The Case of the Raging Rottweiler

by John R. Erickson

  Drover landed on the porch beside me. He avoided my gaze and curled up into a little ball.

  “Well, I see you got thrown out. What did you do this time?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. I was just hiding under the bed and minding my own business, and the next thing I knew, Slim threw me out.”

  “Was it possible that you were shedding hairs under his bed?”

  “Well . . . I don’t think so. I wasn’t trying to shed any hairs.”

  “Hmm, yes. This is sounding very familiar, Drover, for you see, I was thrown out on the same phony charge.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes. I was minding my own business and hacking at a flea, when Slim blundered in and accused me of shedding hairs. Maybe I hacked off a hair or two, but that’s no reason for throwing us out.”

  “It’s not fair. I thought he was our friend.”

  “Yes, and some friend he turned out to be. Our friendship collapsed under the weight of two or three measly dog hairs. Maybe we should run away, Drover, just pack our bugs and disappear into the night. That might teach him a lesson on how to treat his loyal dogs, the cad.”

  “Yeah, but then we’d have to leave.”

  “Well . . . yes, of course we’d have to leave. That’s the whole point.”

  “Yeah, but it’s awful dark, and you know how I am about the dark.”

  I beamed him a scorching glare. “This is a matter of principle, Drover. Are you going to let your irrational fear of the dark stand in the way of our search for justice?”

  “How far would we have to go?”

  “We’d have to go . . . I’m not sure. I guess that would depend on how badly our feelings are hurt over this deal. I’m feeling pretty outraged. Maybe we ought to go . . . oh, say twenty or twenty-five miles.”

  I heard him gulp. “In the dark?”

  “Of course in the dark, unless you want to carry a flashlight in your mouth.”

  “I don’t have a flashlight.”

  “Neither do I, so that settles it.” There was a long moment of silence. “Okay, what about something shorter, say five miles?”

  “That’s still a long way.”

  “Drover, if we’re going to quit our jobs and run away from home, we need to go somewhere. Other­wise, Slim will never learn from his mistake. He needs to feel some pain for this. If we can’t go at least five miles, we should just forget it.”

  “Yeah, but . . . what about coyotes?”

  I gave that some thought. “Coyotes could be a . . . uh . . . problem.”

  “They’re pretty scary guys.”

  “Good point. Okay, suppose we go only one mile? Maybe that would . . .” Just then, we heard the howl of a distant coyote. “Or better yet, maybe we could just hike down to the barn and spend the night there.”

  “You think that would be far enough?”

  “Oh, sure. It would deprive Slim of our warmth and presence on his porch. When he wakes up in the morning, he’ll look out here and see that we’re gone. It just might give him such a scare that he’ll change his ways before it’s too late. What do you say to that?”

  “Well, I guess I can do it. Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “Of course I’m sure. What could happen to us between here and the barn?”

  “Well . . . okay, I guess I can make it, if this old leg’ll stay with me.”

  “Forget the leg, son. Saddle up and let’s move out.” I jacked myself up off the porch and beamed a cold glare at the house. “Good-bye, old house. Good-bye, Slim. We’re quitting our jobs and leaving this hateful place, never to return until tomorrow. If the monsters come out . . . too bad. We’re signing off. You’re on your own.”

  And with that, we left the porch and began our long and dangerous journey to Slim’s raggedy little barn.

  Chapter Six: A Phantom in the Darkness

  You might think this wasn’t such a big deal, me and Drover running away from home and going . . . well, two hundred feet to the northwest. That’s how far the barn was from Slim’s shack, see, but let me hasten to point out that it was dark, very dark, and more than a little bit spooky.

  So going to the barn was a bigger deal than you might have supposed. As we picked our way through the inky darkness, Drover began to moan and groan.

  “Hank, I wish you hadn’t said what you said about monsters. Do you really think there might be some out here?”

  “It’s always a possibility, son. They’ve been reported in this area, I can tell you that much.”

