The Case of the Three Rings (7 page)

At that moment we heard footsteps coming up behind us. It was Slim. He'd finished his chores and wore a satisfied look on his face. He stepped up on the porch and removed his chaps, then noticed Drover and me, sitting there and waiting for further orders.

“Well, dogs, I've got time to take a nice long bath. I believe this day has turned out just about perfect.”

Oh yeah? Boy, was he in for a surprise!

Chapter Nine: Tub Time With Slim

I
wasn't sure Slim wanted us to go inside the house, but…well, every house needs a couple of dogs, right? We crept toward the door, and when he opened it, we were in position to squirt through his legs and land ourselves inside.

He growled and grumbled about “tripping over the dogs” every time he went into his house, but I knew he didn't want us wasting away on the porch.

Inside the house, he pealed off his jacket and vest and pitched them onto a chair. Then, balancing himself like a tightrope walker, he hooked the heel of his left boot into the boot jack, gave it a pull and a grunt, and slipped it off. He did the same with the other boot, stripped off his socks, and dropped them on the floor.

This was Typical Slim, dropping his socks as though they were hot coals and leaving them wherever they fell. I decided not to scold him for leaving a trail of dirty clothes all over the house. The man was old enough to know better. I mean, didn't he remember that every time a visitor came to the door, he had to run through the house, scooping up socks and underpants?

His dogs knew it, because we'd seen it happen over and over. I had a feeling that if he and Viola ever got married, she would introduce him to the dirty clothes hamper, and it wouldn't take long.

Humming a tune, he went into the bathroom and turned on the bathtub spigot. I heard his jeans hit the floor with a clunk and his shirt went flying out into the hall. A moment later, water splashed in the tub (he'd crawled into the water) and he let out a growl of satisfaction.

I turned to my assistant. “Let's move into the bathroom.”

“How come?”

“Because that's where he's taking a bath.”

“Yeah, but you know about me and water. I hate it.”

I heaved a weary sigh. “Drover, dogs are supposed to follow their people around the house. When they change rooms, we go with them. It's one of the things dogs have always done.”

“Yeah, but what if he splashed water on us?”

“Drover, you are the most…” I rose to my feet. “Just skip it. I'm sorry I brought it up. I'll take this shift and you can stay here and…I don't know, sing to your worms.”

I left the little slacker and made my way into the bathroom, where I saw Slim's face showing above the rim of the tub. His eyes were closed and he had a big smile on his face. He was submerged all the way up to his ear lobes and little plumes of steam rose out of the water. I noticed that he had left his clock sitting on the sink, where he could check the time. It said 5:03.

I stepped around his jeans (he'd dropped them right in the middle of the floor) and took up a position beside the tub. There, I sat down and gave my tail several thumps on the floor, as if to say, “Great news. I'm here!”

He heard my tail-thumps and cracked his eyes open. “Hey pooch, watch this.” He made a fist with his right hand and lowered it into the water. Opening and closing his fist in the manner you would use if you were milking a cow, he caused a jet of water to go flying into the air. He looked at me and grinned. “What do think of that?”

Well, it was pretty impressive. It was something a dog could never do.

“Reckon I can hit the ceiling? I'll bet you a turkey neck I can.” It took him four or five shots to do it, but by George, he actually spurted water all the way up to the ceiling, and he was proud of himself. “Heh. You owe me a turkey neck. Now, come a little closer and I'll show you another trick. You'll like this ‘un.”

You see what Drover was missing? He was missing out on Tub Time, one of those special events that come along without warning or planning. If you're there at the right time, you get to share precious moments with your master.

I mean, how many people or dogs in the world knew that Slim Chance could entertain himself in the bathtub by squirting water on the ceiling? Viewed from one perspective, it was kind of silly, a grown man doing such a thing, but I took a longer view, a deeper view. To me, it was one of those special Bonding Moments when I was allowed a glimpse of…

SPLAT!

…a glimpse of what a goose he could be. I couldn't believe it! You know what he did? After winning my trust and luring me closer to the tub, he turned that thing on ME and shot water in my face!

What a cheap trick! Drover was right. Slim Chance was a joker right down to the marlowe of his bones and he just couldn't pass up an opportunity to pull childish pranks on his dogs. We give them the best years of our lives and that's what we get.

Fine. Tub Time had turned into a bitter disappointment and I dashed back into the living room. Drover was curled up in a ball and raised his head at the sound of my feet. “Oh, hi. How was it?”

“It was none of your business.”

“You've got water dripping off your nose.”

I held him in a steely gaze. “Drover, are you trying to make a mockery of my life?”

He grinned. “No, but I knew he'd do something. Hee hee.”

“Okay, pal, you get two Chicken Marks for that. This will go into my report.”

