snatched it away. “Now Slim, if you ever tell my wife or my banker I did this, I’ll have to call you a liar.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Here’s your stuff.” Leonard boxed up Slim’s old boots and pitched him the box. Then he added the overshoes and slicker to the pile in his arms. “You’re a shrewd man, Slim, too shrewd for me. It’s a good thing you don’t come in here more often. I’d be out of business.”

  “Actually, I wanted to look at your ropes.”

  “Ropes? You got any money left?”

  “No, you got it all.”

  “Son, you don’t need a rope, it would just get you into trouble.” He began easing Slim toward the door. “Besides, you need to get along home and take care of that wounded buzzard—that was a great story—and I’m going to close up shop and start the holiday.” He opened the door. “Merry Christmas, you old rascal.”

  “Merry Christmas, Leonard. Come on, Button.”

  Drover and I were still soaking up the warmth of the stove. We weren’t quite ready to leave, see. Leonard came toward us.

  “Time to leave, doggies,” he said with a smile. Then the smile slipped and he said under his breath, “Get out of here, you idiots.”

  We left the store and joined Slim out on the sidewalk. He was standing there with his armload of presents, watching the snowflakes come down.

  “Well,” he sighed, “broke again. I sure hope Miss Viola likes her galoshes.”

  Behind us, Leonard locked the door, drew the blinds, and turned off the light.

  Chapter Eight: Drover Snaps at Snowflakes

  We made our way back down Main Street. Now and then we caught the sound of Christmas music coming out of the stores we passed. Ahead of us, wisps of snow swirled along the sidewalk.

  Little Alfred began tugging on Slim’s pantleg. “Swim, I want to see the Santie Cwaus pawade.”

  “Huh? Oh yeah, I almost forgot the parade. No, we wouldn’t want to miss that, would we? Although . . . son, didn’t you see Santie Claus last year?” The boy nodded. “Well, it’s about the same every year. You might rather go home, what do you think?”

  “I want to see the pawade.”

  “Sure you do, but you look kind of tired and wore out, all this walkin’ around and shoppin’ and stuff, and we could sure put it off until next year.”

  “I want to see the pawade.”

  “You ain’t tired?”

  “No.”

  “You ain’t cold?”

  “No.”

  “You ain’t hungry?”

  Alfred’s eyes brightened. “Can we get a hamboogoo?”

  “I’m broke, son, been picked as clean as a goose. But I’ll bet your momma has a big pot of stew on the stove back home.”

  He shook his head. “I want to see the pawade.”

  “You want to see the parade. Well, in that case I guess we’d better stay and see the parade. On my tombstone they’re gonna put, ‘Slim never could hold on to a dollar bill, but he was always nice to dogs and children.’ What time you reckon this parade is liable to start?”

  Little Alfred shrugged. “Fifteen o’clock, I think.”

  Slim smiled at that. Then his glance fell on the store in front of which we were standing, and his eyes brightened. “My, my, lookie where we are. Tell you what let’s do, fellers. I’ll run in here for a second and ask about that parade. Button, you take the dogs and wait for me at the pickup.”