  “What kind?”

  “Oh, let me think. A tree monster, a bush monster, and a couple of lightning monsters. We know they inhabit this part of the ranch.”

  “Gosh. Do you reckon we might see one?”

  “Not likely. I checked Smelloradar and Earatory Scanners, and they’re both clear. I’d say the monsters are working another part of the ranch tonight.”

  “Oh good. Boy, I’d sure hate to . . . did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” I stopped and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Well, I heard something. Listen. Hear that clicking sound?”

  I lifted my Earatory Scanners and swept a circle for sounds. And sure enough, I began picking up a mysterious clicking sound.

  “There it is, Drover. I don’t want to alarm you, but my instruments are picking up . . . yes, there it is, a clear signal.”

  “Oh my gosh, I knew we should have stayed on the porch!”

  “Hush. I’m trying to run diagnostics on this.” I studied the huge lighted screen of my mind. “This isn’t looking good, son.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’re picking up a clear signal of . . . teeth clicking.”

  “Teeth clicking! Oh my gosh, it’s a monster, help, murder, Mayday!”

  “Shhh. Control yourself. Be professional.” I must admit that I was having a little trouble with this myself. I mean, when you’re out there in the dark and you hear . . . GULP.

  Drover was moaning again. “Do monsters have teeth?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Do they ever . . . click their teeth?”

  “Sometimes they do, yes, but not very often—only when they’re about to . . .”

  “Attack and tear something to shreds?”

  “I didn’t want to put it that way, Drover, but yes. According to our reports, they click their teeth when they . . . uh . . . do the things you mentioned. And I’m afraid we . . . wait a minute, hold everything.”

  “I’m trying to hold it, but if this gets any scarier, I’m going to lose it.”

  “Shhhh. Listen.” I studied the sound again. “It seems to be close, don’t you think?”

  “Y-y-y-yes, I’m af-f-f-fraid s-s-so.”

  “It seems to be . . .” My body wilted and the air hissed out of my lungs. “Drover, the sound is coming from you. Have you been clicking your teeth?”

  “Me? No, I don’t think so. My teeth have been chattering, but they haven’t clicked.”

  “Clicking, chattering, it’s all the same. You’re the cause of this, and I must warn you not to click or chatter your teeth anymore.”

  “Yeah, but I’m scared, and when I’m scared, my teeth chatter.”

  “Well, stop it. You’re sending confusing signals that mess up our instruments.”

  “I want to go back to the porch!”

  “Oh, rubbish. There’s no monster out here. Dry up and let’s get on with this.”

  We resumed our creeping journey through the darkness. We had gone another twenty steps when Drover whispered, “Hank, I hear footsteps behind me.”

  I stopped and heaved a sigh. “Drover, please. We have a very important mission here.”

  “Yeah, but I heard footsteps. Listen.”

  I listened. “I hear nothing, absolutely n
othing.”

  “Me too, but I’m almost sure I heard footsteps when we were walking.”

  I couldn’t help chuckling. “When we were walking? That’s a crucial piece of evidence, Drover. Shall I explain? Okay, when we walk, our feet make . . . you supply the answer.”

  “Uh . . . footsteps?”

  “Exactly. Very good.”

  “Yeah, but these were behind me.”

  “I’m getting there, Drover, just relax. Consider the way your body is put together. On one end, we have your head, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “And upon your head sits a pair of . . . what?”

  “Let’s see. Ears?”

  “Ears, yes, which are the devices that pick up sounds. Now, let’s move to the other end of your body. What do we find there?”

  “Well . . . a stub tail and my bohunkus.”

  “Right, and below those parts, we have . . . what?”

  “I don’t know, I’m all confused.”

  “We have your hind legs, Drover, and attached to the end of your hind legs are your hind feet, and when you walk, your hind feet make footsteps. Are you getting it yet?”

