The piercing voice of a woman, let us say, it was calling my name. “Hank!” I flew out of bed and saw a huge yellow bearskin rug spread out on the office floor. I gave it a three-bark blast and…okay, it was Happy Lab. Remember him?

  He didn’t stir or even twitch, and went right on sleeping like a dead tree. Isn’t that the usual story with sleep-wreckers? They stay up half the night, blabbering and barking at lawn mowers and eating raw potatoes, and then they sleep till noon. Those of us with jobs have to…oh well.

  I grumbled, “Relax, pal, I’ll take the call. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  With my head still fuzzy with sleep, I headed for the house to see what was going on. I knew something was afoot. Sally May doesn’t screech my name unless there’s some kind of emergency.

  About halfway between the office and the house, I met Drover. Apparently he had ventured out of his Secret Sanctuary and…I don’t know, was doing something silly with his life. Anyway, we met and he fell in step beside me.

  “Hi, Hank. Did you hear that?”

  “I heard the voice of Sally May, calling my name. What do we have here? Bring me up to speed.”

  “Well, I’m not sure. She came out of the house and screeched.”

  “Drover, I need facts, details. I don’t want to walk blind into this meeting. Why did she shriek my name?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Maybe something scared her.”

  “I agree. Perhaps she found a snake on the porch, or a lizard. Or a dead mouse. Maybe a mouse tripped over the cat’s tail and broke his neck.”

  “Oh, that was nasty. Hee hee.”

  “Nasty but true. That’s the only way a mouse would ever die on this ranch. Pete’s too lazy to catch one.”

  “Who’s that big guy in my bed?”

  “What? Oh, him. That’s Happy Lab. He got lost and so-forth, and he’ll be our guest for a few days. As you might know, everyone falls in love with a Lab and he gets special treatment. The rest of us are just chopped liver.”

  “Me too?”

  I studied the runt. “Especially you.”

  “I never cared for the taste of liver.”

  “Good. Everything works out, doesn’t it?”

  This is what I have to put up with every day. Sometimes my soul cries out for a few shreds of intelligent conversation, but I start my mornings talking to Drover about chopped liver.

  Oh well.

  I arrived at the yard gate moments later, with an impressive display of Sirens and Lights. Sally May, Little Alfred, and our local cat were standing on the porch. Alfred wore a peculiar grin, the cat wore his usual annoying smirk, and Sally May…well, her expression was miles away from a grin or a smirk.

  She looked mad: flared nostrils, pinched eyes, and both hands jammed against her hips, which always spells trouble.

  Drover read the signs and started backing away. “I think it’s time for me to leave.”

  “No, wait. I wouldn’t mind having you here to…”

  Zoom! He was gone, heading for the machine shed like a bullet shot from a gun. “Coward!” I turned back to Sally May. Okay, what did we have here? Something was wrong…but what?

  She told her son (the one with the bratty smile) to open the yard gate. He did, and she said, “Hank, come here.”

  That was odd. She wanted me to enter her yard, the very place where dogs weren’t allowed? I felt uneasy about this, but…well, she’d told me to come, so I went. Lowering my head, I eased through the gate and crept toward the porch. There, I found myself standing face to face with the cat. The very sight of him caused my lips to twitch.

  He batted his eyes and purred, “Well, well! We had a busy night last night, didn’t we, Hankie?”

  “Creep. That wasn’t a bull in the yard and you knew it. I ought to…”

  “Hank!”

  Huh?

  “Leave the cat alone.”

  Yes ma’am, but…

  “Come here and look at this.”

  I pushed my way past the cat (and managed to step on his foot in the process, hee hee) and made my way up to the porch. Sally May’s arm, hand, and index finger were pointing like a flaming arrow toward something at the base of the screen door.

  She was scowling. “What is this?”

  I looked closer. Hmmm. It appeared to be a collection of lumpy objects, about seventeen of them. They didn’t appear to be snakes, lizards, or mice. I crept closer and gave them a sniffing, then directed a puzzled gaze up to Our Beloved Ranch Wife. Potatoes?

