Hank the Cowdog: The Case of the Displaced Dog

by KarmaSentinal

Arc 1: Chapter 7: On the trail again, and I don't where we're going.

Life as a funny way of grounding a dog when he gets too hot headed and tries floating away.

All my life I’ve done the best I can… seen things many creatures would run away from, and I would continue to do so until my retirement into the ranch house. I’ve had my share of ups and downs in my distinguished career as Head of Ranch Security no matter what the other ranch animals would lead you to believe- no being is perfect, but I’m the closest for sure.

Life as a way to remind a full bred cowdog such as myself that we all share the same pasture in the grand plan called ranching.

“Come on, Git you mutt!”

My reminder was another pony dragging me by a rope leash through a town full of ponies.

“I hate horses.” I mumbled, the stallion didn’t like that and yanked the rope.

“Quit ya barking. You’ve brought this on yourself, causing an unneeded ruckus for everypony.”

“I wasn’t barking.” I had to clarify that fact for the record, but he didn’t appreciate that either.

“Quite doggo. You’re in enough trouble and I suggest you be a good boy for once and don’t bark.”

We were approaching the other side of town near the vet/dog catcher’s residence, and ponies were parting and pointing as we passed. I could make out some of their conversations, and it wasn’t good, meaning word had already spread this far. They didn’t see a full blooded cowdog doing his job of herding, but a monster that needed to be muzzled.

This notion weighed heavily on me, so don’t mistake me for an inconsiderate brute, but I needed to remain stoic. I might have messed up big time with that stunt, even if it was to save that sweet little calf, but I didn’t have to be.. overzealous.. with my distraction. It wasn’t anything to severe mind you. Just a bit of barking and the occasional feign nip at their rear legs as I passed.

This might have stirred some bad blood between me and the ponies, and while I meant nothing by the harmless act, the damage was done.

You know, this remains me about a story my great grandpa…

“I’d about a’nuff of ya stubborn hide!” The pony known as Braeburn barked while yanking my rope once more. With my paws cut up from the rocks and tired of being dragged, I relented and began walking once again.

Feigning compliance earned some needed time to gather my thoughts and trust me, I took advantage of it.

My brief escapade through town had exposed a complexity I never knew could be achieved from deformed, free roam ponies like this herd, and the implications of it left me more unsure than I had been seven minutes ago. Before, I’d wager they represent a threat to ranching itself by eventually replacing the need for cowdogs and cowboys. Now, I was beginning to suspect there wasn’t anything sinister in their mannerisms, but the need to establish a sense of normalcy again.

‘So, they act like people to cope?’ I wondered to myself to avoid making noise, otherwise the angry stallion might buck me into next year. He could do it. I’ve seen how the other ponies back at that weird farm bucked trees to know I the produce loose. An interesting adaptation, but a terrifying notion to consider.

The yellow stallion who I had learned was called Braeburn fell for the ploy, and finally allowed some slack in the rope giving me a chance to follow at a distance. He still made sure I was close by, but I wasn’t being dragged either so it worked out as we reached the otherside of the town, where a small commotion could be heard up ahead. A quick look verified there was a gathering of sorts, and by the smells, I could tell both ponies, and Brahman made up this strange gathering as we approached, but the meaning behind this unorthodox herding left me puzzled.

The two species kept to themselves, with the ponies primarily focusing on loading the wagons, and the Brahman preferring the open air, amassing on the edge of this gathering. While ponies fixated their efforts into securing these wagons for some unknown journey, the Brahman had elected a select few to be harnessed with carrying what few positions they had by crossing to sticks just above their backs, and letting them drag behind them. Imagine dragging a ladder behind you and then tying down your gummy sack, and food bowl to it, and you’ll understand the Brahman way of thinking.

Interesting stuff.

At first it seemed my ‘caretaker’ was dragging me to them when he changed direction toward the nearest ponies, two draft horses by their sheer size, chucking crates bigger than myself onto the back of a wagon when we passed by. Mister Braeburn didn’t notice, but I caught them cutting their eyes at him, but the act itself didn’t bother me because I knew nothing about their history with my caretaker. If anything, the act warned me to be even more vigilant than I’d previously been.

Chalking that information for a later date, I continued observing the ponies loading wagons, or chatting amongst themselves until we neared a wagon with another Stetson wearing pony with a High Loper esque mustache, but unlike Loper, this pony didn’t appear weary of putting in a good day’s work. The stallion looked up and greeted us.