  “Yeah, but the footsteps were behind me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course they were, numbskull. You were hearing your own footsteps! Now cut out the nonsense and let’s get on with this.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “Shhhh! No more. Silence.”

  We resumed our trek down to the . . . footsteps? Heavy footsteps? I stopped. Drover stopped. The heavy footsteps continued, then stopped.

  My mouth was suddenly dry. “Drover, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m now picking up those footsteps you mentioned.”

  “I thought they were mine.”

  “These weren’t yours, and unless I’m badly mistaken . . .” I cut my eyes from side to side. “Drover, one last question. When we were inside the house, Slim got a phone call. It was something about . . . a dog. Bruiser. Did you happen to hear what Slim said?”

  “Well, let’s see here. I think he said . . .” The silence that followed was deadly. “Hank, you don’t reckon . . .”

  It was then that we heard the burst of wicked laughter behind us. The hair on my back and neck stood straight up.

  “Drover, was that you laughing?”

  “N-n-no.”

  “And it wasn’t me. Do you see what this means?”

  Then came the eerie voice from the darkness. “Hi, fellas. Out for a little stroll? I guess you thought I was gone, huh? Well, darn the luck. I came back.”

  “Drover, we have a problem. And I hear water running.”

  “It’s me. I want to go home!”

  “Back to the porch, son. Go to Turbo Five and don’t speak to any strangers. Let’s hit it!”

  I went to Full Flames and Turbo Five on all engines and . . . BONK! . . . ran into something big and hairy. I bounced off it and went streaking through the darkness and didn’t slow down until I had made it to the safety of the front porch.

  There, I went straight into a Code Three Barking Sequence. Have we discussed the CTBS? Maybe not. Big barks, massive barks. Barks that echo through the night, barks that are calculated to alert the house and call our human friends to the rescue.

  This was no time for timid barks, fellers. We had to sound the alarm and let Slim know that Bruiser was back and on the prowl, and if Slim didn’t get himself out of bed and hurry up . . .

  The front door opened, thank goodness, and there stood Slim in his . . . yipes . . . in his shorts, with hair falling into his puffy eyes and a ferocious expression on his face. He pushed open the screen door and leveled a finger at the end of my nose.

  “Hank, if you’ll shut up your dadgum barking, I’ll try not to do what I’m thinking of doing. You hear?”

  Yes sir, but . . .

  “Now go to sleep. First you trash my house with your hair, then you wake me up with all that frazzling noise.”

  He slammed the door. Silence moved over us like a dark cloud of smoke. I could hear Drover’s clacking teeth beside me. And then . . . Bruiser’s heavy footsteps were moving up the walk and toward the porch!

  There was just a glimmer of moonlight, enough so that I could make out the profile of . . . good grief, that was a huge rottweiler, as big as a bear! Did I dare activate the Code Three Barking Sequence again?

  My mind was racing. We were trapped between Slim’s irritation and Bruiser’s massive presence. I had to choose my poison. I chose to face Slim’s irritation. I had faced it before, and I knew that no matter how mad he got at us dogs, he would never eat us.

  With Bruiser, I wasn’t so sure.

  I launched myself into another barrage of massive barking. “Slim, help, get out of bed, he’s back, Bruiser’s back, the raging rottweiler’s out here in your front yard, so could you please . . .”

  It worked. At last my barking got his attention and convinced him that we were in a desperate situation. It had taken him long enough, but . . . oh well. Better late than tardy.

  The door opened. My confidence came rushing back when I heard his foot land on the porch. A sneer worked its way across my mouth, and I turned myself to face the darkened yard, in which I knew Bruiser was lurking, even though I couldn’t actually see him.

  And you might find this hard to believe, but I was feeling so good about this that I decided it was time to send a warning to Mister Rottweiler.

  “Okay, potlicker, I can now reveal that you’ve walked right into our trap. Surprised? Ha. What a dumbbell you turned out to be. Did you think you could just walk onto my ranch without permission and get away with it? It’s called trespassing, and you’re now in big . . .”

