The Case of the Prowling Bear. John R. Erickson

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      You probably thought I was going to say, “The next thing I knew, it was daylight.” Not quite. The next thing I knew, it was about four o’clock in the morning. The stove had burned down to embers, and the house had gotten cold.

      This problem can be corrected if a certain member of the household will get out of his warm bed, collect an arm-load of wood from the wood pile on the porch, and chunk up the stove. Dogs don’t do wood, and sometimes Slim doesn’t either. He lets the fire die down and covers up his head with a wool blanket, and the house gets cold.

      In other words, this was not a Dog Problem. It was a Human Problem, but we dogs were left to cope with the aftermaths of the consequences. We shivered on a cold floor, and tried to sleep.

      Drover was making his usual orchestra of weird sounds: chirps, hicks, snorts, grunts, and whistles. Who can sleep through such noise? Well, I tried. That’s where we were—me trying to sleep and Drover making more noise than a room full of monkeys.

      But then he did something unusual. He sat up and said, “Hank, I’m thirsty.”

      I had put my calls on hold, but somehow this one got through, and I replied, “Rubbish. If you were thirty, the sandwiches would be growing sideways.”

      The voice came again. “No, I said I’m thirsty.”

      “That’s impossible. We haven’t had Wednesday yet and Thursday doesn’t grow on trees.”

      “Hank, wake up. You’re babbling.”

      I lifted my head and saw…something, maybe a dog. Yes, it was a dog. “If Babylon is such a great place, why don’t you move there and leave me alone?” I blinked my eyes. “Where are we?”

      “We’re in Slim’s living room. I’m Drover, remember me?”

      I narrowed my eyes and studied him. “We’ve met before?”

      “About ten thousand times.”

      “No wonder I’m so tired.” I struggled to my feet and took a few steps. “Something’s wrong with my legs. I’m walking crooked.”

      “You’re still asleep.”

      “I am not asleep. I’ve been awake for hours.” I stopped and turned to face him.

      “Don’t we play on the same popcorn team?”

      “Yep, that’s me. Are you awake now?”

      “Of course I’m awake. What is the point of this conversation?”

      “I’m thirsty.”

      At last the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. In the middle of the night, I was talking to Drover, and he was thirsty.

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