“Braeburn.”

“Sheriff Silverstar! Sorry about the lateness, but I was roped…” He turned to me, and I offered a tail wag as a friendly gesture. “... into something that needed my attention. We still good for tomorrow , Sheriff?“

The ‘sheriff’ gave me a questioning look before answering Braeburn’s question.

“We’re as primed and ready as can be Braeburn, but I don't much care for these buffalo. They refuse to help with the work, let alone pull any of the wagons.” The stallion adjusted the red bandana tied around his neck by tucking it underneath his jean vest before looking over toward the brahman. “Are you sure we really need their help?”

“I’m sure we could find the outlaws eventually, but it would take time searching the badlands, and time isn’t something we got much of.”

“I hear yea.” The sheriff sighed. “They’re already in talks with Dodge City to host, and them city folk think they could do it better!”

I recalled that weird raccoon who thought he was a squirrel telling me something about a rodeo being cancelled due to some outlaws, and by process of elimination I concluded the two were connected, perhaps one and the same! It was coming together, and I couldn’t contain my excitement at unraveling this huge clue.

I might have smiled a bit too big for their liking for the sheriff lurched back, and began mumbling familiar phrases just like Loper to! What the strange pony, or my jailer Breaburn said didn’t matter as I ran the calculations over and over to find any sort of grand flaw in my hunch, but found none since I knew my stuff very well, saving even more time.

“And it’s way we need the buffalo even more! They know these lands more than anypony here, and if Doge strikes a deal with the rodeo commission…”

“It’ll take Celestia herself to get them to switch.” The sheriff pony sighed, and cast a glance over to the gathered Brahman.

From a distance one could mistake the large bovine as their plain roaming cousins, but there were big differences I didn’t have time to point out because of the time constraints.

“We gain more working together, than alone. Didn’t we learn anything from the whole pie war?”

They went quite after that, but I could hear the gears turning as a processed the entirety of their conversation about into more manageable bites. I tried several different methods of triple checking my work, yet each time I came up with the same result, and each time I became more excited at its implication.

“We’re forming a posse.” I thought, not even minding if my tail went full on ‘Fan Mode’ by how fast it was moving.

I’d always wanted to be a part of a posse, having grown up on ma’s tells of her and pa’s younger years. A sweet story of how two cowdogs from different ranches met under extraordinary situations in the pursuit of justice ended up falling for one another. I’m surprised this hasn’t been made into a movie yet!

The point of that bit of information was to show I grew up with the stories, and now I have the chance to follow in my parents pawprints, and I wasn’t going to let this fox escape. To demonstrate my readiness to join in this endeavor, I continued wagging my tail and began barking my qualifications, mostly focusing on my experience in pasture security. For a cowdog like myself, this mat come off as showboating, but I had to clarify the extent of my abilities to prove I would make a valuable asset to the posse.

It must have worked, for they were so impressed by my credentials they began praising me just like Loper.

“CONTROL THAT DARN MUT!”

“HE’S JUST SAYIN HI SHERIFF!”

“I wasn’t saying hi.” I tried correcting them, but was choked mid sentence by the rope being pulled.

“Come on! Let's go.” Braeburn commanded as he gave the rope another tug.

Reluctantly, I gave into the threat, and followed the pony as he led us away, and through the assembled wagon teams, offering a curt nod here, or there with a howdy mixed in until we stopped in front of a partial loaded wagon. He tied the rope through the spokes of the wheel, and surprisingly gave me a pat on the head before giving a good sigh.

“I'm in over my head dogo. Between outlaws, and this whole buffalo-pony alliance wagon train thing…”

He looked at me, and since finding myself in this heap of trouble felt a tinsy bit of remorse for my brazen escape earlier today. It didn’t take any special training to know the look fogging up his eyes, and I did something I only ever done once back home. I leaned in real close and gave him a good o’l cowdog lick to the face.

“Darn it mutt!” He reacted real quick while making a big show of the friendly gesture.

It wasn’t much, but it’s honest work.

---

When they said ‘hit the trail’, I was impressed it actually meant hitting the trail.

