As we walked along, I peeked up at Slim to see if . . . well, if my New Dog Campaign was making an impression on him. I mean, there was still time for him to realize that he and Loper had acted in a moment of anger. They’d made a bad decision. They had completely misjudged my character. What we had here was just a little misunderstanding. No big deal, nothing major.

  As we strolled past the gas tanks, I saw Drover on his gunnysack bed, but that wasn’t the part that grabbed my attention. Right beside him, on MY gunnysack bed, was a cat. Pete. He raised his head, smirked, and waved his paw.

  When Drover saw me, a look of horror passed over his face. “Hank, I didn’t mean to do it, honest, but that jerky smelled so good . . .” And with that, he dived underneath his gunnysack.

  We walked on. Would I find it in my heart to forgive the little tattletale? Heck no. At my first opportunity, I would give him the thrashing he so richly deserved, and then I would give an even better thrashing to the cat.

  We reached the pickup and Slim opened the door. “You ride in the cab, where I can keep an eye on you.”

  I was shocked. Did he think I still had escape on my mind? Fine, I would ride in the cab. I leaped up on the seat and ran straight for the . . .

  “It’s rolled up.”

  . . . window. What was wrong with him? Every time I moved a muscle, he thought I was trying to escape! For his information, I had been merely checking to see . . . hey, we dogs like to hang our heads out of windows. We like fresh air, okay? What was the big deal?

  He started the pickup and gave me a grin. “Hank, I can read you like a book. Every time you have a thought, which is about once every six months, it shows up like the lights of downtown Dallas.”

  Hmmm. I, uh, wasn’t aware that my thoughts were so . . . I would have to be more careful. But that didn’t give him the right to insult me and accuse me of terrible crimes. Dogs have feelings too.

  We chugged away from ranch headquarters and Slim started humming a tune. Oh brother. Was this the beginning of another of his corny songs? Trapped inside the cab, would I have to endure another of his Crimes Against Music? I held my breath and waited. The humming went on, like the drone of a dozen wasps, but apparently he couldn’t think of any words boring enough to match the tune, so I was spared.

  Whew. You know, those songs of his really put me in an awkward position. I mean, I like the guy and we’ve had some good times together, but those songs . . . see, he makes them up and sings them to us dogs! That’s pretty weird, a grown man performing songs in a ranch pickup for his dogs, but he does it all the time.

  And what can we do, what can we say? We don’t want to be cruel and let him know that . . . well, that he has a lousy singing voice and writes songs that are incredibly dumb.

  That would be cruel and insensitive, and furthermore, a dog could get fired for that kind of honesty. They don’t want to know what we really think. All they want is praise and slavish devotion. We do the best we can, but sometimes it can be pretty embarrassing.

  But this time the humming didn’t develop into anything more serious and I wasn’t forced to choose between my pride and my job. At the mailbox, we turned right on the county road and drove east toward Slim’s shack, where I would be imprisoned for the night.

  I stole a glance at Slim. Had he changed his mind about taking me to that ridiculous school? Had my New Dog Program softened his heart even a little bit? His face told me nothing. In other words, no. Unless something drastic happened between now and morning, he would haul me into town.

  Up to this point, I had managed to keep up my courage, but things were beginning to look hopeless and a shiver of dread passed through my entire body. I had hoped that, through displays of Perfect Behavior, I could talk Slim out of it, but that had flopped.

  Okay, maybe I’d been partly to blame. Viewed from a certain angle, you could say that my numerous attempts to escape might have been mistaken for . . . well, further proof that I had a problem with . . . obedience, shall we say. And since that was the whole issue, obedience, you might even argue that I had managed to dig myself even deeper into the hole of . . . something. Suspicion, I suppose.

  Yes, Slim had grown very suspicious of me, almost as though he didn’t . . . well, trust me. That’s why he had noosed me with the twine and forced me to ride in a closed cab with the windows rolled up, right? In other words, even though I had tried and tried to present myself as a New Dog, a wiser, more mature dog, an obedient dog in every way . . .

