> Hank the Cowdog: The Case of the Displaced Dog
>  by KarmaSentinal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Arc 1: Madame Moonshine's Curse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog and this ain't the ranch. I should know this because as Head of Ranch Security, it’s a must to know not only your ranch, but the surrounding terrain as well. That and after years of run ins with cannibals, one-eyed horses, snakes, losing Drover and all sorts of other unexplainable encounters you come to know the land very well. 

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes.. this is most definitely not the ranch, or anything close to it. In fact this isn’t any of the other neighboring ranches either. How do I know all of this you ask? Well besides the obvious lack of High Looper, Slim, the house, the gas tanks or my lazy assistant Drover- I certainly don’t remember any sort of rail tracks running smack dab through MY jurisdiction. I would never authorize such a massive waste of space running through the ranch and interfering with the daily lives of its residences.  

Even if that perfect example of a long haired collie named Beulah were to right now walk up to me and ask if she could lay these tracks in the middle of my pastures, I’ll puff out my chest and tell her no.. even if she stood there bashing those lovely brown eyes my way I’ll still tell her maybe.

I mean no. 

The point is there were never any tracks, especially train tracks on the ranch I didn’t know about. Personally, I’ve never seen train tracks before, but my good old mother use to tell me stories about my adventuring uncle Click-a-de-clack who would travel throughout Texas and sometimes as far as Kansas living his life unbound. Sure, he missed his family and would tell us this the rare few times he would turn up and visit, but he would quickly just as turn down the option to finally come back. The rails were his ranch and he wasn’t about to leave them behind. 

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t envious. Many times in my long life I have danced with the temptation to resign from my duties, but only through my sharp disciplinary standards and the thoughts of Drover taking my gummy sack for himself kept me on track. 

Haha, you get it? Track.. Rail Track? Because I’m following them and just finished a story about my train traveling uncle? 

I guess my advanced sense of humor is too much for the moment, moving on than. 


So, with that knowledge and the understanding that these iron logs always led to some sort of town and station, I made the logical choice and began walking alongside the tracks with high hopes I’ll be back in my gummy sack by nightfall.

That was two days ago and I still have yet to find a town, let alone another soul that could perhaps point me in the right direction. 

This heat wasn’t helping matters either- high in a perfect noon arc, the sun dominated the sky as it enacted its master plan to produce a heatwave so large that no creature except a snake could survive. Luckily, this diabolical plan was thwarted by yours truly because the sun failed to take into account my tried and tested skills. 

Besides, this sun wasn’t all that hot but in fact was as cool as a February afternoon. I have endured many July summer days in the past, most with little to no water to last me from lunchtime to my afternoon debriefings with Drover under the gas tanks. But sadly nothing is immune to fatigue and that includes my legendary endurance; everything has its limits and I was fast approaching mine.  

The pads of my very tender paws were split and cracked from all of the constant walking, but nonetheless I weathered thru the storm.. or was it stormed thru the weather? Whatever the saying is, I saddled up and pressed on knowing just beyond those far off hills is the town I seek. Clearly this was the logical conclusion since the last two or three hills failed to produce a town and so the hills on the horizon must have the town behind them. A concept so simple I’m continually surprised many of the ranch’s residents just can’t grasp it. 

Then again I am a very learned dog. 

Against all the negatives of my situation, I honestly found it kinda refreshing.The most recent time I can remember striking out on my own to do any sort of wondering like this was back when I had briefly became an outlaw.. I mean went undercover to stop a coyote invasion. Grueling stuff that was and certainly not for the faint of heart to stomach; luckily I’m a tough purebred cowdog and so by default I was the best choice to undertake such a mission. 

Real top secret stuff you know. So, naturally I can't release any specific details but let me tell you it was dangerous, exciting, age-mutton everywhere, but most of all dangerous! After, that mission things calmed down so quickly that I was mostly left with patrols, but in my kind of work it's a sign that meant you’re doing all right.

Just now during all of this talk about adventure and roaming, something very important just came to me. A realization so real and life changing that it could very well define not only my career as Head of Ranch Security but very possibly my life here onwards..

 I’m terribly thirsty. 

Yes, it's true sadly. Despite my dashing good looks and my near supernatural work ethic I am but a simple dog just like you. Well, perhaps not just like you if you’re a cow, horse, bird, raccoon, or a scaredy bird dog, but the point is we’re all mortal. We all raise with the sun, and lay down with the moon after a good old day’s work. 

With the hard true firmly established that I’m no super dog, but a normal dog it does kinda make my achievements all the more amazing doesn’t it? 

Oh yes, water. I really would like some water, not too much but just a sip or a gulp.. maybe two gulps for the road but nothing more than that. Even that sewage puddle Drover and I bathe in is sounding mighty all right. I’m so thirsty that even Madame Moonshine’s potent Moon Drink would hit the spot right now. 

But if I couldn’t have a drink than I needed to find some shade and fast; it's days like this that my coat became a hinderance but without any water or shade than I could nothing but force myself to bear the discomfort. Never before have I panted so hard and so much that my very mouth dried up like a desert lake in the middle of a Texas summer. I swear I could even taste the finely coarse dust every time I breathe!

Ok, so it turned out it was actual dust I was breathing in and I nearly coughed my lungs out but thanks to a breathing exercise I had learned, quickly managed to fix this problem. 

As soon as I was able to breath normally once more, I was wobbed with another gust of dirt which started the process all over again. I even got some in my eyes! This sudden sandstorm forced me to look away as I shielded my eyes with my left paw. How can a sandstorm just appear out thin air without a single gust of wind?

Under such a devastating display of mother nature, I had turned away from the annoying flying grains of dirt and sand making sure to keep my head low. With my sight momentarily hindered, I began emptying my mind of every distracting thought. Now, let me mention something first before you go and grab the pitchforks and water hoses; this is technique used by the coyotes but as long as it’s used by a professional such as myself than it isn’t dangerous. 

You see, living in the sometimes harsh and yet always unforgiven open prairie can at times leave an individual losing something important to their survival. The coyotes, while still uncivilized and just a mean old lot all around do have some pretty useful skills that many dogs like myself could use. This was one of a couple I was taught in my brief life among them. 

  Out in the wild, if you were to lose one your five senses than.. well let's just say you’re going to hit rock bottom very soon. Anyway, the coyotes had developed a way to fight this handicap by heightening the other senses to make up for the lost of another. 

Ingenious uh? I sure know how you feel but let me be your trustful first pawed source and say it's the real deal.

I started off by clearing the clutter in my mind and in a small way somewhat enjoyed the emptiness. The feeling of having this constant stress and worry just lifted off my back was refreshing, but I digress. By clearing the mind it's told the emptiness frees up the brian’s responsibilities to divert more time and energy to other functions, namely your senses. 

So, the theory is by clearing the mind when one of your senses is missing, you can supercharge the remaining scenes to make up for the lack of one. An interesting concept that made t acknowledge some of the coyote’s intelligence, but strictly speaking I can’t publicly disclose this for fear the masses may panic, but between us two I think we should be fine.

I had remained still as the mini ‘storm’ pelted my exhausted tail, but this was a necessary sacrifice. Because like all good things in this wonderful life, you have to wait for it. The effect wasn’t noticeable at first but soon I could feel this old world magic trick working, starting with the very ground I was standing on. The ground around me was still.. more like sleeping. it was strange and a bit scary even but the longer I stood there the more I began to “see.”

The darkness was extensive but every so often there was movement.. a ping? I’m not sure how but to my right I knew there’s a lizard hidden under a rock and that further behind me, off to my right there were dozens of these pings going off. So many in fact that I lost count before the high pitch ringing became too much for my ears. 

My entire “vision” collapsed that instant and the mild irritation from my eyes became unbearable once more. Quickly, I feel forward as I madly battled the microscopic invaders occupying my sight, and after a few good rubs I was able to see again. Granted, to say I could see was pushing it. My vision was blurred and watered down from the tears but nonetheless I could see well enough. 

Oh, and the aches and pains returned to remind this old dog he was still mortal. My survival training and rushed coyote lessons have kept me alive for these last couple of days, and to lay down now would be a discredit to my breed and profession. I knew what had to be done and with a soft grunt I turned about face.. only to find the sandstorm had vanished!

I swear by that old barnowl and her giant snake I will get them back.

Whatever she had mixed into that portion of hers has not only involved dark magic of the most scary kind, but it has left this cowdog lost. Not only have their actions left the ranch in peril but I’m so tired that my mind is started to play tricks on me; most of it I chalked up to simple exhaustion, hunger, dehydration, and a mild onset of a little thing I like to call Droveritice. I’ll admit the name could be better but it’s sort of a play of words in a way. The joke is every time that runt steps into the sun, moments later he’s back in the shade and out like a light. 

The only difference here is I don’t have any shade to hide under and take a nap.

Right before I lost my concentration, I felt a cluster of pings a ways off ahead of me, almost following the very same tracks. Each ping was big. I know that now but other than being a herd of free-roaming cattle or horses I don’t exactly know what they were.