He shrugged and went back to his nap. I sat there in the middle of the room, brooding about injustice in the world and listening to the water dripping off my chin.

Ho hum. Time dragged and all at once I became aware of the ticking of the clock.

Slim needed to start getting ready. I mean, he still had to dry off, comb his hair, jump into his clothes, and drive three miles down the creek to Viola's place. He really needed to get moving. Had he fallen asleep?

I made my way back to the bathroom. He seemed to be in a dreamy state of mind, lying there in water up to his chin. The clock said 5:20, and that made me uneasy.

Would you like to hear what he was doing? I guarantee that you won't believe this, but I was there and watched the whole thing from start to finish.

Okay, let's see if I can describe it. There he was, up to his chin in warm bathwater and humming a tune. He lifted his left foot out of the water and wiggled his toes. A grin flashed across his mouth and he moved his big toe toward the water spigot—while I watched with a rising sense of alarm.

Surely he wouldn't…this was
crazy
!

He stuck his big toe into the water spigot
, into the hole where the water comes out. Five seconds later, it dawned on him that the toe was stuck and HE COULDN'T GET IT OUT!

Why would a grown man who was
supposed to be someplace in thirty minutes
stick his big toe into a water spigot?

I don't know. It defies explanation. All I can say is that if you leave Slim Chance alone in a tub, sooner or later he'll get into trouble.

What a bonehead! I could have pinched his head off.

Now what?

Chapter Ten: An Incredible Mess

F
ellers, he'd really done it this time. The guy had survived a charging buffalo and a bronc ride through a clothesline, but this mess promised to shut him down for a long time—and probably destroy a marriage that hadn't even happened yet.

All at once, his so-called mind came roaring back to the present. He sat up in the water and moved his foot around…harder and harder…and let out a squawl of pain. “Ow!” He leaned forward and took a double hand-grip on the spigot, leaned back and…I don't know, maybe he thought he could jerk the spigot out of the wall.

Guess what, it didn't work. Duh.

Then his eyes swung around to me and (this is a direct quote) he said, “Good honk, I can't get my toe out!”

Oh brother. You know, there are times when a dog is left speechless by the behavior of his human friends. I mean, there are people walking this earth who would say that dogs are dumb, but show me a dog who would stick his toe into a water spigot.

No dog would ever do that. No dog would even
think
about doing that.

It left me feeling so depressed, I went back into the living room. Behind me, I heard Slim yell, “Hank, don't quit me now!” I tried to push his words out of my mind, went over to the spot where Drover was napping, and woke him up.

“Drover, wake up, I have some terrible news.” He sat up and I told him what had happened.

He stared at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “Hee hee hee. It's a joke, right?”

“I'm afraid it's not a joke, son, and we must start preparing for what comes next.”

His eyes grew wide. “Gosh, what comes next?”

I swept my gaze over the ceiling. “In the Worst Case Skinnerio, Slim will sit in the bathtub for days or weeks, until someone finds him. He'll miss his date with Miss Viola and she'll figure the engagement is off. Broken-hearted, she'll move to California, and we never see her again.”

Drover almost choked on that. “Oh no! We can't let that happen!”

“Yes, well, we don't have much choice. There's nothing we can do. The man has really done it this time.”

He stared at the floor and a tear rolled down his cheek. “We'll never see Viola again, ever?”

“I'm afraid that's where this is heading.”

Another tear rolled down his cheek, then his eyes came up. “Wait! What if we barked?”

I studied on that. “You know, I didn't think of that. When all else fails, we should bark, right? It's worth a try. Come on, son, maybe there's still a chance!”

We dashed across the room and stood in the open door of the bathroom. Inside, we saw Slim, sitting in the tub. His face was buried in his hands and he was shaking his head and moaning, “I ain't believing this! These things just don't happen in the real world!”

I turned to Drover. “All right, soldier, begin filling your tanks.” We both took deeps breath of air. “We don't have a specific bark for shattering water spigots, so punch in the All Purpose Barking Program.”

“Got it. I'm ready.”

“Okay, here we go. Mark and bark!”

Boy, you talk about some great barks! We leaned into the task and cut loose with round after round of deep, manly All Purpose Barks. After we had barked for about ten seconds, Slim stopped covering his face with his hands and used them to…well, to cover his ears, you might say.

And he screeched, “Dry up! I know you're trying to help, but I don't need my ears put out.” The angry expression on his face melted into one of deepest despair. “What in the cat hair am I going to do!”

For a long time he sat there, groaning and shaking his head. Drover and I switched over to The Sharing of Pain. I wasn't sure it would help, but I couldn't think of a better idea.

