The Further Adventures of Hank the Cowdog by John R. Erickson

Author:John R. Erickson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: cowdog, Hank the Cowdog, John R. Erickson, John Erickson, ranching, Texas, dog, adventure, mystery, Hank, Drover, Pete, Sally May
Publisher: Maverick Books, Inc.
Published: 2015-05-12T22:46:17+00:00

“You touch my milk and you’re a dead cat.”

“Bet you can’t stop me.”

I pushed myself up to a sitting position—with considerable effort, I might add—and prepared for combat. “You just try it.”

He reached out his paw and touched the surface of the milk, ever so lightly. “I touched it.”

He touched off a by-George explosion, is what he touched. I didn’t think I had enough energy to romp a cat, but come to find out I did. I made a slash at him and missed. He walked away, flicking his tail and grinning at me over his shoulder.

“Strike three, Hankie. Bet you can’t catch me.”

I lunged at him and got him. Well, I got some hairs off the end of his tail, actually, but that was enough to make me want some more. I made another pounce at him.

He squirmed out of my grip and went padding across the pasture toward the creek. Ordinarily he would have made a dash for the nearest tree but this time he didn’t.

Well, this gave me a valuable piece of information and I began to formulate an overall strategy and plan of battle, which is one of the normal procedures we use in the security business.

One of the major advantages a cowdog has over a cat is that your ordinary run-of-the-mill cat is flighty and impulsive, while your cowdog applies mental discipline to every problem. I think most experts would back me up on this.

I mean, let’s face it: it’s a well-known fact that cats act on whim and impulse and lack the mental whatever-it-is to think in terms of a long-range strategy. Some authorities would say they’re fairly stupid animals, which is what I would say.

Pete’s behavior offered a classic example of this. Instead of staying close to the big trees around the corral, he headed down toward the creek, where the trees tended to be small and scrubby: creek willows and tamaracks instead of elms and cottonwoods.

In other words, Pete had made a crucial mistake which any dog trained in security work would never make: he had become cocky and careless and had allowed himself to be lured away from his best defensive position.

Once I had my basic strategy in mind, I followed the cat out into the pasture and down into the creek willows, keeping him in sight and waiting for my big opportunity. We call this “lulling the enemy.” As Uncle Beanie used to say, “Lull ’em to sleep and then wake ’em up in the rudest possible manner.”

I must have stalked him for a mile or more, far enough from the house so that it was unfamiliar territory. I figured that was far enough. The time had come. The bell was tolling for whom the bell was tolling for.

He was maybe five feet in front of me. I gathered all my strength, threw it into one mighty lunge, and didn’t lunge because my knees went out on me.

All at once I was so weak I couldn’t stand up. I laid down and tried to catch my breath.

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