  SPLOSH!

  You won’t believe what happened.

  Chapter Seven: Bruiser Returns

  There I was on the front porch, barking my very heart out and trying to get the message through Slim’s thick skull that a raging rott­weiler was standing in his yard—all of that, and guess what he did.

  He drenched me with a pot of cold water.

  See? I told you that you wouldn’t believe it, and sure enough, you didn’t. I couldn’t believe it either.

  I mean, there I was in the trenches, in the Fox­holes of Life, in a very dangerous combat situation, doing my job and trying to protect his house from a raging rottweiler—and he stepped out on the porch and threw a pot of water on me! Slim did.

  Oh, and then he said—this is an exact quote—he said, “Hank, I’ve run out of nice ways to tell you to quit barking. Now shut up and let me get some sleep.”

  BAM! The door closed and he was gone.

  As water dribbled off the end of my nose, I sensed that my relationship with Slim had taken a plunge into a new direction. Up to then, it had been a mixture of good and bad. From now on, it would be a mixture of bad and worse.

  I would have to resign, of course, and leave the ranch forever. Slim and I would never see each other again. I had no other choice. You can’t humiliate the Head of Ranch Security and expect him to go on as though nothing had happened.

  No, it was over. My friendship with Slim Chance came to a bitter end the very moment he dumped that pot of . . .

  HUH?

  Laughter? I heard a deep, wicked laugh coming from the direction of the yard, and suddenly I was reminded that . . . uh . . . I had recently mouthed off to a very large . . . gulk . . . and yes, it appeared that we had more pressing problems than my souring relations with Slim.

  Bruiser was out there in the darkness. I still couldn’t see him, but now I could hear him breathing. Your rottweilers are sloppy breathers, did you know that? They are. They snort and slop when they breathe, and on a dark night, it sounds pretty eerie.

  I ran my gaze through the darkness. “Drover, can you hear me?”

  No answer, then . . .
“I hear you.”

  “Good. Listen carefully. Our situation is looking grim. Number one, I have reason to believe that there’s a dangerous rottweiler in front of the house.”

  “I thought you said he was a scaredy cat.”

  “We may have gotten some bad information on that, son. Okay, number two, we barked the house for reinforcements, remember? They’re not coming. We’re cut off from the main column and we’re on our own.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Okay, number three, we need a volunteer to lead a scouting mission into the yard. We must find out what we’re facing here. And number four, we’ve talked about how I need to be giving you more responsibility. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Well, this would be a great opportunity for you to, uh, prove what you’re made of.”

  “Yeah, but I already know. Spaghetti.”

  “Spaghetti? Drover, are you saying . . . Drover, where are you? Give me your exact location.”

  “I’m on top of the woodpile.”

  “On top . . . Drover, get down here at once. Our porch is under assault.”

  “Yeah, and it could be under a pepper and I’d still be up here.”

  “What? Are you refusing to obey a direct order? Drover, I command you to answer my question!”

  “Can’t hear you, Hank, you’ll have to yell. I must have some wax in my ear.”

  “You’ve got wax in your brain, and as your commanding officer, I demand . . .”

  Bruiser’s ugly laugh cut through the darkness. “It’s looking pretty bad, ain’t it, boys? Two mutts on the porch and neither one has the guts to stand up and fight.”

  Did I dare respond? Yes, I had to. I would deal with Drover later.

  “Oh, Bruiser, is that you? Hey, how’s it going? Pretty dark tonight, huh?”

  “Yeah, real dark. Too dark for a town dog like me to be out walking around. You know, I might get lost or something. What I really need is a nice porch to sleep on, know what I mean?”

  “A porch? Yes, porches are, uh, nice, they sure are, and, hey, I just remembered, the next house down the creek has a great porch. Bigger than this one. Better, much better. Glider swing, pillows, you name it. Great porch. Maybe you could . . .”