  In an icy voice, she said, “Last night, someone moved a whole sack of rotten potatoes from the compost heap, and left them on my porch. Who did this?”

  My mind raced back to the events of the previous night, and slowly a pattern of clues began to emerge. It all happened after I went to sleep, and I knew exactly who did it.

  When something happens that defies explanation, something that’s so crazy you can’t believe it actually happened, go find the nearest bird dog. In other words, this was the handiwork of He Who Doeth Ridiculous Things. But how could I explain it to Sally May?

  I gave her Sad Eyes and went to Slow Perplexed Wags on the tail section, as if to say, “Sally May, I know that our relationship has had its ups and downs, but trust me, this is NOT something a cowdog would ever do. We don’t deal in potatoes. We never touch them. Honest.”

  She turned to her son. “Why on earth would a dog do this?”

  He was trying to keep from laughing. “I don’t know, Mom, but it sure is funny.”

  “It’s NOT funny.” Her eyes came at me like bullets. “Why do you do things like this? First, you bark all night and wake up the whole house, then you drag garbage up on my porch. You are so dumb! Alfred, honey, take the potatoes back to the compost, and you,” she was glaring at me again, “stay out of the compost! And get out of my yard. Scat!”

  Yes ma’am. I turned to leave and found myself looking into the grinning face of the cat. Uh oh. Would I be able to resist my savage impulses?

  Keep on reading.

  Chapter Ten: Happy Is Exposed

  Pete was snorting and gasping with laughter. For a moment of heartbeats, I gave serious thought to beating the snot out of him, but with Sally May standing nearby and already in a volcanic state of mind, I had to settle for a stinging retort. “Pete, you’re despicable.”

  I tried to step on his tail, but he snatched it away. I hurried out the gate, and there I met…guess who. The World’s Happiest Dog. He’d finally dragged himself out of bed and there he was, swinging his tail back and forth and wearing that big Labrador grin that caused women and children to swoon.

  I marched straight toward him and gave him both barrels. “I had you tucked in bed. I had you settled for the night, and what did you do? You sneaked out of the barracks and deposited seventeen potatoes on Sally May’s porch!”

  He seemed surprised by my anger. “Hey, those were good spuds. I thought she might need ‘em. Those kids eat a lot of groceries. I was just trying to help, honest.”

  “The potatoes were sprouting, they were half-rotten, they smelled bad. Sally May didn’t want them stinking up her porch.”

  “Gee, I never thought about that.”

  “I wouldn’t care about any of this, except for the fact that I got blamed for it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Look at her face and tell me if I’m serious.” I pointed toward the porch and…huh? I couldn’t believe this.

  She was smiling like the rising sun, and do you know why? Because she had just seen The World’s Happiest Dog, and somehow that made her the The World’s Happiest Ranch Wife. And here she came down the sidewalk, she and her son, both of them glowing with joy. They brushed right past me and went straight to the Lab, who greeted them with a huge dripping smile.

  “Hi, Happy! How are you this morning, huh? Good dog.”

  Sally May stroked him on the head and Little Alfred climbed on his back and rode him around, laughing and waving his arm as though he were twirling a rope. I even heard him say, “Mom, I wish we could keep him.”

  Oh brother. I had to stand there and watch. I soon realized that Kitty Kitty had slithered up beside me. He heaved a sigh. “Isn’t this sweet?”

  My eyes almost bugged out of my head. “Sweet! It’s an outrage. It makes me sick. Do you know who dumped the potatoes on the porch?”

  “Of course I do. I saw the whole thing.” He fluttered his eyelids. “You must find this very discouraging, Hankie.”

  “You bet I do. If I even have a naughty thought, she sees it. That big oaf can do anything and get by with it.”

  “I know. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

  “No, it certainly…” I noticed his smirk. “Are you trying to make a mockery of my misfortune?”