  Oh brother. How do these things happen?

  I didn’t know, but I was sure of one thing. The thought of going to that school scared the liver out of me. Are you shocked that a dog of my stature would be afraid? Sorry, I didn’t want to admit it and I put it off as long as I could. You know how I am about the kids. I want them to think of me as courageous and bold, not as a quivering little weenie like Drover who’s afraid of his own shadow.

  So let’s don’t tell the little children that I had become a nervous wreck. Not only was I shivering all over, but I had started . . . well, chewing my foot. Why? I don’t know, but that’s what dogs do when we have an attack of nerves.

  Slim’s gaze drifted over to me. “What’s wrong with you?”

  How could he ask such a question? The cad.

  “You ain’t nervous about going to that school, are you?”

  He was going to take me to a torture chamber tomorrow morning, so how was I supposed to feel? Of course I was nervous!

  “Oh, quit worrying. It’ll be fun.”

  Oh sure.

  “You’ll meet lots of new dogs.”

  Right, and the Dungeon Keeper who already hated my guts for snatching his wig. I could hardly wait.

  We had been poking along the road at about ten miles an hour. Now we coasted over to the side of the road and stopped. “Would it help if I sang you a song?”

  I stared at him in disbelief. NO!!

  “Well, I’ll sing you a good one if you’ll beg.”

  Beg! Oh brother.

  “In fact, I’ll sing it even if you don’t beg. You’ll love this, pooch.”

  See? What did I tell you? I heaved a weary sigh and prepared my ears for the worst.

  Hankie’s Going to School

  For years he’s been a fool

  But Hankie’s going to school.

  We just can’t wait ’til he graduates

  He’ll come out more than cool.

  In less than just a week

  He’ll learn to write and speak.

  He’ll be the rage, walk across the stage,

  With fluency in Greek.

  He’ll learn so many manners, he’ll run off all his fleas,

  Saying, “Howdy do” and “How are you?” and “May I, pretty please?”

  The mutt don’t have much sense,

  He’s really pretty dense, but

  He’ll learn to catch and maybe fetch,

  And learn obedience.

  They’ll teach him to obey,

  We’ll all be shocked and say,

  “We’re just agog, is that our dog?

  Well, glory be, hurray!”

  He’ll be a model student, we can safely bet

  He’ll lead the class in etiquette and be the teacher’s pet.

  For college he is bound,

  Our smelly dingbat hound,

  We always thought he might have got

  His schooling in the pound.

  Old Hankie’s been a mule

  He’s broken every rule,

  But that’s all past because he has

  Enrolled in Manners School.

  He gave me a broad grin and wiggled his eyebrows. For reasons unknown to me, he seemed very proud of himself. “What do you think, Hankie? Ain’t that a cute little song? Tell me the truth.”

  I turned my back on him and stared out the window. The guy just didn’t take hints. I had nothing to say. Well, I had plenty to say but it had all been said before, so what was the point? His song wasn’t cute, my being sent to Dungeon School wasn’t funny, and that was about the end of it.

  Behind my back, he mumbled, “Dumb dog. You’ve got no more class than a bowl of pork and beans.”

  He slipped the gearshift up into first and started to pull out into the road again, but just then a pickup popped over a hill in front of us. For a moment it appeared that we would all be killed in a grinding head-on collision, but Slim jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes. It all happened so suddenly, I wasn’t able to set up a bracing maneuver, and went flying into the dashboard.

  As I picked myself off the floorboard and roasted Slim with an angry glare, he chuckled. “Oops, sorry, pooch.”

  If he was so sorry, why was he laughing about it? This time, maybe it had been an accident, but with these cowboys you never know. Sometimes they slam on the brakes and throw us out of our seats just because they have nothing more constructive to do. They don’t seem to know or care that it’s very embarrassing when the Head of Ranch Security rams his nose into the dashboard.

  The pickup we had almost creamed pulled up right beside us and stopped. The lady driver rolled down her window and said, “Sorry, Slim, I didn’t see you coming.”

