The Case of the Three-Toed Tree Sloth. John R. Erickson

      It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. When I got the first intelligence reports about a Three-Toed Tree Sloth, I couldn’t believe it. They’re rare, exotic creatures that live in the jungles of South America, and no one had ever seen one in the Texas Panhandle. They eat trees and sometimes dogs too.

      I was floored, shocked, and you will be too. I must warn you that this case is liable to get pretty scary before it gets any scarier. Does anyone feel brave enough to tag along? Use your own judgment.

      Okay, let’s get started. We’ll take nothing but weapons and ammo for this mission.

      You might recall that I run this ranch from my office on the twelfth floor of the Security Division’s Vast Office Complex. Looking out the huge windows, I can see ocean liners and tug boats in the harbor, and lines of traffic inching along on Broadway.

      Great view. Most dogs don’t get an office with such a view, but don’t forget that I’m Head of Ranch Security. When a guy rises to a lofty position, he needs a lofty view of the world, right?

      Well, I’ve got it. Sometimes I wonder if I really deserve it, but most of the time, heh heh, I’m pretty sure that I do.

      The first report about the Tree Sloth came in around noon, as I recall. Yes, it was noon and I had already put in an eight-hour day, going over the crime reports that were stacked up on my desk.

      It had been a quiet morning and I’d gotten a lot of work done, but then a stranger burst into my office and started yelling nonsense. “Hank, you’d better wake up!”

      “Murgle honking the pork chop salad bowl.”

      “Pete just saw some kind of strange animal.”

      “Honk snerk…it was Beulah, and don’t call her strange.”

      “It wasn’t Beulah and you’d better wake up.”

      I opened my eyes and saw a smallish mutt with a stub tail. “Halt, stop in the name of the law! Who are you?”

      “Well, I’m Drover, your best friend. Remember me?”

      I narrowed my eyes and took a closer look. “Are you wearing a disguise? You look different now.”

      “Yeah, ‘cause you were asleep.”

      “I was not asleep.” I jacked myself up to a standing position and took a few faltering steps. “Drover, I must ask you a very important question. Where am I?”

      “In our bedroom, under the gas tanks.”

      I glanced around at my surroundings. “Okay, this is starting to fit together. When you came in, did you see any pork chops?”

      He giggled. “No, I think you were dreaming.”

      “Please don’t giggle. I told you, I wasn’t…” I took a deep breath of air. “All right, maybe I had dozed off. The work never ends around here, you know. What is the point of this intrusion?”

      “Well, let me think.” He rolled his eyes around. “Oh yeah. Pete saw some kind of strange creature.”

      “Strange creature? Why wasn’t I informed? How can I run this ranch if nobody tells me about all the strange creatures running around?”

      He let out a groan. “I tried but you were asleep. That’s all you ever do.”

      I strolled over to him and looked deeply into his eyes. “Soldier, I’m going to forget you said that. I know it’s been a hard year, but you mustn’t spread mustard about your commanding officer.”

      “You mean gossip?”

      “Yes, exactly. That’s what I said.”

      “No, you said mustard.”

      “That’s absurd. Why would I have been talking about mustard?”

      “I don’t know, maybe you were dreaming about hamburgers.”

      “No, they were pork chops. There’s been a mistake.” I glanced around the office. “But let me remind you that we’re in this thing together. A chain is only as strong as its winkest lick.” He winked one eye and licked his chops. “Why did you do that?”

      “Well, you said something about winks and licks, and all at once...”

      “I said, ‘weakest link.’ We are a chain, Drover, and we’re only as strong as our weakest link. Please try to remember that.”

      “Okay, I’ve got it.”

      “Good. Now, let’s go see what kind of lies the cat is spreading around.”

      We turned out the lights and rode the elevator down to the ground floor, then went streaking away from the gas tanks and roared up to the gravel drive behind the ranch house. There, I went to Total Lockdown on all four paws and slid to a sliding slop...stop, that is. I slid to a sliding slop beside the yard gate.

      On the other side of the fence sat the cat. Mister Never Sweat. Pete.

      Have we discussed my Position on Cats? I don’t like ‘em, never have. As a group, they’re arrogant, lazy, and prone to sneaky behavior, and Pete is worse than most. I rarely do business with