The Case of the Raging Rottweiler. John R. Erickson
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Название: The Case of the Raging Rottweiler
Автор: John R. Erickson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Hank the Cowdog
isbn: 9781591887362
isbn:
“Shut up, moron. You messed up my fun, and now I’m fixing to . . .”
“Bruiser! Bruiser! Down, boy.”
Whew! The men arrived just in time. Joe clipped a chain around Bruiser’s neck and pulled him off before he was able to get me skinned and gutted.
Joe was panting for breath. “Sorry about that, Slim. I never thought about him chasing deer. Boy, he’s stout, ain’t he?”
“Uh-huh, and I’m thinking he just had one of his King Kong moments.” Slim came over to me, knelt down, and took my head in his hands. “How you doing, pardner?”
Still in one piece—barely.
“Nice work, pooch. You probably saved my fawn, so I guess that makes you a hero—as incredible as that may seem.”
No kidding? Me, a hero? Gee, from where I was watching, it hadn’t seemed all that great. I mean, let’s face it: the dog had been one step away from trashing me. But if Slim insisted that I was a hero . . . well, maybe I was.
I held my head at a proud angle and listened to the cheers of the crowd. A marching band was playing—drums and fifes and blaring trumpets. Lady dogs from all over Texas pushed their way to the front and tossed flowers in my direction.
And there, in front of the whole multitude, Sally May fought her way through the crowd, and when her gaze fell upon my battered body, a cry of anguish leapt from her anguished throat, and in an anguished voice, she cried, “Oh, Hank, my beloved Hank, what hath they done to you?” And then she ungulfed me in the embrace of her loving arms and—you won’t believe this part—she kissed me on the cheek.
Pretty swell, huh?
With the cheers of the crowd still ringing in my ears, I gave myself a good shake and saw . . . Drover.
“Oh my gosh, Hank, what happened?”
“I gave the bully a sound thrashing. What did you expect?”
His eyes grew as wide as plates. “No fooling? Gosh, I never thought . . .”
“I only wish the men had given me another minute. One more minute and I would have whipped the stuffings out of the big lug.”
The men had started back toward the pickups, leading the beaten, humiliated rottenweiler. Drover and I fell in behind them.
“You mean, you really whipped him? You’re not just making it up?”
“How many times should I say it, Drover? Yes, yes, and yes. I’m shocked that you show so little confidence in my combat techniques.”
“Yeah, but he’s so big . . .”
I gave a careless chuckle. “Son, never forget that it isn’t the size of the dog in the fight that matters. It’s the size of the fog in the dog. He’s big, Drover, but also slow and dumb, very dumb. Oh, and we happen to know that he’s scared of cats.”
The pitiful, beaten, humiliated Bruiser heard this. His head shot up and he glared back at me. “What did you just say?”
Drover let out a gasp. “Hank, shhh, he’s listening.”
“Relax, son, I’ll handle this.” I raised my voice so that the little wimp of a rottweiler could hear. “I said you’re slow and dumb. I said you’re nothing but a scaredy cat who’s scared of cats. I said you walk like a fat duck. What do you think of that?”
He lunged against the chain and exposed a mouthful of . . . my goodness, for a spineless little weenie, he had some huge teeth. “Why, I oughta break your neck!”
I gave him a pleasant smile. “Yes, but you had your chance and you didn’t get it done. Do you know why? Because . . .”
Drover was about to have a stroke. “Hank, shhhhh!”
“Because you fight like a fat duck. Oh, you’re pretty tough when it comes to beating up baby deer, but put you in the ring with the Head of Ranch Security and you stink.”
He lunged at me again, and this time I could feel his hot breath on my face. I ignored him and went right on. “In fact, you stink twice—once for fighting like a fat duck and once for your breath, which smells like garbage.”
Drover was moaning and rolling his eyes. “Hank, don’t do this!”
Bruiser’s eyes were flaming now. “Listen, stupid, if I ever get off this chain, I’m gonna finish what I started.”
“Oh yeah? Well, bring a sack lunch, fatso, ’cause it’s liable to take you a couple of days. See you around, and don’t ever set foot on my ranch again.”
Joe and Mister Big Talker got into the cab of the pickup and drove off. As they pulled away from the house, Bruiser was glaring at me with eyes filled with meanness and hatred.
I turned to Drover. “Well, one riot, one cowdog. Too bad you were hiding under the pickup. You missed all the fun.”
He was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “I don’t think you should have said all those things.”
“Why? Hey, it served him right, and besides, we’ll never see him again.”
Those turned out to be famous last words.
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