The thought of running up and through them, barking and howling as they ran and mooed put a smiled on my face but that was a short lived notion when I remembered the other times it wasn’t as fun. The sad part was I didn’t get any paid leave for my valiant service to the ranch!

 But that did bring up the most important fact about this revelation and that is a herd of some kind lives in this land and therefore must know where the watering holes are and if I’m lucky their ranch house is. So, it would make sense they might be heading to one right now, especially on a day like this.  

My sight was still a little weary but I could see straight enough to follow the tracks and with the sun egging me on I once more resumed my increasingly bleak journey. I never was good at betting, something I learned quickly in my youth but here I was putting my entire hand into this gamble by following these rail tracks to either help or an early retirement. 




> Arc 1: The Legendary Brahman King
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes I amaze even myself. 

Through my sheer determination and resilience I had managed to push myself beyond most dogs capabilities, and because of this I couldn’t feel my legs. The act of walking itself has become little more than a chore; a routine that had became the norm over the last couple of days. 

On the plus side, the sun had finally drifted slowly behind.. actually now that I think about it, the sun hasn’t moved at all. 

Even the laws of the Natural Order don’t follow themselves here. What kind of lawless land have I found myself on? Next you’re going to tell me that the moon howls itself up and that flying pigs control the weather to? 

Pardon my poodle but that’s poppycock. 

I’m well aware that there are some things that science and logic just can’t explain but to call it paranormal is something I’d expect Drover to do. Mysteries and unexplainable events are simply forces that at the time can not be identified, but do have a reason or an explanation that at the present time is hiding. Yes, hiding like a game of peek-a-boo. Still, just because a reason hasn’t been disclosed doesn’t mean it’s of the supernatural.

As for the sun’s lack of movement, the leading theory amongst the top scientist is that the day has been really long and therefore its taking a nap. 

Don’t look at me like that. It’s a natural feeling to nap after a good day’s work and who are you to judge if the very the sun joins us in a summer past time? Normally I would be against such a slack in responsibilities but I’m to tired to stop my wonderings and give that burning ball the yip, bark, snap. Normally that's enough to get the point across, but let's hope it doesn’t come to that. 

If the lazy sun wants to ignore the laws of nature, than it’s the responsibility of the parent to discipline their child. But this presents a problem.. I’m unable to tell which direction I’m traveling in or the time of day, but at least the hills from earlier have been getting bigger so thats a plus right? Hopefully I’ll reach the base by nightfall where I can finally lay down for a well deserved rest. 

By now I remembered why exactly it's a bad idea to stare directly at the sun and quickly correct that mistake. Even with my eyes closed, the pixelated tingling of discomfort harassed my vision to the point I couldn’t see yet again. Never in my life have I lost my sight on the job and suddenly I lost it twice in one day! Recalling how I fixed it the first time, I repeated the process by rubbing my eyes with my paws and through the power of deduction proved that rubbing your eyes works. 

Once, twice, and two more times I blinked and was awarded to a hazy scene of floating blocks. A blinked once more for good measure. Sure enough the pixelation from before had transferred to the real world making the dust being kicked up look like those little wooden blocks Alfred likes to play with and.. am I seeing things?

This time I didn’t blink but instead rubbed my eyes once more to witness the pixel dirt blocks blurring together- like a dancing snake crossing an egg frying road. Living on the ranch, this phenomena is a regular occurrence, mostly in the summertime because of the heat, but this was a strange pasture and so I couldn’t completely past off this dancing..pixel dirt snake just yet.

 I had just put one paw forward to resume my wonderings when I took one more look at the pixel dirt snake which had finally turned into a wavy dirt wave. The ground in the far off distance had lost the pixelation only to be replaced with the desert’s signature wave of heat; I had nothing better to do so I watch these lines waving up and down like someone had taken a jump rope and was flailing their arms up and down. Soon my thirst became unbearable and those wavy lines slowly metamorphosed into ocean waves.  

The distance between me and my wonderfully cool hallucinations was still a painstaking walk away, but despite the distance it did little to quell the festering temptation brewing within. The urge was growing as those magnificent waves continued bobbing up and down like those little ducks do at the town fair. You know, the ones people line up and take pop shots at?

Speaking of those balls of yellow, I always wanted to try my luck at that sort of game, but alas I was never offered a chance. So, being the perfect example of a good cowdog, I simply sat off to the side and watched as the people hollered and cheered as the enticing ducks fell one by one. 

To sit there quietly and hear the level of response and praise each person received stoked the embers of my pride as I, at times, would drift off and imagine all of the excitement were for me. 

“Hank!” they would shout as I entered the ring. The crowd would shout my name three more times in rapid succession until the announcer quieted them down. 

I would wait until complete silence was given before looking to the left and than to the right. Once everything was in place, I would inhale as much air as my lungs could hold before closing my eyes, arching my back and raising my muzzle to the sky. The entire crowd would listen as I howled- mesmerized by the seemingless transition from pitch to pitch all the while constantly adjusting the frequency to keep the whole tune in balance. 

  This skill is a trait passed down through the lines of my ancestors. Something I’m mighty proud off, but like many family secrets there are some questionable or scandalous things mixed in there. For you see.. cowdogs and the wild dogs of the prairie are in fact related. How do I know this startling revelation when no one else knows you ask? 

Well surprisingly I learned it from the coyotes. 

Now, I know you’ll rush to the conclusion that they’re lying to confuse me or are playing a joke on me, but let me tell you otherwise. At first I didn’t believe them naturally mostly because they  didn’t have any real reason to go about advertising this family laundry in the open and yet that was what gave them some credibility. What was there to gain from them telling me besides the fact at the time I was courting the Chief's daughter? Still, I took everything they said with a grain of salt but a lot of it did sound plausible including the reason why several of their songs and cowdog howls sounded similar. Heck, it would explain why Rip, Snort and me got along so well, especially as we sang together all night.

I opened my eyes when a random speck of dirt impacted along side my cheek- it seemed I lost myself in that daydream and mini lecture but considering the days I’ve been having it’s a welcomed relief. 

 Sadly, this didn’t last. Sometime during my lost of conscious thought, I had gained considerable ground which is nice and all but out of nowhere my oceanic ilusion had once again metamorphosed into something else, namely several dozen cows closely huddled together to form a giant shag carpet. I had to squint but I managed to pick up some key details about these rather long haired cows. They were big, not in the tall sense but in terms of pure muscle, but strangely they only had two stubby little horns instead of the long horns one would expected them to have resting on their heads. 

 Another major thing that made these cows different from the ones in our grazing pasture was their stature. You see, most cattle (including the bulls) are normally the height of High Loper or Slim with a very long back that could be mistaken for a plank of wood. This wasn’t the case here. 

Their backs were much shorter than anything I’ve seen in all my years on the force. Instead of being straight, their backs, starting from the rump gradually climbed until reaching the shoulders into an almost pure lump of muscle. Plus they were darker to. Too dark to offer any protection from the warm sun, and it didn’t help they were bunched up shoulder to shoulder either. I know they’re cattle but what breed I can’t say. 

I couldn’t place my paw on it but they did look familiar. The kind of familiarity  that if you were told the name, you would feel silly afterwards, but still what an exotic kind of breed.

Wait! They are exotic aren’t they? That’s why I can’t identify them, its because they’re not a local breed and therefore only a few ranches would have them. Off the top of my head, I can only recall two ranches in the surrounding counties to have any sort of extoic animal, espeically cows- a ranch north of Abilene and one south of Abilene, near another town by the name of.. Buffoon Gap? The name’s not important but it's said this ranch has cattle many a cowdog would wait their entire career to glance at and never see them. A breed so legendary that their name alone would..started to send my mouth a watering. 

“Brahman.” I don’t believe my luck!

I haven’t given up the hope of never finding the ranch even though there was just the tiniest speck of doubt, but now that’s no longer the case. If the herd in front of me was indeed Brahman than I could use them to show me their Ranch HQ and from there I can call Slim to come pick me up! No more blistering heat, no more walking or sore legs!

I couldn't contain my excitement any longer and despite a terrible dryness in the back of my throat, I let loose the loudest and by far the longest howl in my entire life. This caught their attention as they were now most definitely looking my way. I tried to wag my tail to show them I meant no harm, but I couldn’t feel it because of all the walking so I can't really say if they got the message or not. 

Was I going to let such a minor thing as numbness and dizziness stop me? Never! Feeling this new revival of energy coursing throughout my body and a disorientating headache now banging against my head, I lifted a paw and placed it forward.. and promptly blacked out.  

__________________________________________________________________________

The dusting wind had finally began to settle as the afternoon sun held fast and asserted her dominance over all under her rule. A cycle of the plains that has been the way of life since the herd first left their huts and took to the open land.

Keeping up this time honored way of life, Chief Thunder Hooves strolled forward through the gathered mass of warriors as they encircled the cows and calves. They were doing has they always had, wandering the barren lands when a war cry was given forcing the entire herd to ready themselves for an attack.  

They waited.. unmoving as the lingering breeze casually collected stray grains of sand and broken rock. As his hooves landed, the ground fractured even more; his massive head tilted from side to side as his eagle eyes scanned for the one that had the gall to threaten his herd.  

