The Case of the Car-Barkaholic Dog by John R. Erickson

Author:John R. Erickson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Hank the Cowdog
ISBN: 9780877191995
Publisher: Maverick Books TX
Published: 1991-07-01T05:00:00+00:00

Real big dog.

A small horse?

Looked a whole lot like a Great Dane.

Had I met this guy before?

Uh-oh.

Rambo.

The pups ran for cover when he came bursting through the gate. I didn’t, for obvious reasons. He ran his eyes over the yard, and then he spoke in a voice that matched up with the heavy breathing I had noted before. A big, heavy voice, in other words.

“Where is this loud-mouthed cowdog?”

I stood perfectly still against the fence, hoping that he might think I was a shrub or something. You never know. But he didn’t. His huge, ugly, bloodshot eyes swung around and locked on me.

“What are you doing back there?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I ain’t talking to the gate.”

“I knew that. You struck me as the kind of dog who wouldn’t go around talking to gates.”

“Answer the question.”

“Okay, fine, sure. That’s easy enough. What am I doing back here?”

“Yeah? That’s the question. What’s the answer?”

“Oh, you wanted the answer?” I laughed. “I thought you wanted to hear the question again.” I laughed. “I’m a little heard of harding.”

“What?”

“I said, I’m a little hard of hearing.”

“Oh. Too bad.”

“What?”

“I said, too bad!”

“Well, two’s better than one.”

He lumbered over to me and popped me on the chin so that my jaws snapped shut. “You know what? I don’t like your looks and I don’t like dogs who don’t listen when I talk. Maybe you’d like to start listening better.”

“I was about to suggest that.”

“Good. Do you know who I am?”

“Uh, let’s see. Your name wouldn’t be Trigger, would it?” He popped me on the chin again. “Or Rambo, how about Rambo?”

He gave me a smirk. “Now you’ve got it. I’m Rambo and I own this town.”

“It’s a great little town, I’ve always liked it.”

“Good for you. Where’s the cowdog?”

I found myself coughing. “Cowdog? Whatever made you think there might be a cowdog around here?”

He brought his nose right up to my face. “You know what I think? I think you look like a cowdog.”

“Me, a cowdog? Ha, ha, ha. Oh no, not me. I’m a hogdog, Harry the Hogdog. There’s a huge difference between hogdogs and cowdogs.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Well, you have your hogs and you have your cows, and they’re very different. Your, uh, hogs say ‘Oink,’ and your cows say ‘Moo,’ and that’s a pretty huge difference right there. No hog has ever said ‘Moo.’”

He popped my chin again.

“Except on very rare occasions, that is.”

He did it again.

“You keep popping me on the chin.”

“You keep talking stupid. Do I need you to tell me that no hog has ever said ‘Moo’?”

“Maybe not.” He popped me again. “In other words, NO.”

“That’s better. Now, tell me something else.”

“Sure, anything at all, just ask.”

He leaned forward and drilled me with those ugly eyes. “Have we met before?”

All at once I had trouble breathing. “You know, I was just asking myself that same question, and the answer is no. No, we haven’t met before. Never. Never ever. Honest.”

“Your face looks familiar.”

“You won’t believe this, but I hear that all the time.

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