  His eyes brightened. “You know, Hankie, that does sound like something I might do.”

  I heard a growl rumbling in the depths of my throat. “How would you like to climb a tree, huh?”

  A woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Hank, leave the cat alone!”

  You see what I mean? She has radar…FOR ME!

  Pete’s smirk grew even wider. “Poor doggie! You’re not having a good day, are you?”

  “Pete, you’re disgusting.”

  I whirled away and left the cat sitting in the rubble of his own shubble. But I had to admit that the little creep had gotten one thing right: I was having a bad day. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to wonder if I might lose my job.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’d had bad days before, a lot of them, and I had learned to cope with disappointment and injustice, but this was a different kind of problem. How do you compete with a perfect dog? When your people think the mutt can do no wrong, what’s left for rest of us who…well, have a naughty thought every now and then, and occasionally mess up?

  You can’t win. You’re wrong from the start, guilty before you’re even charged, because it’s impossible to compete with someone’s dream-notion of The Perfect Dog.

  Yes, it was very discouraging. With the sounds of their laughter and happiness echoing through the gloomy, torch-lit dungeon of my mind, I left the scene and trudged back to my miserable, lonely little office beneath the gas tanks. There, I planned to sit on my stinking, flea-infested gunny sack, and spend the rest of my day—or maybe the rest of my life—eating my heart out with a plastic spoon.

  Does that sound like a festival of self-pity? Maybe so, and I didn’t care. By George, I had earned the right to feel sorry for myself, and that’s exactly what I intended to do.

  I had been brooding for about ten minutes, when I heard voices and footsteps. I rose and gazed off to the east, and saw Alfred, Sally May, and Happy Lab. They were walking down the hill, and Alfred was carrying the red plastic bucket. It appeared that they were heading for the garden, perhaps to return the potatoes to the compost heap.

  They were enjoying themselves, laughing and tossing a stick for the Lab to fetch, a scene of happy people enjoying the company of the Dog of Their Dreams—a dog that wasn’t me.

  I watched. Alfred reached the open gate. He walked inside the garden, while his mother tossed the stick for Happy to chase and bring back. (Labs are great fetchers). Alfred dumped the potatoes back into the compost and was about to leave…when he froze and looked around the garden.

  I heard his voice. “Mom, something got into the garden and ate all the tomatoes. And the squash is gone. And look at the okra plants.”

  Sally May rushed through the gate. Her eyes grew wide and, even at a distance, I could hear her gasp. “My garden! What…who…” She whirled around and looked in all directions. Then her voice shattered the morning calm. “HANK! If I ever get my hands on that dog…Hank!”

  The sound of my name sent a shiver down my spine, and on instinct, I pulled my tail up between my legs. Good grief, I was in trouble again, and I hadn’t done anything! I had just about decided to make a dash for the machine shed, when I heard Alfred’s voice again.

  “Mom, it wasn’t Hank. Look at the footprints. They’re huge.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Then Sally May said, “Oh no, surely not. I can’t…there must be some…he would never do that, I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  “Mom, it was Happy.”

  “But why would he… Do you think he eats tomatoes and squash? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Those aren’t coon tracks, Mom. And you know what? I bet he’s the one that carried the potatoes up to the house, too.”

  “Oh my stars! I can’t believe this.” With a stricken look on her face, she turned around to her precious Labrador…and guess what he was doing. He had found a rake leaning against the fence and was in the process of chewing the wooden handle. That got her attention. “Happy, no! Bad dog! Don’t chew my rake.”

  She made a dive for the rake and…what do you know, Mister Perfect took off, dragging the rake along with him. “Happy! Give me that rake!”

  I could hardly conceal my…that is, I was filled with feelings of shock and dismay. I mean, the guy had obviously spent half the night wrecking her garden, and now he was trying to chew her rake into splinters. How tee hee disappointing!

