The Case of Twisted Kitty. John R. Erickson

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      “No, I said, I’m all ears.”

      “Right. That’s what I said you said.”

      “No, you said I maul ears, but I said I’m all ears.”

      “Exactly. And is it true?”

      “Well . . . I guess so . . . sure. I’m all ears.”

      “Ah! There it is again.” This was something new and puzzling. I began pacing, as I often do when my mind has been activated to a higher level of performance. “Tell this court exactly what you mean when you say, ‘I maul ears.’ What types of ears are we talking about?”

      “Well, let’s see.” He rolled his eyes around. “Just plain old ears. Dog ears.”

      “Aha! Dog ears. I’m beginning to see a pattern here.”

      “Yeah, ’cause ears hear. And we’re dogs.”

      “Exactly. The clues are beginning to pile up.” I stopped pacing and whirled around to face him. “Drover, has it occurred to you that mauling suggests brawling?”

      “No, but they rhyme.”

      “They rhyme, but never mind.”

      “That rhymes too. Almost.”

      “Please stop talking about rhymes and listen carefully to my analysis of your problem.”

      “Gosh, I didn’t know I had a problem.”

      “Of course you have problem, a very serious one.” I marched over to him and looked deeply into his eyes. “Don’t you get it? Mauling and brawling suggest an alarming shift toward aggressive behavior. Could it be that a little rebellious streak has suddenly burst out into the open?”

      “Well . . .”

      “Don’t argue with me. Just look at the clues and follow the evidence. Yesterday, you were a happy little mutt. Today, you’re talking about getting into fights and tearing the ears off your fellow dogs. What’s happened, Drover? What has brought on this plunge into fantasies of violence?”

      He stared at me for a moment, then grinned. “You know, I think you misunderstood what I said.”

      “Oh, so that’s it. Now you’re blaming me, huh? You’re in the Nile, Drover, and you’re in water over your head. For once in your life, face the truth.”

      “I said I was ALL EARS. That’s all I said, honest.”

      “Huh? You said . . .” I marched a few steps away and tried to absorb this latest piece of news. “Let me get this straight. You said you were all ears?”

      “Yep, that’s what I said. I was ready to hear your question.”

      “You said nothing about brawling or fighting or tearing the ears off your fellow dogs?”

      “Nope. You know me. I’m scared of fights.”

      “So . . . I might have . . . well, misunderstood your words?”

      “I guess so.”

      I took a big gulp of air and let it hiss slowly out of my lungs. “So . . . this whole conversation has been more or less . . . pointless?”

      “Looks that way to me.”

      I eased over to him and laid a paw on his shoulder. “Drover, I think it would be wise for us to keep this conversation . . . well, a secret between the two of us. Don’t you agree?”

      “Well . . .”

      “Good. I mean, we must do everything possible to protect the good name of the Security Division. If word ever leaked out that we were carrying on a loony conversation, it would do our cause no good. I’m sure you agree.”

      “Well . . .”

      “Thanks, soldier. There just might be a little promotion in this.”

      “Oh goodie! A promotion! When?”

      “Later. Now let’s get out of here.”

      And with that, we re-formed our column and resumed our march through ranch headquarters, holding our heads and tails at proud angles. Once again, we had overcome the forces of . . .

      I came to a sudden stop and turned to Drover. “Wait a second. You said you were ‘all ears’ and waiting to hear my question. What was the question?”

      “Well . . . I don’t remember, ’cause you didn’t ask it.”

      “Hmmm. Good point.” I furrowed my brow and probed the depths of my memory. Suddenly it came to me. “Ah, yes. We were marching along on frozen feet. I glanced back and saw that you were wearing a silly grin. The question is, Drover, when it’s so cold and miserable out here, why were you grinning?”

      The silly grin returned. “Oh yeah. See, you said I had to choose between having cold feet and a cold tail, but I gave myself a third choice.”

      “This isn’t making sense. Hurry up.”

      “I gave myself the choice of having warm feet, and that’s the one I chose. Now I feel warm and happy. Are you proud of me?”

      I gazed into the abyss of his eyes and found myself wondering . . . never mind. There’s no future in wondering about Drover. He’s . . . odd. Oh well. If he wanted to believe he had warm feet, if that brought a ray of happiness into his boring little life, that was fine with me.

      We resumed our march through ranch headquarters. My feet had turned into blocks of ice but I didn’t dare mention it or complain. Drover had ruined that option with his . . . never mind.

      That’s a weird little mutt.

      We haven’t come to the good part yet, my new technique for escorting vehicles out of ranch head­quarters, but it’s coming right up. Just be patient.

      Chapter Two: The Winter Ski Patrol

      Where were we? Oh yes, we were marching through headquarters on frozen feet, except Drover’s feet weren’t frozen. They were warm because he had chosen to believe they were warm, and that’s pretty strange.

      As we reached the southwest corner of the machine shed, I cast a glance down toward the house and noticed a very interesting detail. Sally May’s car was parked beside the yard gate and the motor was running. It appeared that the car was being warmed up, almost as though someone СКАЧАТЬ