The Case of the Tender Cheeping Chickies. John R. Erickson

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      At this point, you’re probably wondering if I’ve forgotten about the Long-Snouted Road Monster. Not at all. It was a hectic morning, see, and we had a lot of business to take care of. I mean, we’re very busy dogs.

      And I should probably point out that a lot of your ordinary ranch mutts wouldn’t have bothered to do Frogs and Ponds. They would have considered it a waste of their time. Not me, fellers. When it comes to the business of Ranch Security, I figure that no job is too small to be insignificant.

      No job is too big to be small.

      No job is too small to be . . . phooey.

      Where were we? Oh yes. We had just spent the early-morning hours putting down the Frog Rebellion. We had smashed a plot by the United Frog Front to steal Emerald Pond and haul it away to the island of Cowabonga, where they planned to . . . do something with our precious pond.

      But we got that stopped just in the nip of the tuck, and as you might expect, the hours and hours of combat had left us exhausted. Yes, we were exhausted but proud, very proud of our team’s performance in the heat of battle. Con-gratulating ourselves on a job well done, we marched away from the smoke and ruins of the battlefield and made our way back to our office on the twelfth floor of the Security Division’s Vast Office Complex.

      There, we rolled into our gunnysack beds and prepared to indulge ourselves in a few hours of much-needed sleep—sleep that would heal our wounds and prepare us for another dangerous night on Life’s front lines. Little did we know or suspect that our period of R&R (Rest and Revitaminization) would be court shot . . . cut short, let us say, or that we would soon be jolted out of our beds by the approach of . . .

      Are you sure you’re ready for the scary part? I mean, once it starts, there won’t be any getting out. No kidding.

      Use your own judgment.