The Case of the Haystack Kitties. John R. Erickson
Athletic?”
“I’ll supply the words, Drover. You just listen.”
“Well, you asked.”
“I’m sorry I asked. It has come to my attention that you often engage in behavior that is meaningless, ridiculous, and unreasonable. Behavior which an outside observer might very well consider . . . stupid, to put it bluntly.”
“I’ll be derned.” He sat up and began scratching his ear. “Are you sure it was me? That doesn’t sound like anything I’d do.”
“Of course I’m sure it was you, and it sounds exactly like something you would do. Shall we get down to specifics?” I began pacing back and forth in front of him. I often do this when . . . maybe I’ve mentioned that before. “Okay, I saw you snapping at that cottonwood cotton.”
“Yep, that was me all right.”
“I know it was you. That’s my point. Do you realize how absurd you look when you do such things?”
“Not really.”
“Well, you looked ridiculous and absurd. I mean, we are professional dogs, Drover. We hold important positions on this ranch.”
“I didn’t know I had a position.”
“You don’t, and one of the reasons you don’t is that you’re always doing something silly. If we gave you a position and a title, you’d embarrass the whole Security Division. Don’t you understand that everything we do on this ranch must have a purpose?”
“I never thought about it . . . I guess.”
“Well, it’s time you thought about it.” I stopped pacing and whirled around to face him. “What was your purpose in chasing those puffs of cotton?”
“Well, let me think. It was fun.”
“Won’t work, Drover. Having fun has nothing to do with our jobs. Having fun is for cats, chickens, ordinary mutts, and the other nitwits in this world. Try again.”
“Well, let’s see.” He squinted one eye and drew his mouth up into a knot. He seemed to be concentrating. That was good. “I didn’t want the cotton to litter the ranch . . . I guess.”
“Litter the ranch?”
“Yeah. We’re against litter, aren’t we?”
I resumed my pacing. “Of course we’re against litter, but cottonwood trees are part of this ranch, and their seeds are part of the natural flauna and fluoride. That’s not litter.”
“Darn. Well, let me try again. I was hungry and wanted some cottonwood candy.”
I stopped pacing and stared at the runt. “Cottonwood candy? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Well, it’s like cotton candy, only it comes from cottonwood trees.”
“No kidding?” I sat down. “Tell me more. This is something new.”
“Well, let’s see. Cottonwood candy comes from cottonwood trees . . . ”
“You’ve already said that. Get on with it.”
“. . . and the best part is that you don’t have to go to the circus to buy it.”
“Hmm, yes, that fits. There are no circuses on this ranch.” I began pacing again. This was starting to sound interesting. “Okay, Drover, we’ve got a lead here. We know for a fact that no circus has ever spent time on this ranch, yet you’ve reported finding traces of cottonwood candy. What made you think that the substance in the air was cottonwood candy rather than plain, ordinary cottonwood cotton?”
“’Cause I saw one in the air, and I chased it.”
“Exactly, but what about the taste?”
“Well, it kind of rhymes with ‘chase.’”
“Good point, and we may come back to that later. You see, Drover, candy, by its very nature, tastes sweet, and regular cotton candy is made up of equal parts of sugar and cotton. Therefore, it has a sweet taste. What about the stuff you snapped out of the air?”
“Well . . . it sure tasted like equal parts to me.”
I whirled around with an air of triumph. “There we are! Do you understand what this means, Drover? We have made an amazing discovery. Those cottonwood trees down along the creek are producing cottonwood candy! They might have been doing this for centuries, but nobody ever knew it because nobody was ever bold or curious enough to taste one of the tiny fluffs of cotton until WE came along and did it.”
Who’s we?”
“We, Drover, the scientific division of the Security Division. We who dare to look foolish in the pursuit of our research.”
“Yeah, but it was me that did it.”
“Exactly. You played a small but tiny part in making this discovery, and you’ll probably get some credit for it. But the important thing is that we have discovered an important new source of food and nourishment and . . .”
At that very moment, my eyes caught sight of a small, white object floating through the air. It was a piece of cottonwood candy, and it was coming toward us.
“Okay, Drover, stand by. I’m going to demonstrate the proper technique for harvesting cottonwood candy. Watch this and take careful notes.”
“I thought I already knew how.”
“Your methods were crude, Drover. Not bad for a first attempt but a far cry from refined techniques. Watch.”
I bent my knees and went into Stealthy Crouch Mode and waited until the candy puff was directly overhead. Then I hit the Launch Button, sprang upward, and snagged the luscious candy morsel in my jaws. I returned to earth and began smacking my lips on the . . .
SPUT! PATOOEY!
“Drover, you moron, that isn’t sweet. It’s nothing but a piece of fuzz.”
“Well, I never said it was sweet. I said it tasted like equal parts, and you said . . .”
I didn’t hear the rest of what he had to say, for at that very moment I became aware of a new and alarming sound behind me. I wheeled around and saw . . .
Chapter Two: Mocked by the Small Minds on the Ranch
I saw Loper and Slim. They had come down from the house and were leaning on the legs of the gas tank. And the alarming sound I had heard was their laughter.
They appeared to be laughing at . . . something. I ran my gaze around in a full circle and saw nothing that might cause them such a fit of laughing. Then I heard them speak.
Slim: “Say, that’s a pretty special dog you’ve got there. You reckon he’s a registered hunter and jumper?”
Loper: “You bet. He hunts down cottonwood seeds and jumps to catch ’em. Sure makes me proud of my dog food bill.”
Slim: “Why, yes. You know, Loper, them cotton farmers down around Lubbock might pay big money for a dog like Hank. If you staked him out for twenty-four hours, I’ll bet he might gather a whole bale of cotton.”
Loper: “He sure might. Maybe I ought to get a patent on him.”
Slim: “Boy, I would. Paint him green and put a John Deere sticker on him, and you might be able to rent him out by the