“Any sighting young one?” he asked, is booming base of a voice carried the question against the wind. 

He waited for a couple of hoof steps when he felt the shifting weight on this back answering. 

“Nothing yet father! Just more badlands and that volcher from the other day circling above but whatever made that cry is likely gone by now.”

“Maybe the wind is playing us for fools, but we most remain weary Little Strongheart.”

His only reply was a light tapping of her front hooves on his back. It could have simply been the young buffalo trying to maintain her balance, but he took it as an acknowledgement all the same. Chief Thunder Hooves spared a glance back to the living wall where a slight nod was given and two bodies splintered from the main herd and took their place trailing behind the enormous buffalo.  

With each step he took, Chief Thunder Hooves felt his daughter struggling to maintain her balance. Strongheart is  tough and wouldn’t fall because of a little uneven terrain, but it didn’t mean he would purposely make it difficult for her and quickly brought his stride down to more of a light jog. 

With the distance growing between their little group and the main herd, Thunder Hooves waited until they had finally passed the lone standing cactus before signaling the young warriors to break off. The two bulls immediately followed their orders and sped up until they were flanking their chief, with about three buffalo lengths between them. 

With their formation established, they gradually slowed till a full stop, but ready to run at a moment's notice. All were still as they scanned the crackling dry land for something to ease their weariness.. or confirm their worries. Talking the bird in the tree approach, Strongheart took a perch on her father’s broad head, using his feathered crest to block some of the unwarranted heat. Whatever the sound’s origin, it appeared to have taken off rather than stay to face the might of the tribe. Her father had came to the same conclusion.  

“Come brothers, let us tell the herd the threat is no longer present. Let us be off and continue with the Great Run.” 

The two bulls said nothing as they turned to follow their chief’s declaration to bring the good news back to the rest of their giant roaming community. Thunder Hooves didn’t follow the young warriors and instead stayed behind with his gaze still wearily observing the land they were about to cross. Every day, no matter how small the struggles presented to them none of them could ignore that their way of life is still dangerous. 

A few nights in his younger days he would often wonder whether or not he should continue the traditions carried on by his father's before him or perhaps take the rougher path and led his herd down a trail untouched by no other. Would they accept this clear treason against their culture to explore a possible future vastly different from the one carved out by their ancestors? A question he never had the heart to find out for himself and somewhat regrettably chose to keep up the tried and true way. 

Yet, maybe change for their species was still possible.  

Little Strongheart, true to her name never flinched from duty but instead just dove straight into any action that stood in her way. The little buffalo in the past and even now had shown little fear in challenging and or confronting every obstacle dumb enough to show itself. In her strength did his old worries and hopes for the future of their species live on. 

His ears caught the grinding sound of several dozen sets of hooves smashing the dirt into dust as they all, one by one joined their chief in his silent contemplating. Not one individual made a sound as they squinted in silent observation of the vast expanse before them. When the silence became.. well silent and boring, their lapse in attention became too much and soon the protective mothers loosened their iron rule and began allowing their calves to play. A few retained the importance of herd sentry and resumed the search for the mysterious creature from before. 

With this relaxing of tension while still maintaining a watch helped ease their worries. In a strange way, this continued offering of security while others did what they wanted in the knowledge they were protected helped reinforcing their core belief that family and community is strength. As long as they stayed together in spirit and…

Suddenly, out of nowhere, an ear splitting screech assaulted their ears and became the messenger for all major events to come later. There was no warning. No sign that could have been used to prevent this tragedy from happening; many moons from now in the far off future the survivors will continue to recount this event that will later become known to all races in the world. 

The day that very lands coughed up the dreaded Aged Mut of Chaos. 

“Look! Over there!” someone cried with a hoof pointing off in the distance, just slightly to the left.

There, standing in almost complete stillness was a four legged creature that was almost as tall as a young pony. From this distance, they couldn’t make out any other notable features other than it had some sort of intelligence from how it posed itself.. and just face planted the ground. 

Silence was their love, and their life once more as they whole herd said nor moved anything. Instead, they just chose to wait for the creature to make the first move. This lasted about as long as a desert rainstorm.. about half a second. 

“Is it a trap?” a young cow called out. 

“I don’t know, maybe it’s playing dead.” 

“Should we go check on it?” asked another. 

“I’ll go!” Little Strongheart declared suddenly as she bolted off her father’s back and dashed for the down animal. 

Chief Thunder Hooves watched as his daughter proved his earlier beliefs as she carelessly ran straight into another potentially dangerous situation. He quietly praised her fearlessness spirit but cursed her reckless desire to seek out danger. 

“Should have named her Dances with Patience.” he thought as he, and the herd set off following their young chief-to-be.  



> Arc 1: R&R and the squirrelly raccoon.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Have you ever had one of those days where you found yourself completely unresponsive  to the world around? No? Well I’ll give you the run down real quick. Imagine the feeling of finding perhaps the biggest bag of candy ever gathered in one place and it's all for you. Next, you end up downing all of its sugary goodness with some aged water from the puddle next to the gas tanks.

You still there? Good. By now the contents of your stomach should be mixing nicely, which after a moment or two you should now be expelling all of it (preferably somewhere out of the way) and once finished you are forced to patrol all of the pastures for the next 24 hrs before collapsing somewhere that wasn’t a gummy sack. Dead to the world wouldn’t be the phrase I’d use but more like having the sun rise earlier than normal and then constantly beaming its rays on my eyes. 

In other words it’s annoying and I feel very sick.

Still, even in this state I knew time was moving, but it didn’t matter. Whether time moved or remained still, it didn’t matter unless there was something worth noting during that span but when you’re caught in the drifting weightlessness of the moonless night than little else was important except for what was to come the next day. 

Wow, I should be a writer. 

With his out of body experience coming to an end, I felt the feelings that could only be described as pain. I tried moving my legs, and learned it was most definitely pain I was feeling. The good news is I’m alive which means I may still as of yet collect my retirement check, but now I’m back to the start of this circle. This isn’t the ranch so where is it?

But most of all, just who in the world found me and where am I? 

Whatever I’m laying on was certainly no gummy sack because the itching texture was missing for starters and replaced with some foreign material unlike anything I ever felt before. If the feeling I was currently feeling was to be believed then this mysterious gummy sack replacement was the softest invention ever to bless any ranch!

My body was unresponsive and for a bit that didn’t bother me so much if it meant I could continue to blissfully lay here undisturbed. Thankfully I’m a hardened cowdog and thought of forever laying here greatly worried me. 

A dog born and tempered by the comforts of life would have continued to lay here with no cares in the world, content to let life do with them as it pleased. Drover came to mind, but I have to give that runt a little credit.. he would at least give the room a quick look over before making himself scarce. After all, life can’t get you if you’re hiding right?

“I can’t believe I’m taking a page from Drover.” I thought aloud, just to help reinforce the fact this was really happening.

First thing first, I needed to identify my surroundings, establish my location, gather supplies,  and escape(not in that order mind you). I’m not that dumb to expect a perfect escape on the first try, so to throw off any potential pursuers I’m going to do none of the above and just stay right here until I’m better. They’ll never expect an escape like this!

“So… who’s Drover? Oh and I’m happy to see you finally woke up or achieve some sort peaceful meditative trance.”

Uh?

The high pitched, fast paced voice was a new one. With such a wide arrange of characters living on the ranch, including the various others I’ve met in my life I can honestly say none came close to hurting my ears. Two came very close but one was just a naive buzzard who questioned too many things and the other a bird dog that made Drover look like me in comparison. 

None this mattered though with my whole body out of commission at the moment except for my ears which could just be malfunctioning and just made up that silly voice. I almost responded but caught myself once I realized it would only bring that noise back and so I settled for ignoring it in favor of adjusting my plan of escape.

With the possibility of a  guard watching over me not completely confirmed but not totally dismissed either, it left the desire to escape undetected wanning. I need to get back home fast and while I’m thankful for..this attention given to me something in my gut tells me I won’t like it here and so far my gut has been mostly right. That and all of this- the exhaustion, lost of direction, Brahman, comfy place to sleep indoors of all things didn’t really sit too well with me. 

Than again if I left now than that would mean more walking and my tenderized paws screamed at the thought. 

No matter how I looked at it the odds were stacked against me, and regrettably I gave in and relaxed my wind muscles. Right now I could only continue to lay in between this really comfy padding and blanket until I was strong enough to resume my journey, or talk to someone about using a phone to call up Slim since he likely drive over to get. 

Something just landed near me...uh bugger. 

I hesitantly cracked open my eyes to avoid detection in case the stranger was hostile and to my mild surprise found myself covered in darkness. Not the spiritual mumbo jumbo that crazy barn owl likes to speak either but actual nighttime darkness. This was both good and bad for it meant that there was a chance it was still the same day and I could be home sooner but bad because I’m not very keen with fighting at night. Several times I’ve found myself in such a scrap( and always pulled through) but while prevailing in the end left myself battered and bruised. What would the ranch do if the coyotes invaded or the cows stampede while I was incapacitated? 

