LITMIR.BIZ

      It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. It was three o’clock in the morning, and dark. Suddenly, I heard an odd sound…several odd sounds…thuds and thumps. My head shot up and I raised Earatory Scanners. ES locked in on the sounds and confirmed the presence of a stranger in the house.

      House? What house? Where was I? It didn’t matter. I went into Stage Two of our Early Warning Protocol—opened my eyes.

      Squinting into the gloomy half-light, I saw…good grief, there was a strange man, an intruder, creeping down the hall! He had…he had green skin and hair down in his eyes and HORNS GROWING OUT THE TOP OF HIS HEAD!

      I did a quick assessment of the situation. I hate to do Red Alerts in the middle of the night, but there are times when a dog has no choice. I reached for the microphone of my mind and issued the alarm.

      “Hank to Drover, over. We have a Charlie Monster creeping toward us down the hall, ETA in ten seconds. We’re going straight into Ranch Red Alert, and this is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Battle stations!”

      Moments later, Drover was standing beside me, wobbling on unsteady legs. I noticed right away that his eyes seemed crooked. I leaped to my feet and said, “Good, you’re here. Are you awake?”

      “Midget frigate spaghetti leaves.”

      “What?”

      “Skittle rickie tattoo…where are we?”

      I looked into the emptiness of his eyes. “I don’t know, but you’d better snap out of it, soldier. We’re in Ranch Red Alert and if you want to live long enough to see the sun rise, you’d better lay down some serious barks.”

      Just for a moment there was a gleam of recognition in his glazed eyeballs, then he did just what you’d expect Drover to do. He let out a squeak and wiggled himself underneath a coffee table.

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      Coffee table? That gave me my second clue in this case. We were in a house that had a coffee table, which meant we weren’t on the porch or under the gas tanks.

      Well, Drover had left me alone to face the intruder, which goes to prove that life isn’t always fair. We don’t always get what we want or deserve. If you’re Drover, you can pick your battles. If you’re Head of Ranch Security, you take everything they throw at you—the good, the bad, and the awful.

      I filled my tanks with air, activated Hair Lift-up, took careful aim at the advancing Charlie, and began firing round after round of deafening barks. We’re talking about the Big Ones, the kind that produce such a recoil, it throws a dog backward on each blast. Most dogs can’t do more than three of those without losing their balance. I fired off six of them, one right after…

      “Hank, dry up!”

      Huh? Had the creature spoken my name? I was almost sure he had, but how could he have gotten my name? Had the Charlies hacked into our database and broken all our secret codes? Yes, our systems had been compromised and I found myself facing a terrible decision. Should I go down fighting for my ranch or save myself for another day?

      I dived under the coffee table. “Move over, son, I’m coming in!”

      I locked the hatch behind me, raised the periscope, and watched as the intruder went slouching into another room, perhaps the kitchen. That gave me the third clue in the case: wherever we were, it had a kitchen.

      Behind me, I heard Drover’s quivering voice. “Who is that?”

      “Shh. We don’t have a positive identification yet. Somehow he broke into the house and sneaked past our Warning Net.”

      “Whose house? Where are we?”

      “Shhh. I don’t know.”

      Drover blinked his eyes and glanced around. “Wait a second. I think we spent the night at Slim’s place and maybe that’s where we are.”

      “Drover, it’s still dark and we can’t be sure. Wait! Do you hear that?” We cocked our ears and listened. A refrigerator door opened and closed. Dishes clattered.

      Drover let out a gasp. “Oh my gosh, he’s stealing food!” All at once, a light came on in his eyes and a grin spread across his mouth. “Wait a second. Maybe it’s Slim.”

      “What? Drover, this is no time for jokes. What I saw wasn’t Slim.”

      “Yeah, but sometimes in the middle of the night, when his hair’s a mess, he looks like a monster.”

      “Okay, pal, you think it’s Slim? You go check it out.”

      “Me!”

      “It was your idea. Go, move it!”

      I pushed him out of the bunker and he tip-toed across the room. At the door that led into the kitchen, he stopped and peeked around the corner. A moment later, he dived back into the bunker.

      “You’re right, it’s not Slim!”

      “See? You need to listen to your superior officers. Any idea who it might be?”

      His teeth were chattering. “I don’t know, but he’s nine feet tall and I think he has vampire teeth.”

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