  Slim’s jaw dropped. So did mine. We both stared at the lady behind the wheel. She had the prettiest pair of blue eyes I’d ever seen and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Holy smokes, it was . . .

  At last Slim found his voice. “Why, Miss Viola!” He realized that he was speaking into a rolled-up window, so he cranked down the glass. “Afternoon, Viola. No, it was my fault. Me and Hank were having a little argument. I sang him a wonderful song and he was too stubborn to clap and cheer.”

  She leaned her head back and laughed. “Honestly, Slim, you’re the only man I know who sings to his dog.”

  “Well, I’m fixing to quit if he don’t start showing more appreciation. Makes me feel like I’m wasting my talent.”

  She looked at us with her sparkling blue eyes. “You two are quite a pair.” Then her gaze went past Slim and landed on me. “Hello, Hank.”

  For a moment, I forgot to breathe. A wave of warm feelings washed over my face. Have we discussed Miss Viola? She lived with her elderly parents on a ranch two or three miles below Slim’s place, and some people whispered that she and Slim were sweet on each other. I knew the truth. She was actually sweet on ME and had to put up with Slim, just because the two of us ran around together.

  And there she was, only two feet away from me! Maybe you think I just sat there looking simple and counting the flies on the wall. Ha. Not me, fellers. I did what any normal, intelligent, red-blooded American dog would have done. I climbed over Slim, launched myself out the window, and somehow managed to execute a perfect landing in Miss Viola’s lap.

  She gave a yelp of surprise and Slim growled, “Hank, for crying in the bucket!”

  Well, what did he expect? He was too shy and awkward (and dumb) to show her the proper devotion, so that left the job for me. In other words, he’d just been shot out of the saddle. Viola and I were together at last. Now we could . . . well, run off and get married and live everly happy afterly.

  Happily ever after, let us say. And besides, it had suddenly occurred to me that as long as I was sitting in her fond embrace, Slim couldn’t send me off to Torture School. Viola would never allow that to happen.

  I turned to her, looked deeply into her eyes, and beamed her a throbbing gaze that said, “Miss Viola, you would never allow cruel Slim to haul me off to a dungeon, would you?”

  Maybe she didn’t understand my urgent message, and before I could reload and try it again, Slim was already out of his pickup and trying to drag me out of her lap.

  Chapter Eleven: A Date with Miss Viola

  What did he expect me to do, just lie there like a mop and let him tear me out of the embrace of the woman who loved me so dearly? Heck no. I went to Full Lockdown and sank my claws into . . .

  Well, her legs, for one thing, and I’ll admit that wasn’t the best thing to do. She kind of screeched, but it was a nice screech, not one that said, “Get out of my sight, you nasty dog!” It was more like, “Ouch, maybe you could be a little more gentle with your claws.” Yes, it was a fond screech, actually more of a squeal than a screech.

  Slim opened the door and dragged me out, then pitched me back into his pickup. “Doofus,” he grumbled, then took a step toward Viola. He stopped, groaned, and pushed a kink out of his back.

  She noticed. “Did you hurt your back?”

  “Oh, it’s just a little catch. I need to go the the choirpractor one of these days. Sorry about Hank, ma’am, and I hope he didn’t ruin your clothes.”

  “Oh, it’s all right. Actually, it’s kind of flattering.” She smiled and fluttered her eyelids.

  Slim didn’t notice. “He’s been acting weird ever since he found out I’m going to take him to Obedi­ence School.” He told her all about the day’s . . . uh . . . dark events, shall we say. “Loper pitched a fit and now I have to . . .” He gazed up a the sky and shuffled his boots. “Say, Viola, how’d you like to go with me in the morning?”

  “Is this . . . a date?”

  “Well . . . sort of . . . I guess so . . . sure. You might have a calming effect on Birdbrain here and . . . well, I’d enjoy your company too.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “Slim, this isn’t like you. It’s so . . . romantic. Going on a date to an Obedience School for dogs!”

