//------------------------------// // Arc 1: Chapter 6: Jail break with a nice helping of trouble. // Story: Hank the Cowdog: The Case of the Displaced Dog // by KarmaSentinal //------------------------------// My embarrassment was completely ensured.  Either through some cruel joke, or karmic process repaying me for all the years I had to nip at some heels, but whatever the reason, I knew things had just soured. It wasn’t enough that I was paraded through that town of eye sore ponies like livestock, or having to stand there during an onslaught of hard hooves striking my head and back. Those were tolerable to an extent, but the biggest blow to my pride would have to be tied to a tree.  Yep, that’s right folks. Good ol’ Hank was tied to a tree and left to fend for himself! The crazy part was these big eyed ponies had even managed to grow cherries wrong, by forcing them to grow from trees! Cherries growing from trees! It’s like planting a bone to grow a whole skeleton… Could you do that? “I’ll have to try that sometime.” I thought with a huff as I sunk into the grass, watching two of the weird ponies striking the trunk of the tree with their rear hooves. The process was very odd, and reminded me of a ritual wild dogs or coyotes might even do out of boredom, but it didn’t stop me from watching them. It was when the one closest to me (five trees away) moved to another side and gave the tree trunk a good strike as dozens of cherries fell into the waiting baskets below.  I nearly stood up so I could drop my jaw at what I just witnessed.  It shouldn’t be possible to harvest anything without the use of machinery, or hands but somehow these dang ponies just kick trees and it happens. Cherries growing from trees: Brahman herds in Texas: weird ponies acting like people while wearing hats. Too much craziness for a cowdog, let alone a regular dog to deal with all at once, and it wasn’t going to get normal anytime sooner. Now even more weary of being kicked out of fear of losing my head, I continued laying under the tree watching them kick these strange cherry growing trees.  To my captor’s credit, she did change the rope I nearly bit through once we arrived after confirming it wouldn’t hold. This set me back greatly, but not enough to admit defeat. In fact, this was part of my super secret plan to lower their guard before making my real escape. Pretty sneaking uh? You bet it is, and regrettable I have to use dastardly underpaw tactics, but it’ll be a small sacrifice to escape this bizzaro ranch.   I considered testing my jaws against the new rope once again, but decided against it. Fool me once shame you, fool me twice how could you? So, I watched these ponies perform their weird jobs for a solid 15 minutes (felt like hours) when the scuffing of dirt and rock alerted me to a four leg visitor coming my way.  They stopped just out of my vision, forcing me to lift my head to get a better look at them… ‘A Brahman?’ I thought, tilting my head to take in the young calf before me. The calf was a bit smaller than the average pony I’ve seen, but true to her heritage had the muscle already forming along her back and shoulders, presenting herself as a strong member of the herd. I knew the calf was female because of her lighter tanned coat and how she carried herself with a softness that wasn’t fit for ranch life. The two of us watched the other unsure what or should we do. She adjusted her head band that had two vulture feathers fastened to it, and once satisfied with the adjustment placed a hoof to her mouth giving the signal to be quiet. You didn’t have to read a mystery book to know what she had planned, and the excitement got my tail wagging in anticipation. She stopped her approach watching the tail for a moment and almost giggled at the expression of adamant joy.  Somehow the working ponies never noticed the brahman calf as they continued working, which is both commendable, and foolish to close yourself to the world around you. Which is why I’m going to have to show these ponies what kind of mistake that is. Keep them on their toes...or hooves in this case.  “Do not worry doggie. Little Strongheart will save you.” the calf whispered while she messed with the rope around the base of the tree. Why she didn’t untie the bit around my neck I could only guess, but maybe she had been warned of cowdogs and our nipping ways?  Anyway, I watched her work the knot with impressive speed, and before I knew it was being led away from the orchard by the same path the calf had come from. Our pace was quick, but not enough to draw curious eyes wondering why we were running, and eventually the trees around me thinned enough for me to see a large house and barn next to a fence. The brahman calf paused and then led me into the trees to our right to use them as cover, weaving between and stopping behind one before resuming our unknown destination.  