The Case of the One-Eyed Killer Stud Horse. John R. Erickson
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Название: The Case of the One-Eyed Killer Stud Horse
Автор: John R. Erickson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Hank the Cowdog
isbn: 9781591887089
isbn:
This is a fairly rare medical condition known as “Sneezaroma.” Those who get it never forget it, because you can’t stop sneezing.
Drover still had that silly grin on his face. “Bless you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You got hay fever?”
“No, I don’t have ACHOOOO! Hay fever.”
“Bless you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Sure sounds like hay fever to me.”
“Sounds can be deceiving, son. Just because I sneeze, that doesn’t mean I have ACHOOOO!”
“Bless you. I have hay fever too, so I know how it feels.”
“I just told you, Numbskull, I don’t have hay fever. Sally May hit me on the nose with a spoon and it gave me Sneezaroma. Let’s ACHOO drop it.”
“Bless you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe you’re allergic to spoons. ACHOO! Gosh, maybe I’m allergic to your sneezes.”
“Bless you.”
“Thanks, Hank.”
“You’re welcome. No, I don’t think so, Drover. More than likely it’s just ACHOO!”
“Bless you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. ACHOO!”
“Bless you.”
“Thanks, Hank.”
“You’re ACHOO!”
“Bless ACHOO!”
“Thank you, and bless you ACHOO!”
“ACHOOO!”
“ACHOOO!”
We were getting nowhere fast. Carrying on an intelligent conversation with Drover is hard enough under the best of conditions, but when we’re both sneezing, it’s very near impossible.
I was all set to head back down to the gas tanks and put my poor nose to bed, when all at once I saw something that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Prancing down the hill from the machine shed was one of my least favorite characters on the ranch—my arch-enemy, to be exact.
Pete the Barncat.
He had his stupid tail stuck straight up in the air and he was purring like a little motorboat. No doubt he was coming to hog all the breakfast scraps, but it was my job to see that he failed in his mission of greed.
“Hold up, Drover. Unless I’m badly mistaken, we’re fixing to get ourselves into some combat. We’ve got a cat coming in at two o’clock.”
“Well, better late than tardy.”
“Exactly. Battle stations, Drover, and prepare for some heavy duty barking!”
“AAAA-CHOOOO!”
“That’s not barking.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thanks, Hank.”
And with that, we turned our menacing glares on Pete the Barncat.
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