  Slim’s Adam’s apple did flips and his face turned red. “Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. Just skip it.”

  She reached out a hand and touched his arm. “It’s a wonderful idea and I’m so glad you thought of it. And yes, I’d be honored. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Slim heaved a sigh and fanned his face with his hat. “I’ll pick you up around eight-thirty.”

  She waved good-bye and drove away. Slim climbed back into the pickup and we started down the road again. He gave me a nullifying glare and didn’t say another word. What was his problem? Hey, I had gotten him a date with the cutest, sweetest single lady in Ochiltree County, so what was he steamed about? Without my help, do you suppose he’d have had enough sense to ask her to a dance or a movie or some normal place where people go?

  Heck no, but I got no thanks for it. Instead, he sulked and brooded all the way to the house. That was fine with me. I had nothing more to say to him, and he sure didn’t have anything I wanted to hear, especially another corny song. I turned my back to him and we rode the rest of the way in stony silence.

  It was almost dark by the time we walked into the house. Slim shuffled into the kitchen and started building himself a ketchup-and-canned-mackerel sandwich. I took a big yawn and stretch, rolled over on my back, and surrendered my weary bones to the . . .

  I sat up and glanced around. Slim was busy in the kitchen, right? Busy with other things and wasn’t watching me, right? Heh heh. Foolish man. Did he think I’d forgotten about tomorrow? As quietly as a thief, I rose to my feet and began stalking around the outside walls, sniffing doors, windows, holes in the baseboard, searching for any tiny opening that might allow me to . . .

  SNAP! A mousetrap?

  Okay, whid your bind is focused on bustig out of brison, the last thig you’d ever expegg is to stigg your dose into one of Slibb’s stubid bousetrabs. You talk about surbrised. That thig was cocked and loaded, and it put a derrible bide on the soft leathery end of by doze. Did it hurd? You bed it hurd!

  Aaaaaa-oooooo!

  I jumped three feet straight up, hopped around in circles, ran backward down the hall, and finally . . . uh . . . found myself standing in the kitchen. Slim was slouched against the refrigerator, gnawing on a folded piece of bread with ketchup oozing out the bottom. Our eyes met. This was very embarrassing and I switched my tail over to Slow Swings.

  “Hank, give it up. You’re going to school in the morning and you might as well get used to it.”

  Okay. I would quid tryigg to escabe if he would gedd the bousetrab off by doze. Honest. Doe kiddig.

  He shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth, licked the ketchup off his fingers, leaned over, and pried the trap off my nose. He straightened up, grunted something about the kink in his back, and said, “There. Now go to bed, and I don’t want to hear any more out of you.”

  Yes sir. I lowered my head and tail into the Groveling Position and went slinking back to my spot in front of the stove. I collapsed on the floor and curled up into a ball. And for the rest of the night, I dreamed about dark dungeons and cackling villains. It was a terrible night and I hardly slept a wink.

  Okay, I slept pretty well, but do you know how I did it? I counted goats.

  Slim rousted me out of bed at eight-fifteen the next morning, nudging my tail section with the toe of his boot. “Wake up, sunshine, it’s your first day of school. This time tomorrow, you’ll have a college degree in Obedience.”

  Very funny.

  I dragged myself off the miserable piece of fabric that passed for “carpet” in Slim’s dump of a house and made my way to the front door. There, the man who had once been my friend placed the twine around my neck, and together we made the long, lonely walk to the pickup. I made no more attempts to escape. They had beaten me down and worn me out. Sometime in the night, I had resigned myself to my fate.

  We pulled up in front of Miss Viola’s house and she came skipping off the porch and down the sidewalk. My eyes popped open, my ears leaped up, and my tail began thrashing the seat. Holy smokes, she looked gorgeous! As fresh as the morning, as bright as a spring sky, and pretty as a field of wildflowers. She jumped into the cab and immediately changed its smell from . . . well, from dirty socks to rose pedals and cinnamon sticks, sugar and apple cider and . . . WOW!