The moment we reached the end of the tree line we stopped, looked around and dashed across the expense until we reached the fence where in a single leap she jumped over it leaving me behind. Thankfully she’d let go of the rope giving me the slack needed to crawl under the fence. I was under that fence in 10 seconds flat, and without any hiccups I might, and even considered using this opportunity to possibly make an escape when brahman calf stopped and looked right at me with those adorable eyes. I tried to look away, but she was too precious, and I have a soft spot for the little ones. “Strongheart regretful of her actions, but need your help.” She turned around and using her hoof unnaturally reached to her fur and dug into her before revealing a worn black bandana. “Belongs to rustlers.”  Now that got my attention real quick. Rustling is a serious crime, and if that crazed racoon squirrel was telling the truth, then their crime spree was affecting the town already, and needed to be stopped. Luckily for the calf, I’m something of a bloodhound myself. No, not related of course. Just in the sense I can sniff out a groundhog buried up to my legs in snow! Not that it snows in Texas of course. That’ll be weird.  “Rustlers you say?” I asked while feeling my tail wagging at the idea of gathering a posse together to bring these dastardly lawbreakers to justice. She nodded, and offered me the cloth.  There were only two scents I could remove from the cloth, and one belonged to the hoof holding it, leaving only one scent that must belong to the rustler! If this is all bloodhounds did, then I could become a private investigator once I retire as Head of Ranch Security, but that was a long way away to be planning something like that. So, I took a few good whiffs of the strange scent until I was sure I could recognize it, noting the strong smell of cedar, and smoke before letting the young calf I had it with a bark.  “Good doggie. Find bad ponies!” she commanded, as she began guiding me back toward town. Let me clear something up real quick ok? I don’t like being treated like a common mutt having to be leashed everywhere he goes, and the only reason I was willing allowing this brahman calf to guide me was for two reasons: Brahman are regarded like LongHorn, and are given a wider range (get it?) of privileges that exclude them from the more common Hereford herds.  I make it a point not to be rude to any youngins which would include horses and coyotes. This calf risked her own life to save mine to save her ranch from rustlers, and for me to ignore that would bring shame on my ma, and my unborn descendants.  So, I followed her closely as we cautiously moved along the outskirts of town. Our only breaks were to allow myself a chance to sniff the ground, and air for the possibility the owner of that bandana was round, but each pause only confirmed many ponies lived in this town and nothing else. Strange given the bandana smelt like smoke and cedar which meant campfires and cookouts, but all I could smell around here was hay and dirt. “And apples.”  She must have felt my frustration too, for she tried petting me on the back with those hooves.     “We find them. It only matter of time. Prove town ponies we not rustlers first.”  The admittance surprised me, and I wondered if there were  more to this than rustlers running wild and stopping trains? This ranch continued to be amazing if the herds could create all of this, and left me wondering if the same could be done back home on my ranch. The thought both fascinated and worried me that Drover might be right about certain things.  I stopped to look up at the sun and huffed noting it hadn’t moved an inch since I woke up, and now had to consider the possibility of another cowdog able to herd the sun in place. A scary thought for sure, but one that will be explored later after this whole affair is solved and I get back to the ranch. Now something happened around this time, and I want to point out it wasn’t my fault. Just a string of misunderstandings, and negligence on certain four hooved creatures for getting in the way of an official investigation that could very well expose a trail of some no good wrong doers.  My nose was to the ground sorting the mess of scents when a deep voice yelled out, causing my companion and myself to whip around in fright...alertness.    “HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” A brown furred pony wearing a battered white shirt and a worn black Stenson approached us with a walk that suggested he wasn’t in the mood for talking.  Little Strongheart dropped slightly for a possible confrontation, and judging by the look in his eyes I assumed that’s exactly what he had counted on happening. Startled by the sudden call out, she had dropped the rope, creating the perfect chance for me to escape this crazy town for the safer pastures of my ranch...  “But I’m not that kind of cowdog.”  