Then Slim cut his eyes toward something on the floor. “My Leatherman's tool. It's on my belt. It's got a saw and a file.” He turned his eyes on me. “Hank, you've spent most of your life being a bozo, but this time, I really need your help. Bring my pants over here!”

I turned to Drover. “What did he say?”

“Well, let me think. He's keeping a file on Bozo, but he doesn't have any pants.”

“Right, that's what I heard, but it doesn't make any sense.”

Slim raised his voice. “Hank, bring my pants!”

Drover and I traded puzzled looks, and I whispered, “Something about
plants
. Maybe he wants us to water his plants.”

“Yeah, but they all died ‘cause nobody ever watered ‘em.”

“Hmm, good point.”

“Maybe he said
planets
. He wants us to bark at the stars.”

“Yes, but the stars won't be out for another hour.”

Slim seemed to be getting more and more agitated, and he roared, “Hank, bring my pants! Bring my jeans. Blue jeans! Pants!”

Drover's eyes popped wide open. “Wait a second. His jeans are lying on the floor, right over there. Maybe he wants you to bring his pants.”

“That's ridiculous. He's sitting in water and one foot's plugged into the water hydrant. There's no way he could put on his pants.”

“Hank, bring my pants…now!”

My mind was racing. “Wait, hold everything. He wants me to
bring his pants
.”

“I'll be derned.”

“And I think I can do it. Stand by.” I marched over to the jeans sprawled in the middle of the floor and gave them a sniffing. Hmm, horse sweat.

“Hank, hurry up! It's almost six o'clock!”

For a man who was in a helpless situation, he sure didn't waste much time on manners. I mean, you'd think he could have spoken in a civil tone and maybe even said “please.”

Oh well. I fitted my jaws around the jeans and dragged them over to the tub. Slim raised himself off the bottom of the tub and leaned out as far as he could, until he managed to snatch one of the pant legs. And he started pulling.

I had my jaws clamped down on the belt-region. Slim pulled and I pulled, and all at once I understood.
He wanted to play Tug
!

Well, that was okay with me. I mean, it seemed a strange thing to be doing, but we dogs are often called upon to do things that don't…

Good grief, he snatched the jeans right out of my mouth, and almost took my teeth along for the ride! Hey, take it easy with the teeth, pal, or you'll end up playing Tug by yourself!

He wasn't paying any attention to me. His trembling hands went to the leather case on his belt and he came up holding something made of shiny metal. Okay, it was his Leatherman's tool and maybe that's what he'd been wanting all along. But why hadn't he just said so? I mean, how's a dog supposed to know?

He fumbled around with the device and brought out a little saw, about three inches long. He leaned forward and started sawing on…was he going to cut off his toe? I looked closer. No, he was sawing the spigot, about an inch above the end of his toe.

Well, good. A guy should never cut off his toe until he's tried everything else.

He sawed and he sawed, and finally gave up. “It won't cut metal.” He fumbled around with the tool again and brought out another attachment, a little file. Again, he went to work.

I don't know how long he scraped with the file, but it seemed hours. At last, he leaned back in the tub and stared straight ahead with a look of total defeat in his eyes.

“It would take me a month to file that thing off. It can't be done. I'm whipped. I've lost Viola and I guess I'll die in my own bathtub. Two months from now, they'll find my bones.”

Well, you can imagine what an effect those words had on little Mister Squeakbox. His eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Oh my gosh, I'm scared of skeletons!”

He started running in circles, dashed out into the hall, made a right turn, and headed for the bedroom as fast as his legs would carry him. I didn't actually see him crawl under Slim's bed, but I knew that's where he went.

He always crawls under the bed when Life veers out of control.

Well, Life had certainly veered out of control, and I must admit that I was having my own struggle with panic. Think about it. I was twenty-five miles from town, locked in a house where people seldom came to visit, and
the only human on the place had his big toe stuck in a bathtub spigot
.

Should I follow Drover's example and hide under the bed? It was tempting, I won't deny it, but sometimes a dog has to choose between what is comfortable and what is RIGHT.

No sir, I wouldn't leave my cowboy. When darkness came and the fire went out in the stove, we would shiver together in a cold house and listen to our stomachs growling. We would grow old together and turn into skeletons together, and when they found our bones, they would know that Hank the Cowdog had remained faithful to the bitter…

Huh?

Did you hear that? Maybe not, because you weren't there, but I sure heard it. Would you like to guess what it might have been? Here are some possibilities:

The house was on fire.

A water pipe had burst under the kitchen sink.

We were having an earthquake.

Wolf Creek was flooding and water was pouring into the living room

Termites were eating the house and the roof was about to collapse.

A rabid skunk had entered the room.

It sounds pretty grim, doesn't it? But you should always remember the wise old saying: “It's always darkest before it gets any darker.”

Hang on.