That would be the sensible course of action, but I’ve never been able to pull it off. Why? He would cry. I know he would cry. That would be So Drover: sniffle, whimper, sob, bawl, screech, and drip tears all over my desk.

  And then I would be tortured by feelings of guilt. What would his mother say when she learned that her son had turned out to be the bum she’d always thought he was? It would break her heart, and then she would cry too.

  My dreams would be filled with the howls and moans of Drover and all his kinfolks. I would never get any sleep, my productivity would take a nosedive, the entire Security Division would go into a steep decline…and who needs that?

  I get all the worries, cares, and responsibilities and he gets a free ride.

  Even so, one of these days I will have to fire him, otherwise I’ll be stuck with him forever. In many ways, this is a lousy job, but the impointant point is that I have no idea what we were talking about, and it makes me so mad, I could spit.

  Let’s change chapters again. Sometimes that helps to clear the fog from the bog.

  Chapter Eight: Bad News For The Runt

  Good news, it worked. That little break allowed me to grab some fresh air and restore my bodily fluids, and I remember exactly what we were talking about: the Tree Sloth. Now we’re cooking. Let’s get organized and rush back to the case.

  Okay, there we were in a dark grove of trees north of ranch headquarters, in the midst of one of the most important investigations of my whole career. We were about to launch Operation Yellow Mayonnaise.

  If you recall, I had sent one of our agents out on a scouting mission and our Intelligence Section had done a complete analysis of his paralysis. It revealed a clear picture. We had a live Tree Sloth running loose. We had him on radar, we had him on sonar, and our agent had caked the icing with a first-hand, boots-on-the-ground, eye-witness observation.

  I turned to my assistant and looked him straight in the eyes. “All right, men, the time has come. We’re going in, but Drover, I’ve got some bad news.”

  “Oh darn. I hate bad news.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Will you please hush? How can I give you the bad news if you’re babbling?”

  He hung his head. “Sorry. Go ahead, I guess I’m ready.”

  While he hung his head and quivered, I paced a few feet away and gazed off into the distance. “Drover, we’ve been reviewing all our personnel files.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “And, well, we came to yours.”

  “How was it?”

  “It was depressing. I hate to put it that way, but it’s the truth. All these years you’ve been with the Security Division and our files show that you’ve done…nothing!”

  He hung his head and nodded. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

  “I’ve tried not to notice. I’ve tried to ignore all the half-stepping and gold-bricking, but there comes a time when the worm of truth emerges from the apple of life.”

  “Yeah, I had worms once. They’re pretty bad.”

  “Don’t try to distract me. I don’t care that you had worms. We’re talking about your record of service here at the Security Division, and the terrible truth is…you don’t have a record of service!”

  He blinked his eyes and a tear slid down his cheek. “So…I guess I’m fired?”

  I marched over to him and gave him a steely gaze. “You’re not fired, but I’m taking you off this case.”

  He stared at me. “Really?”

  “You heard me. I will serve as the arresting officer.”

  “You mean…”

  “Yes. Your scouting report helped build our case against the Tree Sloth, but I’m taking it from here. Do you know why?”

  “Well, let me think…”

  “I’m taking over the case because you don’t deserve the glory of making the arrest. No one in the history of the Security Division has ever compiled such a dismal record!”

  “You mean…I can’t get into a fight with the Tree Sloth?”

  “That’s correct. You’re off the case…and why are you grinning?”

  “Who, me? I wasn’t grinning.”

  “You were grinning, I saw it myself.”

  “Oh, that? I was grinning to keep from crying.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense. I know this must come as a shock.”

  “Yeah, it really hurts.”

  “If it’ll make you feel better, go ahead and cry. Let it all hang out.”

  “Okay.” He covered his face with his paws and broke into sobs. “Hee hee hee!”

  Those of us in Security Work see tragedy all the time and everyone thinks we don’t have feelings. Well, we do, but we have to toughen ourselves to protect our emotional so-forths. If we let every little barb of sadness penetrate our Inner Bean, we wouldn’t be able to carry on with our work.

  I didn’t cry but my mist musted over…my eyes misted over, let us say, and I felt the sadness almost as deeply as Drover did. At last I went to him and laid a paw upon his shoulder. “It’s time to begin the mission. I must go. You stay behind and try to be brave.”

  Before my emotions could over-swamp me, I rushed away. As I marched off to battle, I heard his sobs of pain.

  “Hee hee hee!”

  The poor little guy! He deserved to be booted off the case, but still…I guess some dogs enjoy being mean and cruel, making others squirm and cry, but I’ve never developed a taste for it myself.

  Sometimes I have to be heartless, but I don’t enjoy it. Drover would never know that this was hurting me almost as much as it was hurting him. I had to put it out of my mind and concentrate on my mission.

  As I moved deeper into the grove of trees, the sunlight faded and I found myself creeping through a forest of dark shadows. I switched all circuits into Stealthy Crouch Mode, raised both Forward Antennas, activated Smelloradar, and followed a westerly course that would take me from Point A to Point B.

