The Case of the Missing Birddog - John R. Erickson Hank the Cowdog

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of it. I left Drover to his absurd foot-chewing and made my way over to the cat.

      Pete wasn’t looking at me. He had no idea what was going on around him, and you know what? He seldom did know what was going on around him, because he was a cat—a smug, arrogant, greedy little creature who happened to be just a little . . . dumb.

      I’m sorry, but there’s no nicer way of putting it.

      Yes, he was just a dumb little ranch cat, and he had no hint that I had just stumbled upon a very odd clooster of clugs . . . cluster of clues, shall we say . . . that seemed to be pulling me into a new and possibly dangerous investigation.

      I put on a blank face that revealed nothing, and strolled over to him. “Good morning, Pete. How’s the weather?”

      His eyes popped open, and he stopped chewing his paw. “Well, Hankie! I didn’t realize I was standing right outside your office, and I certainly wasn’t listening to what you were saying.”

      “I know all that, Pete, and we needn’t repeat the obvious.” It suddenly occurred to me that I had just made a little play on words. “Pete and repeat. Heh. A little humor there.”

      The cat blinked his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

      “Fine. Never mind. We don’t have time for you to ‘get it,’ as you call it. I’m a very busy dog.” I glanced over both shoulders. “I, uh, noticed that you were chewing your paw just now. Is there some reason for that?”

      “Well, Hankie, I’m sure there is, because there’s a reason for everything, isn’t there?”

      Again, I glanced around to be sure we weren’t being observed. “Yes. But how did you know that?”

      “Well, Hankie, I guess it was just a shot in the dark. You know what they say about a blind hog.”

      “Exactly. A blind hog eats no bacon.”

      He grinned up at me. “No, no, Hankie. ‘Even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then.’”

      “Oh yes, that one, but don’t try to change the subject, Kitty. I want to know about the paw. I saw you licking it and I want to know why. No more stalling. Out with it.”

      “My goodness, Hankie, you seem very serious about this. Is something wrong?”

      I checked over my shoulders again. “At this point we’re not sure, and if we were sure, I couldn’t tell you. All I can say is that we’re checking out a couple of leads.”

      “A couple of . . . whats?”

      “Leads. Clues. Trends. Things that don’t quite add up.”

      He let out a gasp. “Oh my, so it could be something serious?”

      “I’m not at liberty to discuss our work, Pete. Just answer the question and move along. Tell me about the paw.”

      “The paw. Well, I have two paws in the front and two in the back.”

      “Yes? Go on. There’s more, Pete. I want it all. Why were you chewing your left front paw?”

      His eyes widened. “Ohhhhh! So that’s it. Hankie, I’m amazed that you noticed.”

      I gave him a worldly smirk. “See? I knew there was something here, I knew it. And for your information, Kitty, I notice everything. Now stop trying to wiggle out of my interrogation. Answer the question.”

      Suddenly his eyes became very . . . hmmm . . . very secretive and cunning, and now he was the one who was glacing over his shoulders. He probably thought I didn’t notice, but he was very wrong.

      He moved closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “So you know about the moon?”

      “The moon? You mean that it’s made of cheese? Of course I know it, Pete. Astrolomy is one of my fields of interest.”

      “No, I mean the phases of the moon, Hankie. When the moon reaches a certain phase, it causes cats and dogs to . . . chew their paws.”

      The air hissed out of my lungs. “Pete, that’s one of the dumbest things you’ve ever said.”

      His left eyebrow rose ever so slightly. Maybe he thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I saw it and sent it up to Data Control.

      “It’s true, Hankie. Did you happen to notice what Drover’s doing this very minute?”

      “Ha. I notice everything, Pete. Nothing escapes my . . . okay, maybe he’s chewing his paw, and of course I noticed it right away, but that doesn’t mean . . .” I moved closer to the cat. “What’s going on here, Pete? I don’t want to fall for another of your sneaky tricks, but I don’t want to miss anything either. What’s the deal?”

      I stared into his . . . hmm, into his moon-shaped eyes, and . . . holy smokes, was that another clue? Phases of the moon, moon-shaped eyes.

      Something strange was going on here. I had to plunge deeper into the mystery.

      Pete took his sweet time in answering. “Well, Hankie, all I know is that the moon sends out powerful signals, and all the animals in the whole world respond by”—he batted his eyes—“chewing their paws.”

      “Yes, but there’s just one hole in your ointment, Pete. Every animal in the world isn’t chewing his paw, because I’m not.”

      “Um-hmm, and if I were you, Hankie, I’d start worrying about that.”

      I laughed in his face and walked a few steps away. “Ha, ha, ha! Me worry? No chance of that, Kitty, for you see . . .” I paced back to him. “Why should I be worried? I mean, I really don’t care what you say, Pete, and there’s no chance that I’ll believe this ridiculous story, but . . . uh . . . why should I be worried? I mean, just for grins, I’d like to hear this.”

      “You really don’t know?”

      “I didn’t say that. Of course I know, but I want to find out if you know. And frankly, Pete, I doubt that you do.”

      His brows rose. “Oh, I do know, Hankie. It would mean that you’re out of phase with the moon.”

      “Out of phase with . . . is that bad?”

      A low whistle escaped his lips, and he turned his gaze away from me. “I was sure you knew, Hankie, or I never would have brought it up.”

      “What are you saying, cat? Out with it.”

      “Nothing, Hankie. Don’t give it another thought. I’m sure it won’t happen to you.”

      “You bet it won’t, and do you know why? Because there’s nothing to it. It’s a pack of lies, just another of your sneaky tricks. Sorry, Kitty, no sale here, and that’s all the time I can afford to waste on you today. Good-bye. I have a ranch to run.”

      As I turned to leave, I heard his parting words. “Good-bye, Hank.”

      On hearing those two words, I knew that I was in serious trouble. Did you get the hidden message? Maybe not, because it was pretty subtitled, so let me explain. Subtle. See, Pete never called me Hank. He always called me Hankie, and he always said it in that simpering, whiny voice of his. But this time he’d called me Hank, in a normal voice.

      The meaning was clear, and it went through me like a jolt of electric current. See, the cat knew that I was out of phase with the moon—and even more onimous, he understood the terrible consequences of being out of phase with the moon.

      You know what I did? I walked away from him at a casual pace and wandered back to my gunny­sack bed. I watched him out of the corner of my periphery and saw that he was drifting back up to the yard. Then and only then did I dare to . . .

      You may find this hard to believe, but I began . . . gnawing my, uh, left front paw.

      I know, I know. A guy should

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