After an unsettling stare down between the Big Chief and Braeburn this morning, both herds sallied forth into the open desert with the brahman acting as our guides. From my position in my guardian’s wagon, I discovered their reasoning behind this cattle drive(because they’re cattle, and cowponies) was aimed at bringing these outlaws in to prevent the rodeo from relocating. It was obvious for the ponies wanting to stop these bad folks, but the brahman’s reasoning were less certain since they kept to themselves near the front of the wagon train.

“You sure this will work?”

“It has to Little Heart.”

Except for the young calf that rescued me from that orchard back in town.

Ignoring the pierced looks of the other wagon crews, the young calf hung around our wagon without a remark about their rude behavior. Braeburn noticed of course ,and did his best to place himself between the calf and the other wagons, but otherwise said nothing about them which was odd. Some of these ponies were the same ones that had chased me the yesterday, and didn’t mind me riding shotgun more so than Little Strongheart walking alongside us. It isn’t out of the question that they saw her running besides me, but it was how Breaburn moved and acted that suggested a deeper meaning to their scowls.

“Or how the two herds separate themselves.” I told myself as I looked toward the front of the wagon where the backs of our brahman guides could be seen. “Something stinks worse than the septic tank overflowing.”

To protect the wagon from possible theft, I took up a rather comfy spot on a crate that provided me a great view of the wagon train and surrounding pasture, but the poorly kept dirt road made laying down a challenge. Eventually, I gave up laying down and took a traditional pose of standing on the crate, but that too was cut short when a rather nasty bump made me lose my legs. The fall was damaging, and proved beneficial in keeping me alert and on my paws...after I rolled over and picked myself up.

Here I was in the open air of a vast pasture, traveling with a wagon train looking for bandits, and somehow found myself bored of it. Well not of the ride, but the waiting. The call to run was strong, and my will was weakening as I pondered how easy it would be to leap over the side and run along the wagons, and yet…

‘That would only get the little calf in trouble.’ I thought back to yesterday, and sat down on my haunches.

I caused enough trouble for her already, and by extension Mr. Braeburn who was nothing, but kind for a weird pony, and by the looks he’d been receiving since, he didn’t need me stirring the pound anymore than had been done. My instincts screamed to go out and try to fix what I had unfixed, yet I remained seated wondering what good it would really do, and when I couldn’t come up with a proper answer, I gave up.

Accepting my fate for the moment, I transitioned into a prone posture that allowed me to stretch the full extent of this crowded wagon, and laid there. No other creature but my own thoughts to keep me company as I noting how every time the wagon hit a rock or groove in the dirt road it reminded of Loper’s pickup…

…and how badly I missed the ranch.

---

The first part of the day (while interesting) was regrettably wasted.

A wasted day is a tragedy of the highest caliber, especially for a working dog like myself. The amount of patrolling, recon, and investigations that could have been attempted were far too many to count on my paws, and that’s including all of the brahman as well. A shameful act that struck me deep within the soul…

“Hmmmpuf! Keep that wagon steady! We don't have another spare axle to be wasting!”

Which brings me to the present- a genuine wagon train with Brahman escort!

I had thrown my front paws over the wagon’s side to watch the ponies maneuver their hooves in a way that sent shivers down my spine. Weird and unnatural, like how they gripped the spare wheel…

“Enough of that.” I shook the terrifying image from my mind, deciding to shift spots so that I could oversee the other side of the wagon.

Without the ponies distracting me, it freed up my thoughts so I could focus on the finer details of my situation, and what it meant for me.

The first, and the biggest hurdle to jump was accepting I might not be in one of the neighboring ranches, but in another state entirely! Based on the sheer openness of the prairie, I’ve narrowed the possibilities to either Iowa, or one of the Dakotas, but that’s a stretch even for me.

Second, was the parrot like ranch animals in my company. The idea concerning their similarities with High Loper, or Sally May at the present is that they’re simply homesick, and are lessening the separation by adopting man’s characteristics. Now it’s not the best, or sane idea, but neither are they so it balances out.

I almost forgot about the pets they’re keeping, but that isn’t my department.

The sun hadn’t moved since we left town, yet its dominance over the crippling heat was unmatched. I began panting trying to cool off so I wouldn’t have to leave my spot hanging over the wagon’s side, and to take my mind off the heat decide to think about something else. So that’s began pony watching and noticed how my ‘pony friends’ weren’t faring any better.

Many were still rigged to the wagons while the few brahmans I could see were still carrying the supplies on their backs. You didn’t need a fancy degree to see this expedition was to last several days at least, from how loaded the wagons were. Not even the other dog they brought offered to clue me in, let alone walk beside my wagon so we could chat.