A simple question I knew the answer to already but never wanted to discover in the flesh, and so resumed my carefully sweep of the house looking for th...

“Hello? You awake mutt?”

Ok, that’s it. There comes a time in a dog’s life where he’ll be exposed to some cases of mistreatment and verbal abuse at the cost of a shoe being thrown followed by some yelling or yelling first and then the shoe. But that's a small price we pay for the peace of mind that we did our job and while it may never be noticed, it was the right thing to do. So to hear that word being so casually used in a sentence directed at me was enough to break the straws on my back. 

Later I would learn he would spread lies and slander in an attempt to ruin my good name, claiming I’m a mutt to stupid to understand anything. Well all I have to say is takes one to know one. Ha! 

 “Who you calling a mutt.. att! I was expertly retorting until I decided to back up my words with body language. The kind of body language that requires you to move your bruised and languished body in order to make your threat more believable and with a slight expression of discomfort pulling my jaw back, I ‘retired’ to my makeshift bed once more. 

With my current state clearly advertised and no way for me to move opted for what I was doing earlier and resumed my assessment of the surroundings only this time looking for something specific. Luckily said creature inadvertently helped me by awarding me with yet another immature remark. 

“HA, ha! SeewhatImean?HAHA!” What did he say? The speed at which he was mocking me is astounding I’ll give him that but if you’re mocking someone, then make sure the creature being mocked can understand you or else it's lost during the exchange and you end up looking stupid.

It’s surprising how many fail at such a simple thing as mud slinging isn’t?    

If his chattering annoyed me before, than it wasn’t hard to figure out it still wasn’t doing me any favors. Having had enough of this constantly squealing laughter, I fully opened my eyes in the hopes that if it was going to attack me it would have already. I knew my eyes were opened but it was so dark in here that I honestly thought I’d forgotten to open them; as I scanned whatever I could, I was reminded of being underwater with the empty darkness going on forever before the pale light clouded my vision. 

I blinked once to clear my sight and to my great surprise found the previous void of a room had actually became slightly visible. The light wasn’t the yellow kind that is commonly seen when the sun sets, but the sickly paleness I would associate with the moon of the night sky. I know I’m just repeating myself here but I can’t help but miss the ranch and my gummy sack, but now I’m starting to ponder a thought truly disturbing. What if I’ve been asleep for longer than one night? 

What if I’ve been in a coma or hibernation for centuries and little furry critters have gain intelligence and became the dominate species on the planet? What if I’m the last dog! 

“Nope. None of that has happened. I just saw a dog yesterday. Ohandit'sonlybeenaboutadayortwowhichiswhyIstatedwe’regladyo..Sorry. I talk really, really fast when I forget to think and take my time.” 

Was I talking to myself and on accident mutter that last bit out loud?

“No you didn’t.”

“Ok… how are you doing that? I asked starting to believe of the very real possibility of brain slugs in use somewhere. 

“Doing what?” The voice came once more near me but his time it sounded like it came from above. 

So with great pai..eh I mean discomfort readjusted myself so that I was laying at a slight angle with the tips of back paws just dangling off some ledge, likely a sofa if I had to guess. From my new resting spot on the unidentified but likely a sofa my line of sight at greatly expanded allowing me to see the area previously just behind my head. Just above the arm of the now confirmed couch I could just make out the two windows where the moonlight at originated from; centered directly between the pair was a single door with a small table on the left hand side. Even further on the left hand side, tucked in the corner was a very large, double drawer dresser with chair strangely parked directly in front of it. How it looked reminded me of Little Alfred, High Loper’s son who was just a head taller than me and would sometimes use chairs or anything he could stand on to reach high places. 

Could this be a similar case? Maybe.

Looking down it was clear enough the floors were wood, with one..no two little carpets scattered about. A small one by the door and a single large carpet placed in the very center of the room and nothing else that could be described as interesting. This truly was the home of cowboy. 

A simple house for a simple life on the prairie, but normally High Loper and Slim would leave their boots next to the door just by the small table after a long day of work. This wasn’t because of laziness on their parts but for practicality of knowing where they’re at when needed, but here there were no boots and I found this oddity bothersome. Personally I think it's a bit of jealousy on my part, because if I had boots for each of paws I’ll be mighty proud of them and would want to show them off. Granted that’s just me but still I just can’t shake the feeling something doesn’t feel right about.. all of this. I mean it feels like a traditionally normal homestead and yet the air( not the breathable kind) just blows my fur the wrong way. 

With my apparent free time established, I opted to just give the house another go over to see if I missed anything important and once finish just likely repeat the process until something noteworthy appears or just happens.

“You’re a strange mutt.. I mean a strange dog. Sorry about the name calling and all of that it’s just thatwerarelyevergetanyvisitorsherean...and most of the time I’m by myself as Mr. Breaburn is out in the orchard. So, having someone around to talk to is a very welcomed change of pace.”

That pressure in the back of my mind was building once more as I tried pinpoint the location of my clearly not imaginative roommate. From the the edges of my remaining sanity, just barely light lighter than the rest of the surrounding darkness I noticed a small shape moving along the couch’s back. Watching me as I watched it, two little soulless eyes stayed focused as it moved toward the end of the couch before jumping on the arm rest right in front of me. 

Now watching me with the moonlight exposing it, I took brief look before every clicked: the beady little eyes, small grabby hands, large front teeth, a long bushy tail, and a fur color to match the very night. It all made sense. 

“YOU’RE A BABY EDDY!” 

“A what?” it asked back

“You’re a raccoon, a baby raccoon. How do you not know this? I asked as I watched the little guy ponder my declaration of the truth. I almost feel bad now for asking such a question when he did say most of his time is spent alone so maybe he likely didn’t know? Whatever the answer, my claim shocked for he jolted back almost falling off the couch. 

“YOUBLOODYMUTT!I’MASQUIRRELYOURAGGEDYBLINDMUTT.”

Now, I know the difference between a squirrel and a raccoon and while I fully understand why he would think that, he’s clearly wrong. A squirrel is a smaller, more dastardly cousin of a raccoon except for the small fact they live in trees, and eat acorns. This little guy before me wasn’t living in a tree but a home made from trees and so far I’ve yet to see him eat any acorns either. Clearly he was suffering from an extreme case of denial to the point he’s actually not only portraying himself as another species but is even adopting their mannerisms the poor little guy. Yet who could blame him? It’s easy to say you’ll know who you are but he has admitted to living here alone for most of his time and with no one to tell him who or what he is left him scrambling to find an answer and sadly he guessed wrong. 

Even just laying here I could tell he was a raccoon, and not a squirrel but that did little to prevent him from trying to act like one. He even threw in those little chips and clatters of teeth in between expressions just for good measure. This confused individual was indeed mad but he’s also my only source of information and link to the outside; plus his standing with the owner of this homestead made it all the more important to remain in his good graces if I wanted to get home in a timely manner. 

So, if I must talk and play along with this confused creature of the night and possibly take him under my paw than by golly I’ll help the little guy out!

First order of business, I need to help him confront his denial and help me accept the truth before we can proceed. If he can’t even face the facts and understand he’s not a squirrel but a raccoon than anything he tells me will have to be treated as false until otherwise proven. I’ll have to tread carefully to avoid sending him over the edge, but I really can’t wait too long either. 

Than again mother always said honesty is the best policy. 

“I want to say I understand this whole life altering ordeal, but I don’t. So, all I can say is just square your back some and accept the fact you’re just confused.”

At first there was silence as I thought he was honestly considering my words but sadly that wasn’t so. He didn’t so much as move an inch before suddenly bouncing off the arm rest and onto the cushion right next to my muzzle with a loud creak. The noise surprised both of us for he quickly straightened out his back and began scanning the large room for the origin of said noise. I watched curiously because he truly seemed worried and it would give me a better understanding just how far gone he may be. 

 His little head jumped from location to location, sometimes turning his entire body in order to keep up with his ever changing mind but it was once he decided to move back to the arm rest we heard the low pitch creak once again. We both froze together and waited for it to happen again but just like before we hear nothing. The squirrelly raccoon decide to move for the arm rest once more and just like before the creaking of floorboards came with it. 

He had reached near the center of the cushion and I watched in fright as it began sinking in, taking the little guy with it. I was about to abandon all regard for my own safety( while ignoring all of the pain) and lunge into that quickly forming sinkhole to rescue him, but before any of the muscles in my heavy legs could protest here came the furball leaping out and landing on the arm rest! He paused to gather his balance and then turned down to look at me and the still indented seat cushion. 

“Whoa, I kinda guessed Mr. Breaburn was stress eating more but I didn’t think he’ll gain any weight with all the field work and training for the rodeo.”

That got my attention. 

“There’s a rodeo coming up?” I asked trying to contain my excitement. I’ve always enjoyed the idea of taking normal ranch work and turning it into a competition, but every time the rodeo would hit town I ended being left behind. Heck, Slim and Loper every time took two of the horses to accompany them but they couldn’t take me along as well? 