  If you’re not familiar with the complicated business of navigation, you’re probably wondering how I knew there would be a Point B out there in the darkness of those trees. I mean, we’re talking about some pretty spooky darkness and shadows, right?

  We don’t have time to go into all the technical details, so let me just say that one of the rules we learn in Navigation School is: if you have a Point A, you can usually find a Point B.

  Do you know why? It’s pretty simple, actually, if you stop and think about it. Point A is where you start the mission, and Point B is where you end up. Every mission has a beginning and an end. Therefore, following the path of simple logic...

  Maybe this is obvious.

  That brings us to the scary part. Are you ready? I hope so.

  I stalked and stealthed my way through the jungle of trees. Off in the distance, I heard the blood-chilling scream of a tiger, then the thunderous roar of a bull moose. Did the elusive Tree Sloth make any kind of scream or bellow? We just didn’t know. All we had to work with was our Tree Sloth Profile: a lumbering, awkward, dull-witted creature that eats trees.

  Suddenly…hang on…suddenly, something moved in front of me, an animal...a furry animal with long ears. I sent this information to Data Control. Seconds later, a report flashed across the screen of my mind:

  “COTTONTAIL RABBIT”

  Whew! False alarm.

  I heaved a sigh of relief and continued my creeping march through the trees and shadows and shadowy trees. Time moved slowly. Every muscle in my highly-conditioned body ached with tension. On and on. I had just begun to think that the mission might end in failure when...

  I saw him! There he was, a lumbering, dull-witted creature gnawing on a tree trunk. He had four legs, a fat tail, and a pair of dull yellow eyes. And just as I had expected, he was wearing a porcupine disguise!

  Just to make sure he was the Tree Sloth, I entered all the data into our onboard computer. Suddenly the screen began flashing:

  THREE-TOED TREE SLOTH!

  Confirmed!

  Prepare To Engage!

  Okay, this was it, the moment every ranch dog lives for and waits for, the moment when he can funnel all the tunnels of his savage energy into one blazing point of light, and go charging into combat against...well, a slow, lumbering, dull-witted creature who probably isn’t a great fighter.

  Let’s be honest here. We dogs have to be realistic. Combat is fun, but the weaker the foe, the funner the fun. I mean, the objective of every combat mission is to WIN. Would you rather fight a grizzly bear and get the stuffings whipped out of you, or fight a lazy, bumbling Tree Sloth and come out with a glorious victory for the ranch?

  It’s not rocket surgery.

  Yes, this would be a great little fight. The elite troops of the Security Division would win an overwhelming victory and bring honor and glory to the ranch—all without a great loss of blood, hair, or skin.

  Too bad little Drover would have to miss all the fun. I could still hear the sound of his sobbing: “Hee hee hee!”

  Chapter Nine: The Law of Gravy

  Was I ready? Was I up to the task? You bet I was!

  I announced my presence with a loud bark, which resembled the blast of a bugle. The Tree Sloth lifted his head and glanced around, and you won’t believe this part. He didn’t show any signs of fear. In fact, he gave me a lazy grin and said, “Oh, hi. You must be the guard dog.”

  “That’s correct. Hank the Cowdog, Head of Ranch Security.”

  He lifted a paw in greeting. “Hi there. I’m Buzzy. I think we’ve met before.”

  “Not likely. I can’t remember names but I always forget a face. Take my word for it, we haven’t met.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, we’ve met. It was down by the creek, dark night. You came roaring up, barking your fool head off, and I told you to back off. You didn’t, of course. Typical dog.”

  “I’ll say it one more time. We haven’t met.”

  “Whatever you think.” He pointed to the tree trunk. “I was just having some breakfast. You want a bite?”

  “I don’t eat trees, Buddy, so let’s skip the small talk and go straight to the bottom line.” I leaned toward him and dropped my voice to a menacing growl. “We’ve had you under surveillance for weeks, pal, and we know who you are.”

  “Well, that’s good. I was Buzzy the first time we met, and I still am.”

  “Well, that’s your story. You want to hear the truth?”

  He stared at me with his dull-witted eyes. “Now you’ve got me curious. Sure.”

  “You’re not a porcupine.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No. It’s an ingenious disguise, but not good enough.”

  He scowled. “Huh. If I ain’t a porcupine, you need to tell my momma.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No, she’s a porcupine and she thinks I’m one too.”

  “That’s clever, Buddy, but it won’t work.”

  “My name’s Buzzy. Buzz-zee.”

  “I know your name, pal, it’s in our database.”

  “Then quit calling me Buddy.” He moved back to the tree and began chewing the bark. “You know, these chinaberry trees have kind of a bitter taste.”

  “Stop eating my tree. Now.”

  He gave me a lazy glance. “I thought you was joking. Maybe not.”

  “No jokes and no more breakfast. Back away from the tree and clear out. If you don’t, I’ll have to make an arrest.”

  “An arrest? Me?”

  “That’s correct, and I must warn you, it could get messy.”

  He frowned and began rubbing the top of his head with a paw. “Now, let me get this straight. You think I ain’t a porcupine, is that what you said?”

  “Correct. I know you’re not.”

