The Case of the Fiddle-Playing Fox. John R. Erickson
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Название: The Case of the Fiddle-Playing Fox
Автор: John R. Erickson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Hank the Cowdog
isbn: 9781591887126
isbn:
Pete suspected nothing. That wasn’t exactly the biggest surprise of the year since cats aren’t what you’d call cowboy animals. They don’t understand the business at all and have no idea of what goes on inside a cowboy’s head.
We cowdogs, on the other hand, have a pretty good reading of a cowboy’s mind, and one of the first principles we learn is that a loaded rope tends to go off.
But do you think Pete picked up on that? No sir. He went right on rubbing and purring and winding his tail around the boy’s legs, I mean, it looked like a bullsnake climbing a tree.
Little Alfred stumbled over the cat, which is what usually happens. He stopped and looked down. A gleam came into his eyes and a smile spread across his mouth.
Up went the rope. Three twirls later, a nice little loop sailed out and dropped over Pete’s head, just as pretty as you please.
I barked, wagged my tail, and jumped up and down. I mean, I could hardly contain my pride and enthusiasm. Did I say the boy couldn’t rope? Couldn’t hit a bull in the behind with a bass fiddle? Fellers, he had just one-looped a cat, and I couldn’t have been prouder if I’d done it myself!
Well, you know Pete, sour-puss and can’t-take-a-joke. He pinned his ears down, growled, hissed, and made a dash for the iris patch. Ho ho! Did he come to a sudden stop? Yes he did. Hit the end of that twine, came to a sudden stop, and did a darling little back flip.
Little Alfred beamed a smile at me. “I woped a cat!”
I barked and wagged and gave him my most sincere congratulations on a job well done.
He reeled the cat in. By this time, old Pete had quit fighting the rope and had sulled up. His ears were still pinned down and he was making that police-siren growl that cats make when they ain’t real happy about the state of the world.
Alfred picked him up, opened the gate, and joined me on the other side, guess he wanted to show me his trophy. I gave him a big juicy lick on the face and was about to . . .
HUH?
The little snipe! Now, why did he go and pitch the cat on me? Hey, I’d been on his side all along. I’d been out there cheering him on and trying to coach . . .
All at once, Pete wasn’t sullen anymore. He’d turned into a buzz saw, and before I even knew what was happening, he’d stung me in fifteen different places, and we’re talking about very important places such as my eyebrows, cheeks, gums, lips, ears, and the soft part of my nose.
Did it hurt? You bet it hurt, and never mind who’d started this riot, I was fixing to introduce Pete to an old cowdog technique called “Disaster.” I barked and I snarled and I growled and I snapped . . .
“HANK, YOU BULLY, GET AWAY FROM MY CAT!!”
Huh?
Get away from . . . no doubt that voice belonged to Sally May and . . . perhaps she thought . . .
I cancelled my plans for hamburgerizing the cat, and prepared to thump my tail on the ground and give her an innocent smile.
At the time, I didn’t know that she was already upset about the missing eggs. But I soon found out.
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