The Case of the Wandering Goats. John R. Erickson

      It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. It was a gloomy, dark night in May, as I recall. Yes, it was May, and as I paced the deck, I noted the location of every star. They were all overhead in the sky.

      I felt uneasy. This was no ordinary gang of pirates we were after, but a crew of monkey pirates under the command of the notorious Captain Gooey Louie. They had captured a shipload of boiled turkey necks, and had spread fear up and down the coast of Menudo.

      I was commanding a three-masted man-of-war, HMS Whickerbill, and the Admiralty had sent us around the Cape of Good Honk in pursuit of the pirates. My orders were to engage them in combat, eat the cargo, and sink the ship.

      I made my way across the creaking deck and joined the young sailor who was steering the ship. In the hazy moonlight, he looked nervous and not very smart.

      “How long have you been at sea, lad?”

      “Murgle skiffer pork chop.”

      “That’s a long time. I guess you’re missing home.”

      “Mork snerk snicklefritz.”

      “I understand. This ocean is a huge place, and it’s always full of water.”

      “Watery pottery slottery, the mouse ran down the clock.”

      “Oh? Set three traps and arm them with peanut butter. Steer a course south by southwest.”

      “Hank?”

      “You may call me Captain.”

      “I hear someone coming.”

      I cocked one ear and listened. “You’re right, it must be the monkeys. Draw cutlasses and prepare to board the ship!”

      “Hank, you’d better wake up.”

      “What do you mean, ‘wake up’?” I blinked my eyes and glanced around. Everything had changed. “Good grief, it’s daylight and our ship has vanished! Where is the ocean? Why wasn’t I informed?”

      “Well, I guess we were asleep.”

      “Don’t be absurd. I had the night watch and you…” I staggered a few steps and took a closer look at the sailor. “Who are you?”

      “I’m Drover, remember me?”

      “No. Wait. Did you say Drover?”

      “Yeah, Drover with a D.”

      “You’re the one with the stub tail?”

      “Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “Neither do I.” I glanced around. We appeared to be in a room of some kind. “Drover, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a strange man over there, dressed in boxer shorts and a T-shirt. He’s sitting in a chair. What’s going on around here?”

      “That’s Slim. He’s eating breakfast.”

      “He’s eating a dead lizard?”

      “No, it’s a boiled turkey neck.”

      “Ah, of course, yes. He must have gotten it from the pirates.”

      “There aren’t any pirates.”

      “No pirates? Wait, hold everything. Don’t you get it? That’s Slim Chance!”

      “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

      “Maybe we spent the night in his house.”

      “Duh.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “I think you were dreaming about monkeys.”

      I glanced around, in case we were being watched. “Who told you that?”

      “You did. You were babbling about monkeys and ships.”

      “Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t babble.”

      “You do when you’re half-asleep. I heard you.”

      “Stop eavesdropping on me.” The fog lifted and my head began to clear. “Okay, I’m seeing a pattern here. You’re Drover. We spent the night at Slim’s place and that’s him sitting in the chair.”

      “That’s what I said.”

      “Please don’t interrupt. Did he offer us a bite of his breakfast?”

      “Not yet.”

      “That’s very slurp of him. Maybe we should…” My ears began picking up signals from outside. “Is that a vehicle?”

      “Yeah, I tried to tell you.”

      “Why didn’t you bark?”

      He yawned. “It seemed like a lot of trouble.”

      “Drover, this is shocking, and please stop yawning. An intruder is approaching the house, and all you can do is yawn about it?”

      “Well…”

      “Battle stations! Load up guns one and two. Let’s lay down some cover fire!”

      We turned our big guns toward