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    The Case of the Perfect Dog
    The Case of the Perfect Dog
    The Case of the Perfect Dog
    Ebook108 pages1 hour

    The Case of the Perfect Dog

    By John R. Erickson and Gerald L. Holmes

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    When a strange twist of events brings a yellow Labrador onto the scene of a roundup gone wrong, the entire ranch quickly falls in love with this newest addition to the ranch's Security Division. Who can help loving a Lab? Hank quickly begins to feel the pressure of measuring up to this perfect dog, but it isn't long before everyone begins to notice that their sweet new pet, Happy, has a few personality quirks of his own. Will Happy stay on the ranch forever? Will Hank manage to solve the crisis that erupts when Happy's quirks get out of hand, before Happy eats the ranch into bankruptcy?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMAVERICK BOOKS INC
    Release dateMar 29, 2012
    ISBN9781591887591
    The Case of the Perfect Dog
    Author

    John R. Erickson

    John R. Erickson, one-time bartender, handyman, cowboy, and founder of Maverick Books, has written and published seventy-five books and more than 600 articles. He is the author of the bestselling Hank the Cowdog series of books, audiobooks, and stage plays. His writing has garnered many accolades, including the Audie, Oppenheimer, Wrangler, and Lamplighter awards, and his works have been translated into many languages. A fifth-generation Texan, Erickson owns a ranch in Perryton, Texas.

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      Book preview

      The Case of the Perfect Dog - John R. Erickson

      HankBook59cover.jpg

      The Case of the Perfect Dog

      John R. Erickson

      Illustrations by Gerald L. Holmes

      Maverick Books, Inc.

      Publication Information

      MAVERICK BOOKS

      Published by Maverick Books, Inc.

      P.O. Box 549, Perryton, TX 79070

      Phone: 806.435.7611

      www.hankthecowdog.com

      First published in the United States of America by Maverick Books, Inc. 2012.

      1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

      Copyright © John R. Erickson, 2012

      All rights reserved

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2012931090

      978-1-59188-159-9 (paperback); 978-1-59188-259-6 (hardcover)

      Hank the Cowdog® is a registered trademark of John R. Erickson.

      Printed in the United States of America

      Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

      Dedication

      To Tim and Lyndsay Lambert of the Texas Home School Coalition

      Contents

      Chapter One Another Grinding Day in the Office

      Chapter Two A Non-Scrap Event

      Chapter Three I Volunteer For a Dangerous Mission

      Chapter Four This Gets Pretty Scary

      Chapter Five The Bird-Cage Dog

      Chapter Six Happy Lab

      Chapter Seven A Bull In Sally May’s Yard

      Chapter Eight Who Can Stay Mad At a Lab?

      Chapter Nine Hap Finally Learns a Lesson

      Chapter Ten Happy Is Exposed

      Chapter Eleven Happy’s Confession

      Chapter Twelve Incredible

      Chapter One: Another Grinding Day in the Office

      It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. The mystery began one day in August. Yes, it was August because oftentimes in August, the wind quits blowing and we have water problems on the ranch. See, when the wind quits blowing, the windmills don’t turn and the cattle run out of water in the stock tanks.

      When you’re operating a ranch in the Texas Panhandle, the one thing you can’t do in the summertime is run out of water. Cattle can live for weeks without feed, but let ‘em run out of water and they start dropping dead. That has never happened on this ranch, but only because…

      Actually, that water business came up later in the week, so forget that I brought it up. The day of which we are speaking began as most days begin—in the morning. All our days follow a regular schedule, don’t you see. We have morning, then afternoon, then evening, then night, and it doesn’t matter whether it is raining or Tuesday.

      On that particular morning, Little Alfred came out of the house around ten o’clock. The slamming of the screen door woke me up.

      Wait. Let’s rephrase that. I’m never in bed at that hour of the morning, so I couldn’t have been awakened by the slamming of the screen door. I was at my desk, doing paperwork and going over a stack of reports. As usual, I’d gotten about three hours of sleep. I mean, the work never ends on this ranch: night patrol, Monster Watch, Bark at the Mailman, coyote alerts, and taking care of the kids. We squeeze in a few hours of gunnysack time when we can.

      So, yes, I was at my desk, and heard the slamming of the screen door. Drover, my assistant, heard it too, and said, Sniffle tricky turnip blooms on the back door piffle.

      I looked up from the report I was reading. Hardly ever murky snap foggy bottoms.

      Red suspenders?

      I agree, or donkey underpants in the green tomatoes.

      We stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then Drover said, Oh, hi. Did you just wake up?

      Absolutely not. I’ve been acroak for hours. I glanced around. Where are we?

      When?

      I’m not sure, right now, I guess.

      Well, he yawned, I’d say we’re still in bed.

      Rubbish. It’s almost noon. I leaped to my feet and took a step…and fell on my face. Where did I put my legs last night?

      Well, I think you’re still wearing them.

      In that case, they’re not working properly. Have you been tampering with my legs?

      I think you’re still asleep. Try ‘em again.

      Please don’t tell me what to do. I rose to my feet and took several steps. Okay, they’re working now.

      See? You were asleep.

      I was not asleep. I narrowed my eyes and studied the dog to whom I was speaking. Wait a second, who are you?

      I’m Drover, remember me?

      Oh yes, it’s coming back to me now. We used to work together, right?

      Still do.

      I gave him a hard look. If we work together, why are you still in bed at this hour of the morning?

      Well…

      Five demerits for slacking.

      Yeah, but…

      Ten demerits.

      You were in bed too.

      Fifteen demerits and three Chicken Marks. At that moment, I heard the squeaking of a gate. Drover, I don’t want to alarm you, but we have an unidentified person or persons on the ranch.

      Yeah, it’s Little Alfred. He just came out of the house.

      Oh? Why wasn’t I informed? How can I run this ranch when nobody turns in their reports?

      He heaved a sigh. Hank, you were asleep.

      I marched over to him and melted him with a glare. Stand at attention when I’m addressing you.

      He stiffened his posture and sat up straight. Sorry.

      This outfit has no more discipline than a pack of stray cats.

      Meow.

      I beg your pardon?

      I said, yeah.

      What ever happened to ‘Yes Sir’?

      Sorry. Yes sir.

      I began pacing in front of him. I mean, he was fixing to get the full load. I was not asleep, and spreading lies about a superior officer is a serious offense. If it happens again, you will spend entire days and nights with your nose in the corner.

      I said I was sorry.

      Hush. Nobody cares if you’re sorry.

      Okay, I’m not sorry.

      The trouble with you is that you’re never sorry for your mistakes.

      Sorry.

      It’s your attitude, Drover. You have a lousy attitude. I ought to throw the book at you, but I’m going to let you off easy this time. Twenty-three demerits and fifteen Chicken Marks.

      Ouch.

      Don’t argue with me. This will go into your permanent record.

      Thanks.

      You’re dismissed. I glanced around. "What were we doing before you provoked

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