LITMIR.BIZ

      It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. It was the end of November, as I recall. No, wait, it was the middle of December, the day before Christmas, but before we say another word about the Turkey Disaster, I want to make a statement for the record.

      Ready? Pay attention.

      If they don’t want their dogs getting into the groceries, they should shut the car doors. It wasn’t my fault.

      There, now we can get on with the story—which, by the way, is going to be pretty scary. If you’re not prepared for a story that will chill your liver, you’d better find something else to do, because this story is guaranteed to…

      You know, I’m not sure we should go on. Maybe you think I’m kidding about this being one of the scariest stories of my whole career, but I’m not. I mean, when I saw that kid thrashing around in a frozen pond…

      Tell you what, we’ll go on with the story, but if it gets too heavy, you can just close the book and…I don’t know, go brush your teeth or something. Nobody will say a word about it.

      Okay, where were we? Oh yes, Christmas Eve day. After two weeks of nice fall weather, a blue norther had come roaring down from Canada and, fellers, it was cold, seriously cold. The temperature was down around zero, and Drover and I awoke to find ourselves covered with frost. Old Man Winter was knocking on the door, and there we were, shivering on our stinking gunny sack beds in an unheated office.

      I’ve never been the kind of dog who craves luxury. Some dogs do, you know. They live in town, sleep inside a warm house, and curl up every night on some kind of store-bought cushion-bed with satin sheets and the smell of perfume.

      I’ve never expected such pampering, and wouldn’t want it even if it was offered, but for crying out loud! We were going into winter with the same gunny sack beds we’d been using for months. Years. They were threadbare and cold, and let’s be honest: they stank. Hey, when a ranch dog notices that his bed stinks, you’d better believe that things have gotten out of control.

      Sorry, I don’t mean to rave, but when I woke up that morning, covered with frost crystals and inhaling stale fumes that were coming from my own bed, it started my day off on a sour note.

      I raised my head and noticed the pile of frost next to me. It was still asleep, but shivering and grunting. “Drover, must you grunt in your sleep?”

      “I’m not asleep.”

      “Well, you’re grunting in your un-sleep.”

      “I’m c-c-cold.”

      “So am I, but do you hear me grunting about it?”

      “Yeah, you grunted all night long. I thought I was sleeping in a hog pen.”

      “It wasn’t me.”

      “Was too.”

      “Was not!”

      “Was too, two, three, four, five, six, seven!” He raised his head and gave me a silly grin. “I got you on that one.”

      “Oh brother. This is so childish.” I pushed myself up to a standing position and tested my frozen legs. “Let me point out that you didn’t ‘get’ me. What you said was nonsense. It wasn’t an argument based on evidence. It would never stand up in a court of law and I can blow it to pieces with a thoughtful, well-reasoned reply.” I leaned toward him and yelled, “Not, not, pitty-pot, give a dog a bone! There, I rest my case. I was not grunting in my sleep.”

      He seemed impressed. “That was pretty good.”

      “It wasn’t ‘pretty good.’ It was awesome.”

      “I wish I had a bone.”

      “Never get into a legal argument with the Head of Ranch Security.”

      “Tomorrow’s Christmas.”

      “I take no pleasure in crushing you in these debates. You must develop your skills.”

      “Maybe she’ll give us some turkey bones.”

      “An educated dog should be able to…what did you say?”

      He blinked his eyes. “When?”

      “Just now, and will you hurry up? I have a ranch to run.”

      He rolled his eyes around. “Let me think here. Oh yeah, I said that I’ll have to bone up on my debating skills.”

      “You said that?”

      “I think that’s what I said.”

      I gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Drover, I can’t tell you how proud it makes me to hear you say that.”

      “How come you can’t tell me?”

      “I am telling you, or I was until you butted in.”

      “Oh, sorry. Tell me again.”

      “Very well, and please pay attention.” I looked off into the distance. “You know, I don’t remember exactly what I was saying. Maybe you could give me a hint.”

      “I think it

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