To my happiness he nodded excitedly as well. “ YES, THERE IS! I do enjoy the whole frenzy the townsfolk get in as it draws near..” then he deflated. “But there likely won’t be one this year.”

I could almost hear the tears in his voice and it made my ears welt right along with him. He looked up and I swore he could understand everything I was currently experiencing because he started answering the question I was trying to come up with.

 “Mr. Braeburn is out for the night, a town meeting is being held in regards to the sudden rise in train holdups.” he stopped when he heard my low growl before continuing. “The trains are how most of the competitors and supplies for the rodeo arrive but this sudden appearance and rise in robberies, fewer trains have been risk traveling this way. In fact the last one that did pull into the station was suppose to deliver our mail but he to had been held up; a request was sent for a guard escort but so far we’ve heard nothing.”

“Is there something I could do?” I had to ask after hearing such a sad tale. 

From his viewpoint on the armrest, he grasped the bottom of chin with one of his paws as he looked over my depressing form. 

“Unless you have a way to summon the guard I don’t really see how especially in your condition.”

What did he mean by ‘the guard’?  While his tale was indeed sad, some of it didn’t really make any sense mostly the bit with train robberies. It almost sounds like one of them old west stories Little Alfred would tell me and Drover before having us help him ‘reenact’ some with cattle rustling, bank robberies,  forming posses, and the classic shoutout. Still, I can’t lay here accepting their hospitality and not do something for them in return. 

“I’m tougher than I like little Eddy, I’m Head of Ranch Security on my ranch and I’ve done a good job too. I stopped a coyote invasion..twice!” This little statement was the exact thing he needed to hear, for he returned to his earlier thinking pose. 

“Hmmm. Perhaps you could help us but that isn’t for me to decide.” He turned his back to me so he could look out one of the windows.” It’s late mutt, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before I could call out in response, he had leaped from the armrest and onto the ground. I didn’t see where he went but I hear the little clattering of nails on wood for a moment before it phased into the darkness, leaving me alone with my thoughts for the rest of the night.  
> Arc 1: Did I ever tell you I hate horses?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day came and went without me once more or so I was told making it almost two whole days of sleeping on the job. Never once until now have I slacked off so much in a single span of time; there was always something that needed to be done, or needed my undivided attention for one reason or another.

All of this worrying is wearing on my mind, but regretfully there was little that could be done about it at the moment.

Judging from the lighting I would guess it was early afternoon, and besides a small bowl of food and water by the door there wasn’t any signs of my mysterious caretaker or companion from last night. Luckily though the burning numbness and fatigue that had plugged me before was all but gone, leaving a stiff reminder to take it easy.

So, what’s a dog to do when he can barely move and can’t work?

Simple. He.. you know, I honestly don’t have the foggiest clue. I’ve mentioned it before that Drover is the experienced one when it comes to the ability to do nothing, and I’ll even go on a limb and say the coyote brothers Rip and Snort were a very close second. In fact, I’m surrounded by all of these “professionals” and I still can’t grasp how you don't  do anything and enjoy it. 

I’ve tried staring at the opposite end of the couch before flipping over to stare at even more of the couch in the hopes of finding what the appeal was only to discover my eyes were starting to hurt. Seriously! How can anyone stand looking at drying paint let alone a couch for more than a second?

Certainly one immune to the concepts of boredom and its nulling effects on the mind.

Understanding this notion brought me once more back to the present and with it the ever conclusion that unless someone were to suddenly burst through that door and whisk me away this very moment, I wasn’t going to find anything worth doing. To add to my misery was the fact that the curtains hanging above the single large window were left drawn. 

I could see the very day pasting me by and I couldn’t a thing to stop it!

To lay idle as the world passed me by was hard enough but to be unable to do anything to correct this unjustified treatment was the gravy on the kibbles. Granted from this spot I could still see part of the sky but still what’s a dog to do?   

That was the question I needed to answer. In the past most problems were either so simple in nature or were small enough, I could handle it on my own quickly and continue the day without any noticeable loss of time. Sadly my life an’t that easy anymore. 

When it comes to its normal functions I’m the champ at maintaining a hard working and well oiled pickup, but it didn’t mean I was a miracle working. How did the old saying go? What didn’t put you under makes you lucky.. or was it smarter? Either way the point is you’re taking something away from the experience and mine was I’m never seeing Madame Moonshine again!

The call of the wild (or the relatively contained wild) was calling me and by golly I was going to answer it. 

With a possible goal in mind and a motivation for reaching it, I began calming my mind in order to start formulating a plan. This process requires the processor to take a step back and.. well process. It’s a common method used by many people( mostly by the tax collectors’) in a system meant to take in every bit of available information and use it to paint a picture.

Not literally painting a picture mind you but by using all the data collected, you could use it to get an idea or a picture of whatever you’re trying to create. It’s a very useful tactic when you’re lacking concrete information or need a base to build upon; isn’t doing your taxes just wonderful?

Anyway, with all of this talk of taxes and metaphorical phantom numbers and I started with the basics. First, I’m not at the ranch which is a given just by looking around the room. Second, besides my mad companion from last night and the mention of his owner, I’ve yet to see any evidence that  any others live here. Third, the ranch is a ranch out in middle of good old Texas country, not a farm. Yes, I knew all of this through the powers of observation( by looking out the window) I can confidently say I’m in a different part of Texas. 

My wanderings before waking up here confirm this theory but how far did they move  to cause such a major change in landscape? Perhaps the farmers here watered their lawn just a bit more? Who knows but it does alter my plans enough since I don’t know where the ranch is now. A matter that greatly hindered not only my plan of escape but my ability to do my job and that bristled my fur. 

Needing to take my mind off of this unfortunate realization, I went through the motions of my everyday routine and started stretching my back and legs. There were a few pops here and there further reminding me of my latest adventure and not my age; I may be older than Drover but that doesn’t mean nothin.

A few pops and joint pain didn’t mean my body was old does it?

Does a car get scrapped when the engine doesn’t start? No. It gets kicked and yelled at before someone experienced comes by and fixes it. Let me just add that I feel like I’ve been kicked and don’t want to be here when the yelling starts. I let the aches and tender muscles calm before restarting the entire routine once more and was greatly rewarded for my perseverance with the gratifying sound a single pop originating from my back. Oh I felt like a new gummysack! 

With the engine started and on idle, I continued processing my situation once more. That oh so good pop did loosened my joints and muscles but that was just the start. First, I started my third round of stretching by flexing all four paws and legs with the back two remaining still and saying they did. Second, I further increased this process by going beyond the norm and even wiggled my  paws..claws.. toes? I’m not sure what they’re called actually but the point is those digits got stretched. 

There were no pops this time which translated into no pain. A small blessing and one I wouldn’t scuff.

Next, came the moment I’ve been dreading which involved trying get up. Till now I had been resting mostly.. well entirely on my sides and frankly they were getting a little sore. Even with the comfort provided by this here couch, the aches and pains of being confined( mostly boredom) had taken their toll on me. Thus I could no longer partake in this luxurious couch if I wanted a speedy recovery. In the past.. last night.. I remember having some difficulty just flipping myself over but now I was having trouble making myself want to move!

Nothing had changed from last night till now with the exception of waking up. Now, not to toot my own horn but I am a remarkably fast healer and wouldn’t be surprised if I was just tired from the process. But that wasn’t likely since it took me far longer to heal my leg when that one-eye stallion broke it. What could be so different? 

While I pondered this enigma, I struggled to rise just enough to change sides; the effort left me winded but once I had managed to flip the rest of me over I just gave in and dropped like a rock in water. Oh this couch was so comfy. A literal cloud on earth delicately collected and molded so that I may…

Wait a minute.

I halted all not vital calculations and functions and quickly diverted it to this increasingly growing thought that had entered my mind. An idea that to most sounded random and stupid but one that if I followed this kibble trail closely I could very well prove that nothing was beyond belief. 

This couch for the last two days had been assigned to me as my bed so that I may recover in peace, but is that all it was meant for?

The kibble trail was coming to an end and it was leading me to the food bowl. This couch while comfortable was making me lazy and that was unacceptable. It was all becoming so clear that I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner! My saviors had no intention of letting me return to the ranch let alone my job, but instead were trying to domesticate me!

Don’t you see it? 

They come in acting all nice and caring by giving me anything(well a couch) to make my recover as pleasant as possible. By giving me an easy life with all of the comforts and little worries I would continually lower my guard to the point that when it came time to leave I wouldn’t to go. I would willing give up my independence and career just to stay. Never before have I encountered such a diabolical scheme!

Yet, in some strange way I respected this genius; showing up to save the day while offering an easy life and suddenly bam! You’ve become Plato the bird dog, unable to understand not only the simplest of common sense but nothing beyond the boundaries of a house fence. This was worst than I first thought.

I tried once more to prop myself up from this really comfortable couch turned bed turned into brainwashing conspiracy, and as before found myself unable to escape its rooted temptation. 

Now that I was actively fighting its embrace did the full reality of my situation become clear; if the raccoon squirrel’s  words were to be believed than I’ve been sleeping on this couch for two full days! Two full days under its mind altering effects with possible side effects! Oh this was bad. 