  “Well, if I ain’t a porcupine, how come I’m wearing all these quills?”

  I laughed. “Like I said, it’s a great disguise and it would fool an ordinary dog. The quills almost look real.”

  “There’s a reason for that.” He gave me a wink. “They almost look real ‘cause they ARE, and the last time we had this conversation, you got a college education.”

  I moved closer and showed him some fangs. “Last chance. Do yourself a favor and clear out.”

  He heaved a sigh and looked off in the distance. “Now doggie, I’ve got no quarrel with you. I’m going to finish my breakfast. You just run along and chase a chicken and we’ll all have ourselves a good day.”

  “That’s your last word?”

  “Yup.”

  “Very well. Hands up, you’re under arrest!” I couldn’t believe it. He ignored me! “A hard-head, huh? Okay, you asked for this!”

  I didn’t wanted to hurt the dummy, but he’d left me no choice. I loosened up the muscles in my enormous shoulders, went into the Deep Crouch Position, hit the Launch button, and exploded into the air.

  He had been warned. My conscience was…

  HUH?

  You know, high altitude sometimes gives you an entirely different perspective on things. On the ground, Buzzy had looked exactly like a Three-Tiered Tree Sloth wearing a porcupine suit. From the air, he began to resemble…

  Yipes, those quills looked real, sharp, and really sharp, and there were thousands of them! Suddenly, very suddenly, I found myself experiencing a Flash of Insight.

  Hadn’t I met this guy before?

  Yes, maybe more than once.

  And when we’d met before, he wasn’t a Tree Sloth or any other kind of sloth.

  He’d been a…gulp.

  Suddenly and all at once, all the facts and memories seemed to be pointing like a flaming arrow toward a conclusion that I really didn’t want to hear.

  I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck. I snatched up the microphone of my mind and screamed, “Mayday, mayday! Drover, at this moment I am airborne and heading straight for a porcupine! Send in the reserves! This is not a drill!”

  The radio crackled and I heard a distant voice: “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  “Never mind what you thought, we need heavy artillery and fresh troops at once! Do you copy?”

  The radio went dead and so did my hopes.

  Oh brother.

  You know, once a guy has made a great leap into the air and has begun his downly deadward spiral…his deadly downward spiral, that is, there isn’t a whole lot he can do in the way of course correction. The Law of Gravy has no favorites and it doesn’t care whether we believe in it or not.

  The Law of Gravity, it should be. There is no Law of Gravy, except that it’s delicious. In fact, some of my most cherished memories came from evening Scrap Events that involved roast beef trimmings and beef gravy. Wonderful stuff.

  Where were we? Oh yes, the Law of Gravy. The mathematical so-forth behind this law was worked out many years ago by the famous scientist Sir Figgy Newton. After an apple fell upon his head, he wondered, “If they can make apple sauce out of apples, why not apple gravy?” And that question shook the scientific…

  Wait, forget the apples. I was in the midst of a deadly downward spiral, remember? You need to work on your concentration.

  Okay, when a dog begins that fateful plunge, he can try to swim like a fish or fly like a bird, and it won’t make the list beet of difference. What he discovers is that you can’t swim out of water and that dogs don’t fly.

  This is very embarrassing. In fact, it’s so embarrassing that I’m not going to finish the story. The little children must never know…

  That’s all I can say. I’m signing off. Goodbye.

  [Long Period of Silence]

  You’re still here. What’s the deal? I thought we decided that the story had gotten too scary for the little children, remember? Yes, we talked it over and decided that the kids weren’t quite old enough to hear…well, the truth, you might say.

  But you’re still here and so am I. Do we dare go on with the story? It’s liable to be pretty shocking.

  Chapter Ten: Quills!

  Are you still with me? Tell you what, let’s send the younger kids to bed and we’ll see how it goes with the older ones. They might do okay. Kids are tougher than you think.

  So let’s go ahead and send the little guys off to bed, and remind them to brush their teeth. That’s very important. Nobody needs dirty teeth.

  Oh, and tell ‘em to use dental floss.

  Have we cleared the room? Good. Gather around and let’s get this over with. It’s going to be very painful. Nobody likes to admit…

  Okay, remember all those reports that had come into the Security Division? We’d been told that some kind of exotic animal was running wild on my ranch, a Toad-Footed Tree Sloth. Our information indicated that he was eating ranch trees and might be a secret agent for the Charlie Monsters. We feared that he might even be involved in some kind of plot to take over the ranch.

  Oh, and don’t forget that our agents reported that this villain often disguised himself as a porcupine. No kidding, that’s what we were hearing, that he was dressed up in a porcupine suit and wearing special shoes that left phony porcupine tracks.

  There was only one problem with those reports. They were pure GARBAGE, nothing but a pack of lies that were designed to lure me into a very embarrassing encounter with…grab hold of something solid, here it comes…a very embarrassing encounter with a PORCUPINE.

  Yes, he was a real in-the-flesh, no-joke porcupine, and we might as well move along with the rest of the story. It’s bad news. I jumped right in the middle of a porcupine named Buddy. He was kind of a pleasant fellow. We had a little chat and argued about his name.