  Well! What an interesting turn of events. Someone besides ME had nudged the Lady of the House into a thermonuclear moment. And make no mistake, she was mad. She came boiling out the garden gate and headed down to the corrals to find her husband.

  “Loper! Where are you? You need to do something with this dog before he destroys the ranch!”

  Alfred stayed behind with Happy and looked into his eyes. “Why’d you have to go and do that?” Happy turned on his happy smile and swung his tail back and forth, but this time, the magic didn’t work. Alfred left, shaking his head.

  Happy stood there for a while, looking confused. Then he heaved a sigh and came back to the gas tanks in a slow walk. His head and tail were hanging low. He flopped down and lay there with his eyes open.

  I found myself looking at him. “I know this will sound like a silly question, but why didn’t you just stay in bed? It would have been so simple.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and took her spuds back to the house. I thought she’d be glad.”

  “Yes, well, you’re great with kids, but you don’t understand women at all.”

  “I guess not.”

  “And the garden?”

  He stared at the ground. “I wanted a snack. I didn’t figure she’d miss a few tomatoes.”

  “You didn’t eat a few tomatoes. You stripped the vines. You ate ‘em all, and then you cleaned house on the okra and squash! What’s wrong with you? Dogs don’t eat that stuff!”

  “Yeah, and it made me sick. When will I ever learn?”

  “Oh brother! What about the rake?”

  He shrugged. “I’d never chewed a rake before, and all at once, it seemed like a good idea. I think I really messed up this time.”

  I stared into his innocent, empty bird-brain eyes. “No, it’s worse than that. Normal dogs mess up. I mess up. You have performed a miracle in reverse.”

  “I told you, I do ridiculous things.”

  “Yes, well, I had no idea.”

  “I wrote a song about it. You want to hear it?”

  “A song? No thanks, I’m a very busy dog.”

  “It tells my story. It’s about doing ridiculous things.”

  I heaved a weary sigh and sat down. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  In case you’re interested, here’s the song.

  Chapter Eleven: Happy’s Confession

  Ridiculous Things

  I used to think I was a perfect dog,

  And I was…for about a month.

  Something happened in my childhood

  That gave my life a bump.

  It started when the paper boy delivered The Globe

  On the porch right after dawn.

  I didn’t try to read the morning news.

  I chewed it up and spread it on the lawn.

  I get tired…of doing things.

  That are ridiculous…and strange.

  Shredding papers in the yard will lose you friends.

  Some day I’ll need to change.

  When my master came out to get his paper

  And saw confetti on the grass with the dew.

  He screamed at me and his eyes bugged out,

  And he tried to drill me with his shoe.

  It was a house shoe made of sheepskin.

  The real thing, a genuine prize.

  I grabbed it and headed down the sidewalk.

  He wasn’t fast enough to catch me, but he tried.

  I get tired…of doing things.

  That are ridiculous…and strange.

  When we steal their shoes, it makes ‘em mad.

  Some day I’ll need to change.

  So I found myself at the end of the block,

  Wondering what I should do.

  I had beat the boss in a foot race

  And there I was, alone with his shoe.

  Like I said, it was made of sheepskin,

  Smelled so good, it gave me fits.

  All at once I felt a compulsion

  To chew it up in tiny little bits.

  I get tired…of doing things.

  That are ridiculous…and strange.

  When he found the shoe, I was in the stew.

  Some day I’ll need to change.

  I get so tired of doing things that are ridiculous.

  It really bugs me ‘cause I know that it’s strange.

  Eating papers and slippers is totally weird.

  Some day I need to think about a change.

  Some day I need to think about a change.

  Some day I need to think about…chewing things, ‘cause I love it!

  When he finished the song, we both sat in silence for a while. His happy smile had vanished. I said, “That’s a true story? You actually did those things?” He nodded. I laid a paw on his shoulder. “Hap, I admire your honesty, I really do, and if you’re ever out this way again, I hope you’ll stop by for a visit.”