Thankfully, I wasn’t completely alone thanks to my new friend (and adorable) LIttle Strongheart.

She had stared walking with the adults before joining our wagon the rest of the way, and this was fortunate for me because unlike the others she actually paid attention to me! That alone earned the little calf a spot in my good book, and I waited for her return.

Where was the little sweetheart you ask? Well, she and my caretaker went off toward the front and of the wagon train for something, leaving me here to guard the wagon as these two stallions fix our busted wheel. The task wasn't a necessity more than a formality to keep me a in line by giving a job that required me to remain at the wagon, and that was fine by me.

But I was getting just a bit bothered keeping look out on this here crate under the watchful glare of the sun. It was time for a relocation, and I knew where that would allow me to keep watch and keep cool at the time! Two barn cats for one!

Unable to tolerate the heat anymore I decided to risk punishment by jumping off the wagon to seek the shade underneath. It wasn’t much given the ponies had it partially raised, but it was enough to give my sunbaked body a chance to cool off, and a chance to watch these ponies more closely.

I didn’t recognize them from town, but a good cowdog knew to create profile anyway for cross referencing purposes. You never know who might be a friend today, and a rustler tomorrow, so creating an extensive database might save you a heap of trouble down the road.

So yours truly sat under the wagon watching them for a good solid ten whole minutes applying that wheel before they starting speaking, and what these ears of mine caught made the fur along my back bristle up fierce like.

“Why are we following him anyway?”

“Sheriff trusts Braeburn more thin ya.” The two ponies fitted the wheel and began lowering the wagon down, and after checking its stability leaned onto the wagon to catch their breath. My presence under the wagon forgotten.

‘It’s a mistake..” the first pony spoke “...trusting him and that mare of his.”

That caught my interest. That a possible relationship between the two could be considered, but it made for some valuable insight into the dynamics of this ranch.

“Just wrong.” The other agreed.

Their conversation carried on much the same way up until they finally left, and there wasn’t even as much as a ‘good day’ when they passed by me. I know they saw me, and they still chose to ignore the Head of Ranch Security!

“Definitely a cat lover.” I muttered once they were out of sight.

I laid down and watched the limited activity around the nearby wagons, and watched how they made little effort to venture away from their respective wagons. This kind of mentality isn’t unheard of in an operation of this scope, but you’ll expect some interaction between the crews, yet the brahman and ponies continued making great strides to keep a noticeable distance. It made the possible relationship between my caretaker and that sweet calf all the more impressive.

From my limited observations, the little calf seemed to hold some control over her respect heard from how the larger members took her suggestions and ‘demands’ in stride, while Braeburn held no meaningful sway over the ponies. Until I could discover what is going on(besides outlaws/rustlers), I would take everything for granite long enough to assume the picture of a tame cowdog to avoid further attention.

Happy with this plan, I decided to figure out a big question that had bugged me since we left…

“How did they hitch themselves up without any hands?”

Questions like that one needed to be asked if we as a society are to advance, and seeing no other possible candidate, I assigned myself this important task. From my cool spot under the wagon, I continued with observations for clues that could answer this great question when I heard hurried hoofsteps approaching from my left. Of course I turned to assess this possible threat when I took a big whiff of that good air, and realized who they were.

Braeburn and Little Strongheart were in an angry strut toward the wagon.

“He’s so stubborn!” My ears perked up at the statement, and not so I could ease drop.

“It’s not all lost, Strongheart. Nopony or buffalo are used to this, and we have to be the ones to show them.”

His words only served to anger the little calf even more by all of the stomping she did, but that ended when he stepped close and nuzzled the side of her face. The display must have been a platonic getsure, but the words of those two stallions circled my thoughts like a pack of hungry coyotes.

“... trusting him and that mare of his.” I recited to myself.

Unsure of what I just witnessed or what it meant to the initial investigation of rogue rustlers breaking the law, I figured it was best to update the profiles of these two. In my line of work, it was best to take notes on everything no matter how lame, or boring it might be because that unassuming detail could become your most valuable piece of evidence.

We called camp shortly after that, and to my frustration, I had to watch the sun shoot across the sky with the moon right on its heels without hearing a single bark from the other dog. Whoever this mysterious dog is that loved doing my job of barking up and down the sun better be ready for a good bark off when I meet them.