He was so focused on the young calf that he didn’t see me coming from the side, giving me the perfect opportunity to do what a herding dog does best- nip at the hooves!  “Wha.. stop that you dumb mutt!” He yelled as he swiveled in place trying to move his hooves out of reach of my grade A chompers. But I knew better and expected it.  I feigned another attack, forcing him to jump back just as I corrected myself and went for his rear legs. This forced the pony to quickly shift his weight onto his front hooves, so he could momentarily raise his rear legs, but Little Strongheart acted and charged the enraged pony. Her timing couldn’t have been better! She rammed into his exposed side with a loud THUMP,  causing him to lose balance and fall. But he was quick, and once he hit the ground, the pony was already rolling onto his back, using the momentum to correctively roll him onto his four hooves.  “RUN!” my escort demanded, and I wisely followed.  We were gone faster than a fox with a chicken, and the dust trailing behind us would vouch for us. There were times where I had to summon this sort of physical exertion back on the ranch- coyotes, Sally May, wild broncos, dog catchers. They’re all the same, but this one was a little different given the horses we’re running from could not only chase us, but could hurl insults worse than High Loper after stubbing his toe, making this use of physical exertion more perilous. Instead of running for the open pasture she went straight into the town.  Now, logic wise she made a tactical decision in the heat of the moment meant to lose the terrifying cowpony..freak… by trying to lose him in the between the buildings or crowd of ponies. The problem neither of us took into account was we’re not ponies, and that made blending in with them an issue that only encouraged their instincts to herd against the non-ponies. Us.    “Do ponies eat meat?” I asked my companion as the mob of ponies got increasingly louder as more ponies appeared to see what was going on.   “Keep running! Don’t look back!”  I didn’t need to be told twice.  We ran down what I presumed was the main street, and took a left turn by a building that looked like a general store, and then took the first right  that came up. This brought us right behind most of the buildings along the main street, but also gave us some much needed cover from curious eyes for a moment before the angered whinnies overtook our ears. The earth practically shook as the angry herd of ponies continued their hunt for us, and looking up at my partner I knew it was only a matter before the herd caught up to us at this rate.  Now, I wouldn’t say I’m a heroic dog like the famous Lassie, Balto or Scooby Doo, but I’m not a scaredy cat either. I was raised to do ‘whatcha gotta do’ even if it meant getting trampled by a herd of angry little ponies, so Little Strongheart (adorable name by the way) could escape.  In an instant, I’d put the brakes on and spun around to face the herd of ponies that had followed us down this back alley. Even as the calf cried out to me, I took a breath of that weird pasture air, wished Madame Moonshine and that snake Timothy some unkind things, said a prayer for my mama, and put everything I could into my paws before bolting straight for them.  It wasn’t my smartest moment looking back, but I knew if nothing was done then the both of us would be caught, and my young rescuer might get into some serious trouble.  My plan was a simple plan, because these were simple ponies and I didn’t want to complicate the situation anymore than I had to with an over the top scheme that might only hurt their abnormally large heads. That would be rude. So simplicity was the best policy. I rushed them while barking up a mighty storm to make them think twice!     Their angry shouts and whines went silent in an instant as their eyes widened with the realization a bonafide purebred cowdog was rushing them, and this time I was going to do what a good cowdog was supposed to do- herd. What I observed was promising, and I relished the fact that even with their weird customs, and potentially deformed heads with the big eyes they still acted like scared animals whose first instinct was to bunch up at the first sign of a threat like a registered cowdog. Another round of barking furthered cemented their need to close ranks, giving me enough time to begin the herding process with a simple display of my legendary heritage by running just out of their range of possible attack while reducing my barking to make it more impactful.  For the most part, my gamble paid off, and the ponies remained in their tight herd, with only silent whispering among them, and I felt really proud of myself for a full minute before my authority was challenged with a loud and terrible name… “HEY, YOU MUT!” I recognized that voice from earlier and risked a glance to my left toward the entrance we used, stood that familiar Stenson wearing pony with the battered shirt.  