Two full days of rest and I still felt the full weight of exhaustion nipping at my calves.. I think this couch is zapping my strength to feed its brainwashing agenda! 

By the old pick up in the barn this plot was even more devious than previously thought of before. Learning your saviors were little more than dog catchers with houses using the old TLC trick to keep you weak was heartbreaking. I had truly believed them to be kind, and caring citizens helping a  hard working cowdog in need but clearly that wasn’t the case. It just goes to show you can’t trust anyone anymore else they turn out to be dogcatchers trying to get ah!

Scanning the room for anything that could either aid me in my escape or hinder it was the first thing I needed to know. It would be unwise to execute my grand escape plan only to be foiled because I didn’t count on the lack of a doggie door. Which there wasn’t one!

Comparing my current view with the hazy one from last night, I noted nothing new was added or had changed since the last time. The window was still a window: the dresser was still by the window, the door still closed, the couch still comfy and the lack of work boots by the door. A shame really since I was hoping the door would have been left cracked or at least ajared; nothing much, just enough for..say a purebred cowdog to slip through. Speaking of the window it was now taunting me with its glimpses of the warm outdoor sun and heated air, which didn’t amuse me. 

A disappointment but nothing in life was just given to you freely with the one exception being a flying shoe. 

I wasn’t getting anywhere by sitting here waiting for something to happen. I had to take a chance right now while I’m still alone and have some energy left. The problem is I felt too exhausted to get up, but the longer I remained meant the weaker I became; I knew what had to be done whether or not I wanted to do it. 

Closing my eyes in preparation was key because it closed you off to the world and allowed the mind to purge itself of unneeded baggage. This in itself is a feat, one I’ve taught myself in order to not only think better but clear my head after a day on the job. The idea is that by ridding yourself of distractions you can focus more brain power into anything you need at the present time, thus improving your overall results.   

I was doing something different this time; the hope is that if I could temporarily forget about the fatigue, than perhaps I could trick my body into thinking it was alright. There wasn’t any guarantee it would work but what did I have to lose besides my job and freedom.. ok so I did have a lot to lose. 

With my mind now closely related to the absorbency of a sea sponge, I did one last routine system check which usually involved flexing my legs and paws. Yep, they’re still moving but barely. This could mean one of two things, that either my plan was starting to work and was tricking my body into thinking that it's healed or the couch had further zapped my energy. The both possibilities are bad but the first offered me the greatest chance of escape, but regardless it meant I had to act now. 

Using nothing but sheer willpower to fuel my body, I threw all of it into my side. The force from this was enough to lift me up onto my back, and roll me onto my other side. As soon as I felt the couch I quickly tapped into what was left of my depleted energy and using the momentum bounced myself off my side and reversed the flip. This action promptly reversed my direction in a complete 180, but this time right before I landed on my other side I reversed the direction again and again. Because of this I was rolling side to side faster and faster as the stored energy continually built up until something in my gut told me it was time to release it. 

It happened so fast that I couldn’t recall every detail; one moment I was but a turtle on his back  and then suddenly I”m mimicking Littler Alfred rolling down a small hill. Except that hill was a couch and rolling down hill meant rolling off the edge of said couch. 

In a related note, the welp produced was louder than the pain currently afflicting me but not by much. 

I had landed on my back, causing a train track of semi load pops to be heard that while painful left me feeling in a way refreshed; a feeling I could only compare to scratching an itch that was previously unattainable. Sure there was a moment of fear as I fought for air but that quickly became less important once a major discovery was made.. well discovered. Yes, I was currently on my back impersonating a fish out of water, but the fatigue that plagued me was finally gone. 

Haha! I was right and now that I’m free from that diabolical cloud called a couch, I could move forward with my escape. 

With my energy returning to me and only partially fueled by the bruise spreading pain, I grunted but had managed right myself onto all fours. I didn’t waste anytime checking the damage report instead choosing to make a beeline for the only door in this single.. wait..two bedroom shack. I didn’t notice the other room behind the couch, but a lack of door and any smells were enough to disinterest me. 

Actually, now that I’m taking in this “fine” air it..well certainly has that rancher’s taste. Now trust me when I say I know what a ranch should smell like after living and patrolling one for most of my life; this little home smells like someone lost their mind and actually lets the animal herds inside!

Now in some crazy way of thinking this could make watching over them a heck of alot easier, but it completely undermines the value of my position. Not only do my captors domesticate honest, good working cowdogs into brainless Bird Dogs but they’re also taking many poor dumb animals and... 

You know, I don’t know why anyone would want such troublesome company in their house but the point is now their trying to take away the one thing that gives me reason to keep going. The situation is continuously changing for the worst. Even more so than it already had just moments before.

Suddenly, I no longer felt welcomed here. Strange uh?

The desire and urgency to leave came burning back in full force to the point I swear it even signed my paws! Upon the this realization of my predicament I did the only sensible thing in a surreal situation and took another page right from Drover’s book: I pan.. I mean I deployed Tactic Numero 1857-2A. Yep, you heard me right. I deployed Tactic Numero 1857-2A and it was used to terrifying results. 

I started whimpering and yelping in the most undignified manner that if High Loper or even Drover were to have walked in right now, I would sooner hang up my badge and join the circus than live with the embarrassment. I won’t go into exact details of this dangerous procedure, but I will say it's not for the faint of heart. 

It was in the midst of this terrifying maneuver that multiple loud thumps from outside alerted me that my tactic had worked. To hear the sounds of life other than my own both thrilled and unnerved me for whatever was coming was likely in cahoots with my captors. They could even be more of their past victims coming to.. *gulp*.. housebreak me.  

I goofed. Clearly my imitation of Drover’s war dance( and not a panic attack) was flawed and instead of scaring off any would be dangers instead had called them right to me! When I get back, me and Drover are going to have a very long talk about the dangers of miscommunication and his poor choice of naming procedures. Thinking quickly I ceased my ‘war dance’ and bolted for the side of the door, right next to the door handle. The hope is that it or they would be so distracted by my earlier display that when they came for me I would rush by them when the door was open and BAM! I would be rolling in that sweet tasting freedom and it will be my only companion for the rest of my journey back home. 

No more raccoons and cloud couches for me!

I felt bad for thinking, let alone planning such an escape given this person took me in and so far was nurturing me back to health and this was how I was thanking them? Well yes, they shouldn’t be brainwashing me in the first place! When you throw in that strength zapping couch and the very confused squirrel than all the anxieties of leaving were dust in the wind. 

The thumps had grown in volume and frequency to the point I could safely say they were four legged… two four legged animals coming my way. Horses perhaps, but they didn’t sound like the ones back home. Strange.  They were coming by horseback which meant my escape plan just got even more dangerous! As thumps and clops grew louder, I’ll admit it made me even more nervous. I could hear them talking through the wooden door and my shivering teeth, but their conversation was too muffled to make anything out. 

I furthered flatten myself against the wall out of concern( not fear) that I may be sticking out too much. I began running a program I had dubbed “HOLY STOCK TANKS! ME FIRST!” which involves me to take up a pouncing stance while making sure all four legs were wound and ready to spring at a moment's notice. 

By assuming and holding this stance, I’m making sure that once the door opened I’ll be long gone before they knew it. A simple tactic that has saved my tail so many times that I likely wouldn't be here right now, instead under the stock tanks praying for us all as Drover assumed my position. The thought alone fueled my determination to escape. 

“...ght be dangerous.”

“How... a dog…?” 

I was right. There were coming by horseback and one was female! How they know it was against my code to not harm a woman I would never know but golly they were good. 

I cocked my ears back as a metallic click caught my attention. The door in front of me began stirring, the fairly new wood cracked as it pushed inward as if someone was pressing up against it. The handle jiggled. This was it. I raised my rump high into the air as I consolidated every last ounce of energy into my rear legs, readying them to launch once that door opened. The pair of voices had lowered in volume almost like they were whispering but that didn’t matter as the familiar sound of a door unlocking garnered my full attention. I could feel the adrenaline speeding down along every strand of fur, practically pulsing with anticipation for…

There it is!

Let me tell you, the moment that handle came down I was gone. Dust in the wind so to say. Records were shattered and ladies cried at the sight of the handsome blur! Yes, I was fast and gone until I full on smacked into the very solid wooden door that had remained close.

“Dang it! Miss Jubilee quick! Go and fetch Doc Quick Patch will you?” 

I heard one of them shout as I met the hard floor yet again. During my walk along the edge of consciousness and sweet dreams I glanced up to find the reason for my failure- two separate doors instead of one! I kid you not this door could open from the top while the bottom remained closed. Who builds a door like this let alone uses one? To add to my embarrassment was what I presumed to be the owner’s horse peering down at me over the lower door. 

Our eyes locked and suddenly I felt a chill parading down my spine for there, nestled in his eyes were something I had only seen in one other animal.. one other horse. A look that reminded me of Old One-Eye himself and it screamed a higher intelligence beyond those obviously plotting and.. was that horse wearing a stetson?

