The Mopwater Files 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: 2015-05-06T20:09:44+00:00

Boy, that hurt—not as much as the mop, but it opened wounds deep inside my heart and soul.

Wounds that might never heal.

She went back inside the house. She probably didn’t realize that her cutting remarks had inflicted irreruptable damage to our relationship.

And she probably didn’t even care.

“Hey cowdog, we’re waitin’.”

The sound of Rufus’s voice brought me back to the other crisis in my life. Had the mopwater done its job? I had to know the truth.

I turned to Data Control for a report on all internal systems. My heart sank as I scanned the report flashing across the screen of my mind. It showed low readings in all departments: heart rate, blood sugar, oxygen-acetylene supply, energy, ambition, and cellular phonography.

Even more disturbing was the presence of high levels of toxic mopwater in the stomach area. Burp. My poor stomach had certainly been tested: a gooey green grasshopper, root stimulator, and now mopwater.

Did I feel sick? Sure, but I didn’t have time to be sick. My career and reputation were hanging in the ballast. I had talked my way into a fight I couldn’t possibly win, yet I couldn’t walk away from it either.

Well . . . obviously it was time for a song, right? I mean, there comes a time in every dog’s life when he bursts into singing because, well, the other things he might be doing aren’t so great. Have we ever done “The Mopwater Song?” Maybe not. Here’s how it goes.

The Mopwater Song

I never should have drunk that mopwater,

Never should, never should, mopwater.

Never should have tried that mopwater.

Mopwater, slopwater, sick as a horse.

Mopwater is low in calories,

But it’s also low in taste.

It will fill your daily requirement

Of spider webs, dirt, and various wastes.

Never should have sampled yucky dirty mopwater,

Silly dog, stupid dog, mopwater.

A bellyache can come from drinking mopwater.

Belly trouble, tummy rumble, stomach upset.

If you’re preparing to fight a gorilla,

Exercise caution and stay on your toes.

If somebody says mopwater will help you,

He’s telling a lie, so punch him in the nose.

I never should have drunk that mopwater,

Never should, never should, mopwater.

Never should have tried that mopwater.

Mopwater, slopwater, sick as a horse.

Not bad, huh? I mean, for a song that I just threw together at the last moment, it was pretty derned good.

Well, I gathered my few remaining shreds of energy—boy, it was hot—and made the long trudge up the hill. There was Billy’s pickup, just where I had left it.

Rufus spotted me right away. His pointed ears shot up and a wicked sneer worked its way across his toothy mouth.

“Well! Look who’s coming back. How was the water, pal? I hope it was good, ’cause it may be the last drink you’ll ever get.”

I felt the harsh glare of the afternoon sun as I dragged myself to the rear of the pickup. I caught a glimpse of Plato and Beulah. Their eyes showed the terror of what was about to happen. They knew, just as I knew, that I was about to march into a Battle of No Return.

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