I hadn’t expected him to reappear so quickly let alone seem unfazed by my herding technique passed down from my pa to me, and his pa before that and his pa before that, and his mother after that… Hold up one moment, this isn’t the time to be discussing my family tree, when we’re about to have a showdown. It even felt like one with us standing in a desolate desert street in the middle of town, and I’ll let you in on a secret. I was a little excited by the idea of an old school, yeehaw n western showdown. The only part that didn’t excite me was the very angry looking pony staring me down as he slowly approached, and this display of careful defiance was inspiring the other ponies to begin moving again. I gave another round of barking, and some retreated, but a greater number began pressing the advantage by following the strange cowpony.  “You have some nerve running through the streets terrorizing these poor folks.” The cowpony took another four steps, and stopped.  “This is bad.” I thought as the herd began shouting their grievances from behind their de facto leader.   The writing was in the kibble, and these ponies knew it, meaning I needed a new plan of attack to regain the momentum fast. The alley we stood in wasn’t very big, and was even smaller now that half the pasture had herded itself into the narrow opening, but to retreat would risk getting that sweet brahman calf in big trouble, and I wasn’t about to do that. My eyes were putting in the overtime as they quickly scanned the alley and herd of ponies for anything I might use to get out of this situation when a dangerous plan sprung into my thoughts. It could work, but the risks were risky at best, and really risky at worst meaning I would only have one shot to pull this stunt off to escape.  Not wanting my new friend, the Little Strongheart, to get caught after sticking her neck out for me left only one possible choice to pursue. Taking a big gulp of that pasture air while counting backward to six, I did one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done in my career, and that’s not counting running off to join the coyotes either- I charged them again! Yes, that’s right. You’re old boy Hank charged a whole herd of talking ponies, barking and all like a young pup with a tick on his shoulder.  Their reaction was about what I expected: talking ponies being charged by a full blooded cowdog lost their courage and began retreating behind the big bad pony. He hid his own nervousness very well, and even crouched to meet me head on, but little did he know that’s exactly what I wanted him to do. The barking was nothing more than a tool in my wide and dangerous arsenal primarily meant to intimidate any and all creatures without the need for a confrontation, but there are the rare instances where it could be used for more than a warning.  This was one example of its uses in the jaws of a trained dog like myself.  While he held his ground, I rushed him with a full on barking regiment to distract him long enough for me to implement my master plan of escape. We were about to meet in the middle when I decided to spring my trap, and in a feat of acrobatics altered my course just enough to miss his forward lunge, and propel myself straight toward the frightened herd! I take no joy from installing reckless fear like a common mutt, but this was all part of the plan I told myself as I ran between them, barking and delivering feigning attacks aimed at their heels.  Their panicking set off a chain reaction (there’s no actual chains involved), which spurred the rest of the ponies not startled by my terrific acting to begin running away, and out the alley. This chaotic display of orderly retreat turned into disarray, as it meant I was now chasing half the herd out into the streets with the other half regrouping to give chase.  “A cowdog’s life till the end…” I chanted trying to keep my morale up in this mess.  Experience told me this was a disaster in the making, and I shouldn’t even be in this mess to begin with. Yet, I never felt more alive as I exerted myself in a wild way! Perhaps this is why I left the ranch and ran with the coyotes a couple of years back, and now found myself living dangerously once more in a foreign pasture with little regard for my own safety- it was freedom.  