It was too much to take in and so I did the only thing that still made sense which was to shut down and reboot. In other words I blacked out.
> Arc 1: Chapter 5: I really do hate horses.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Did I ever mention I hate horses?

I didn’t? Well then, be aware they’re not the only menace to my health but they’re pretty high up there. If I had to create some sort of list to list all the dangers to not only my health but that of the residences of the ranch than horses would be number three: five belongs to the coyotes, four is bird dogs, two the scary Mrs. Sally and one being the natural enemy of every animal in this lovely world….

Vets.

Yep, you heard correctly its vets and their diabolically clean offices and insistence they know how to cure every little thing. Mama once told me not to trust anybody that claims to know the cure to everything because it means they’re a snake charmer, and snakes are bad. Especially if they’re paws are clean, meaning they’ve never known a hard day's work, and that leads to more bird dogs (not named Plato but close).

When it comes to the other four I can take the pain. Coyotes? Dealt with them many times before and not once tripped running..charging them! Horses? A broken leg at most but that healed with a little R&R and extra rations. The rest pale in comparison to these monsters of the medical world. Granted my experience with them is limited, the three occasions were plenty enough to make my opinion on them justified. Heck, my first encounter with these people were amongst the earliest days I can remember.

I was very young, a pup just old enough to walk without falling over every second. The world back then was so large and majestic to us pups that any new experience was a treasure. Each time we got up and walked always took us somewhere new and exciting, the possibilities were endless!

Not to bore you with the details of this scarring moment in my life, but the short story is a lot of bright lights and many needles. Can you understand what that’s like for a pup? Traumatizing wouldn’t describe the feeling but “very scary” will have to do. Yes, it was a very scary moment in my early life that in a way encouraged me to become the cowdog I am today, but the exact details of my rise are classified. Yep. State secrets and buried treasure they are which sadly means I can’t divulge anything relating to my past… 

Ah doggie bones, let’s just pretend this little conversation never happened ok? Just our little secret between the two of us, heck it’ll be our very own secret paw shake. 

Good? Good.

Looking around the room confirmed I had been moved since my untimely (failed) escape. This new room wasn’t a home but an office or work area of sorts with little else but the necessities needed to properly do a job. I can respect this logic utmost with my experiences working along Loper and Slim, there wasn’t a job that needed some sort of creative solution or tool to complete. 

Currently gathered along the wall next to the door and in front of the lone desk were a total of seven chairs, each carved from wood and looking new. Here and there in key spots were charts spouting mumbo jumbo I couldn’t make out, but two near the lone double door cabinet sported pictures of a small horse’s bones. There was one showing off the side view of its bones while the other went for the more creepy vibe of showing the muscles. Who in their right mind would want something like that decorating their workplace? My mind drifted back to Rip and Snort, maybe even Wallace and Junior but that’s it really. 

Moving along I noticed a large rectangle of a table placed next to the cabinet with enough space for a person to walk around it, and open the cabinet doors without hitting it. There was a small clock hanging above the door with a coat rack next to it in the corner, a simple white apron being the only thing taking advantage of it. If you didn’t count the area in the corner I occupied then there wasn’t anything else going for this room. Plain and simple. A nice touch I could get behind if I ever decided to retire and purchase that single room dog house over in the neighboring ranch.

Speaking of my housing preferences, let it be known that being tied with a rope to a hook on the wall isn’t my thing. At the moment I was resting on.. not a pillow, but some sort of sheet made out of cloth so thin it felt like the wood floor had fur. Itchy fur at that. 

I patted this poor excuse of a bed just to confirm I wasn’t misjudging this gesture, to which the deep bass like thump told me I wasn’t. There was no slim pillow hiding under this bed sheet, just the solid wooden floor ready to ruin any chance at sleep. Tto my left was a small dish that contained foggy room temperature water, and a small plate that smelt more like dead grass than actual kibble. 

Peachy. I’m a captive now instead of a guest. 

The upsetting part was I couldn’t even reach the offerings if I wanted to because whoever tied the rope clearly didn’t know how an underhand knot is supposed to work! If I tilted my head enough I could make out the edges of the knot in my peripheral vision and it’s enough to make Loper chuck a boot and Slim to sigh before going to retrieve it.

First, I’m kidnapped from my beloved ranch and dumped in a random pasture before being forced to endlessly wander in the heat. Next, I’m treated to some sort of domestication-inducing couch (that likely turned the ponies crazy), and now I find myself tied in what looks like a doctor’s office with the food bowl just out of reach. 

What next, this doctor turns out to be a vet and doubles as the local dogcatcher?

Ok, that’s a terrifying thought. 

Now, not only am I in a potential vet’s house, but a vet that doubles as a dogcatcher? I swear the world’s out to get me with how every little thing in my life seems to just happen at once. But maybe.. perhaps this is all some sort of test meant to test me?

To test what, I can’t put a paw on it, but whatever it could be it's obviously not for my benefit.

This new possibility is what threw the bone into the muddy puddle, and gave it the most taste. In my grand career I’ve experienced more than enough to bark my life’s story till the sun retires and goes to bed. That’s a lot for most dogs, but I’m not most dogs. All my life I have risen to whatever challenges sprung up around my slice of green grass and there’s no way I’m turning tail now!

Uh? It’s funny how looking at something in another light really changes the meaning. Sure, you may say it's a common sense thing or it's as obvious as looking at the sun and away from the sun, but not every critter in life is awarded with my intellect. Now it may sound like I’m burying my own bone here but I can’t help it if facts are facts, but let us bury the river and move over the bridge shall we?

I can’t say how much time has passed, but given the slight grumble in my belly and stiff joints I can safely say half a day at the least. Feeling the need to stretch forced me up onto all fours, and with a quick extension of my spine was rewarded with a series of consecutive pops. A familiar routine deeply engraved into my very bones that not only gave me a sense of familiarity but also found it very therapeutic. 

The rope extended just enough to allow me some illusion of movement but that ultimately broke the moment I tried for the bowl of food and water. Cabbages, I forgot about that. My hunger coupled with the tantalizing sight of food only worsened the whole ordeal. Note, the smell isn’t the most enticing but when you’re on the brink of starvation it becomes easy to forgive these minor details. 

Or at least I tried to.

The rumblings in my gut kept me from focusing on other matters, but it did open my eyes to the desperation of my situation. Besides the obvious bad smell, the off-brand kibble just didn’t look right either. Perhaps it was because the pellets were the size of a small bone or the fact they looked like they'd been dropped in a barn, and nobody bothered to dust them ruined the appeal, but it certainly doesn’t help. Ignoring that, the food looked edible until I sneezed and a small cloud of dust rolled off the pellets and right into my eyes.   
  
Strangely, the more I studied the out of reach bowl of food I found myself losing interest in the whole ordeal. Sure I’m hungry and upset, the food provided reminds me of alfalfa pellets(still it's the thought that counts), tied to a wall by a doctor, probably a vet/dog catcher, yet, none of this irked me as it did previously. What brushed my fur the wrong way was they had the nerve to treat me like a common animal!

 Haven’t these people ever heard of southern hospitality before?

Seriously, I’m tied up by a piece of rope barely long enough to move off this poor excuse of a bed sheet, and short enough to make the bowls of nourishment little more than eye candy. All of this irked me to no end. As a hard working cowdog, to suddenly be confined and treated as a common pet was.. no.. IS a grave injustice against my kind (mostly me).

I have to act soon or risk wasting my days tied to this wall learning to eat sunlight(how you can I don’t know) just eat something. With this determination and a case of hunger fueling the need to escape, I madly turned around and latched my jaws onto what little rope I could get. 

You didn’t hear this from me, but it was a tad exhilarating cutting loose. 

The sensation of at once releasing your corralled angst onto something is therapeutic. A throwback to my short lived outlaw days where this sort of outburst was not only accepted, but encouraged between others in the tribe. The idea behind this belief is simple: throw everything into problem until no more. 

Isn’t coyote logic so wonderful? 

A simple belief that (with a little luck) I could use to work to my advantage. 

At first, I tried my luck gnawing as close to the knot as possible before working further down the rope to give me better leverage. This seemed like the right move, thanks to my top notch teeth I was literally eating strands of stuff. Thankfully the rope tasted new, or just not used often. 

I kept this tactic up for weeks..days.. Ok not that long but a span of time did pass and let's leave it like that. I tried my darndest but the last few strands were unusually thick and sadly proved to be my match(more like it cheated) and I had to stop before my poor jaw gave out. Let it be known in no way was I admitting defeat, but instead backing off to regroup for another attack at a later time. 

I was in the middle of ridding myself of a few bits of rope that had found their way between my impressive choppers when suddenly the only door popped open. 

“Yeeerp!”

“Oh,  I’m so so sorry dear! I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The owner of the voice did not scare me as she( judging from the tone) claimed to have done. No, far from it. The yerp was purposely deployed to lure the strange pony into a false sense of security to subdue her expectations which would make my escape easier. 

“Awwh, poor baby. Did you get tangled up?” I froze when the strange mare noticed my escape attempt, and almost started chewing faster when she grabbed the slack of rope and removed it. 