Not the love of the pasture, or the roll in the mud freedom either, but the kind that a young pup would discover as they became a grown, responsible dog. My upbringing and pedigree allowed me to skip this turbulent phase of my life, and while grateful for avoiding that distracting phase of a dog’s life, I often wonder if with this was life’s way of trying to correct this unnecessary phase of my puppyhood and… “Ouch!” “I got him!” During my self reflection one of the ponies decided throwing rocks would be a good idea, and let me be the first to dismiss its validation as a ‘good idea’. It was a rotten and painful idea that shouldn’t ever be repeated in the foreseeable future! This dirty tactic forced me to deploy evasive maneuvers to avoid any unlawfully thrown objects by swerving left and right before switching it up to moving slightly to the left. This impressive coordination on my part prevented any further rocks(small boulders in my opinion) to fly harmlessly past, and eventually they gave up, but not after becoming too winded from all the running. I could feel my lungs burning hotter than my love for my ranch or a good chicken bone, and I knew it was only a matter of time before my old bones gave in, and I was left at the mercy of the terrifyingly colorful ponies.  As I wondered how I would escape this deadly herd of ponies, I felt something tightening around my neck, and went wide eyed as I recognized the coarse fibers of a rope. I devoted my entire life to serving the law only to find a rope around my neck like a common criminal… A quick yank, and the rope came up under my jaw before pulling me back toward the herd of ponies. The sudden reversal meant I kept running forward as my head went backward, and before I could count to three I ran up into the air like I was walking on the sky, and hit the ground hard.  “Ya gon and caused enough trouble little doggie.” came a voice I partially recalled, but couldn’t place from where.  Soon enough, another pony wearing a poor imitation of a Stetson Hat loomed over me with the end of the rope firmly set in his jaws. His yellow fur speckled with dust and matted with sweat either from the heat or hard work, but his green eyes were what stood out the most as they tore into me like mother had done on occasion- I was in trouble. I remained on my back looking up at the angry cowpony when the rest of the herd finally caught up to voice their frustrations over the whole ordeal, the pony in the black hat leading the charge.  “That dog is dangerous mister, a real menace!” “Scared more likely. Found him wandering the desert by himself a couple of days ago.”  My captor replied as he turned to size up the angry stallion.  “The hay he is! That mutt and his friend attack me before running off to terrorize the town.” There were many chants of ‘Yea’ that followed, but the yellow pony remained firmly planted between me and the herd.   “Braeburn! Listen to the stallion!” a pony shouted, causing the others to nod in agreement.  By now, I had carefully(slowly) rolled over onto my back to avoid their ire when a great commotion coming from the back of the herd cut the conversation short. An angry mare I recognized forced her way through to the front of the herd, and took a position next to the black stetson wearing pony, glaring at me.  “Cherry.” “Miss.”  “Don’t you two go sweet talking me. Do you have any idea of the stress I’m dealing with because of this dog? Not even a day, and he escapes, sending the town in a panic.” She shifted her gaze to the one I now know as Braeburn. “I agreed to watch over him as a favor sweetie, but not anymore.” “But Cherry…” “No Braeburn. I can’t take the risk he escapes again and Celestia forbid he bites a pony!?” She turned to me once more and I retreated as far as the rope would allow me, which was enough to put the yellow pony between us.  This was a battle I did not want to be a part of. The Black Stetson pony moved forward, and added his own to the conversation. I tuned out the rest of their discussion as I had a good idea where this might be headed, and against my instincts to fight, I decided enough had been done already. I took a page from an old mentor of mine, a Blue Heeler with a red face once told me: “Never chase the world or its instruments, else you find yourself the one chased.“ I always accredited my success to my own breeding and natural prowess when it came to my abilities, and defense of my ranch. Never have I taken the time to ponder the implications of my choices upon the ranch’s inhabitants, and the surrounding pasture. Even now, I was so caught up in my need to return I never considered how I would approach it in the least disruptive way to these strange ponies.  A lot has happened and it's enough to make an old dog think up something badly. I might have remained laying there wondering some more if the rope around my neck didn’t yank me onto my own four paws, and a quick look around revealed the yellow cowpony was dragging me away from the still angry herd.  I didn’t even fight the leash this time as I knew he was the only reason I was spared a more severe punishment, but my mentor’s old words had suddenly sprang up without warning leaving me lost for the second time in my life. “Remember Hank, life may offer you kibble, and it might not be the kibble you want. Sure, you can offer it to another, but then you go hungry. You have to make the best of what you got.”