Even among the animals back home I made it a point not to hurt any female which was the only reason the strange mare was spared my tried and true Bark & Snap routine. 

“There. All good now, purdy boy.” The mare chimed as her hoof quickly gave me pat on the head before retreating to fix her long red locks since they kept covering her eyes. 

As she fiddled with a yellow ribbon with images of cherries on it, I began building a file on this mare to store into my database noting her features, and accessories like the yellow ribbon and the lopsided pink scarf around her neck. Strangely, the way this pony carried herself reminded me of a true southern belle, and a little bit like Miss Beulah in how she spoke and postured herself. The long strands of red mane bounced with a soft, and  dainty elegance I never knew could be achieved on a female, let alone a pony. I may strongly dislike horses and their smaller cousins, but I’ll give credit where it’s due by suggesting this mare had a womanly charm to her. 

For a dangerous animal. 

“Now where could have that o’l fool Winding Gauze gone?” the mare muttered to herself as she left me to explore the office, noting how she lingered by the shelf that held several picture frames before casually strolling toward the desk by the window. 

Her behavior struck me as odd, and almost cat-like as she appeared to innocently move around the room looking for some unknown reason, nearly eliciting a bark from me. Good training has always proven stronger in times of unknown, and living by this code held the bark down to continue watching her movements. They were deliberate, and cunning. 

‘She's been here before.’  I thought as the mare knew where to go. There was no loitering in the movements, but a focused path being laid out as red mane mare spun around in the middle of the room for no reason. 

The act might have appeared innocent in nature, but I still pressed myself against the wall just in case she decided to lash out and buck a cowdog or some other creature. 

“It's best we be ago’n young pup.” She called out. My eyes were already tracking her movements by the time she reached the rope that bound me in place. 

I even managed to fake a whimper, and let me tell you it was a good one too! Her eyes softened a mighty good bit, that I got worried somebody left the faucet running in those green irises. To terror the mare reached out with her hooves and grasped the sides of my face, and proceeded to treat me like a wide eyed pup!

“YOU POOR THING!” She nearly wailed while pinching my cheeks. How hooves could do anything besides be a hoof left me reeling at the possibilities these strange free pasture ponies could do. 

I really might  have to get the Texas Rangers involved at this rate. No lie. Cowdog’s honor.

This surprise assault of my personal space ended after only two rotations of check pinching, before the mare finally began untying the knot in the rope. 

“One moment...” She began messing with the rope, and I took my chance.

“So long sucker!” I barked as I bolted for the ajar door. 

Never had I run faster than that very moment, and I’ve had to outrun coyotes before on a near daily basis back at the ranch. What made this moment different could only be guessed by future generations, but in that moment I knew paws were moving so fast that I could feel the air in my muzzle as I made lift off. Yes you heard right, I was running so fast for that door I began flying…

The rope tightened enough to choke me, and with a mighty yank me into the air. 

My paws kept moving forward which caused me to do a 180 like you see on TV sometimes, which meant my paws ran themselves off the ground and into the air, and with a loud smack I fell onto my back. The air escaped my lungs as I laid there staring up into the sky when my ears caught the frantic movement of the other creature in the room, and with understanding of what happened, watched as her southern belle face appeared with the end of a rope firmly clinched in her jaws. 

“You ok hun? Got a wee bit cited dint we?” Her speech was either hindered by the rope or her accent just came out stronger in that last part, but the look in her eyes appeared genuine with their concern for me. 

A faked another whimper, and got a similar reaction from the mare as before. Instantly, the buttermilk colored mare reached out and lifted me up with frightening little effort, and set me back on my paws. She proceeded to hug, and pet me afterward leaving myself further degraded by being treated like a common pet by horses. 

The struggles one has to endure in my kind of work, but it's a necessary requirement that ultimately separates the pups like Drover from cowdogs like myself. If you aren’t willing to put up the work, then you have no business in the ranching profession. It’s a waste of time, and energy that could be put to better use in another less important, but still valuable field like car chaser, or guard dog.

Keeping up with this act, I allowed the mare to keep treating me as a puppy with her cooing noises, and need to pinch my cheeks with those crazy hooves. I almost didn’t allow it, but by forces beyond my control I was able to play the part of a hurt cowdog, earning myself the symphony needed to get me out of this vet’s office. 

“Let’s get going, pup.” the mare said as she took the lead, rope in mouth toward the door. 

“This was it!” I thought as I followed the mare, and with a single flick of her hoof pushed the door open. 

We appeared in a normal looking hallway with stained, wood flooring with wood flakes beginning to peel near the center of each board while the edges looked almost new. As in the office, there was electricity running through the hall with three open light bulbs centered in the high travel areas, one where we stood, a second in the hall itself, while the third flickered by another open space with a door by a window. I could see the sunlight peering through the window meaning that was the exit. 

“Alright hun, the office is locked up…” She jolted the handle twice to make sure it didn’t open, before turning to me. “...we’ll have to hurry pup. We’re later than the train on Sunday.”  

I still didn’t know where we were going or who we’ll have to meet, but I’ll play the obedient dog if it meant getting some proper answers to my questions. Like where are the humans at? Wouldn’t a free roam pasture still have at least one ranch hand to check on the herd? 

Has anyone noticed I was missing?

Surely they must have noticed when I didn’t return from my recent patrol...when was that actually? I honestly can’t remember how long ago that last patrol was, nor what happened after word. 

“That dang Madam Moonshine and her pet snake.” I nearly growled as I thought back, knowing they were somehow involved with my lost memories, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what they were. Weird thing the mind is.

Luckily, the mare didn’t notice and a quick walk down the hallway led us to the doors that likely lead to the outside. She turned to look at me with the rope still firmly planted between her chompers. 

“Be on that best beehaver ya understand?” I barked and wagged my tail for good measure earning a sweet smile from the mare. “Good. It gets mighty crowded during this time of day, so stick close.” 

She gave me a single pat on the head with her unnaturally soft hooves before grabbing the handle to open the door. Now, I didn’t know what to expect given my very limited exposure to the other pony and it's weird pet squirrel, but let it be known this certainly wasn’t it! 

What greeted me was an actual cowboy town, wooden buildings, wagons, ponies, ponies wearing cowboy hats…

No. I’m not making that last part up, nor couldn’t if I ever tried to because of how ridiculous the idea sounded. I would expect this made up story from Drover if I weren’t seeing it with my own good eyes, and trust me, these orbs of sight were some of the finest trained west of the Mississippi River. What we had here took the free roam idea to another level beyond logical practices. 

“Laziness.” I told myself as we went across the dirt road, and began following it to the west. 

It was pure laziness on the rancher’s part for abandoning their livestock for so long they’ve restored to act’n and dressen like people to survive!

The more I followed the mare down this road, the more I became convinced this was the case but more severe than I previously thought. Not only were these ponies dressen the part, but they were even mimicking them to- a blacksmith, sheriff with a badge, and a few attending carts selling fruits and other items. These ponies were not only desperate for human contact that they were willing to dress like them, but were even imitating their jobs!

It was more than laziness now, and if I weren’t seeing it with my own two eyes, then I would have never believed it. Mother always said ‘Not to trust what your ears are hearing, for they might need to be cleaned.’   

Our trek through the street led us into close proximity to other ponies who greeted the red mane mare with an air of familiarity that reminded me of my own greetings to Miss Beula, and Missy Coyote to some degree. I played the part of a good cowdog, and listened to their conversations by pretending to be a curious dog wondering who the new pony was. 

This marvelous acting earned me a few more of the weird head pats, and a few ‘good boy’, but my plan worked and revealed some information I desperately needed to formulate my escape. Comparing what I learned from Perri the Squirrel about the supposed bandits roaming the property, I discovered the brahman herd and these ponies weren’t on the greatest of terms, but were going to work together to find these bandits. 


A courageous effort on their parts, but a doomed one from the sounds of it. Cattle and Horses were never good friends to begin with given their ancient histories, but a commendable effort to dish out justice all the same. Now, it was during the conversation with the  *cough* sheriff  that I discovered the southern belle parading me around was named Cherry Jubilee, and she was to be looking after me while this Braeburn fella went off with the coalition. 

“Those names are stupid.” I muttered as the two ponies talked. 

I continued my observations of the town trying to gauge how these ponies conducted life in this strange pasture, and the more I watched them, the more I felt worried what could happen if this kind of ranching became common. Cowdogs like myself have always been used in ranch protection since the dawn of ranching, and to see confused animals not only living without our protection, but mimicking their caretakers to this degree wasn’t right. It threatened a natural balance that needed to be maintained at all cost, and once I’m free from this mare’s oppressive rope, then I could go back to the ranch and bring the High Loper, Slim, Drover, the Texas Rangers...     

“Come on pup, time to go!” There was a tugging on the rope, and with a single yank threw me back onto my paws. 

One way or another I needed to escape, and quickly before I met an early retirement.
> Arc 1: Chapter 6: Jail break with a nice helping of trouble.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.” 
> 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.