LITMIR.BIZ

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      You know, I get a kick out of waking him up. Hee hee. I mean, he started running before he got his eyes open, before his feet even hit the floor, and all four legs were pumping air.

      “Help, murder, mayday, Charlies on the porch!”

      “On your feet, soldier, and load up Number Three Warning Barks!”

      He finally scrambled to his feet, got traction, and ran smooth into the coffee table. Down he went. “Help, they got me! Dog down! Oh my leg!”

      There was more banging on the door, then a booming voice. “Slim? You in there?”

      That raised the hair along my backbone, I mean, no more laughing at Stubtail. We’re talking about a deep, snickister voice that didn’t even sound human!

      “Drover, the Charlies must have sent some kind of robot probe to break down the door!”

      “Help!”

      “The only thing between us and destruction is us!”

      “Help!”

      “Take weapons and ammo and three of your best men, and crawl to the door!”

      “I don’t have three men.”

      “Perfect. You’ll be harder to see.”

      “Yeah, but…”

      “Move out and set up a firing position.”

      “Yeah, but…”

      “If they bust through the door, let ‘em have it, give ‘em the full load. Any questions?”

      “This leg’s killing me!”

      “That’s not a question and nobody cares. On your feet, let’s get this job done and go home.”

      “Can we go home first?”

      “Negatory. Boots on the floor!”

      “Hank, you might have to help me up. This old leg’s really giving me fits.”

      Oh brother. “Okay, stand by for Assisted Lift.” Using my nose and enormous neck muscles as a prying device, I managed to get his front end off the floor, then went to work lifting his bohunkus. “Okay, trooper, that’s four on the floor. Get out there and unload some ordinance!”

      “How ‘bout you?”

      “Fine, thanks. Go git ‘em!”

      He took two steps toward the door, stopped, glanced back at me, and…you won’t believe this. Drover is such a little chicken liver! I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.

      You know, my biggest problem in this job is that I’m a foolish optimist. I keep hoping to see progress in the men, a little sign that says I’m not wasting my life. I place too much faith in my fellow dogs and my heart gets broken every day. I keep hoping I can turn their lives around, but they keep turning mine around and upside-down and backwards.

      I should have known he would weenie out of this mission. Do you know why? Because he’d done it a thousand times before, that’s why.

      Okay, let’s get this sad situation out of the way. The King of Slackers marched two steps toward his combat assignment, cut a hard right turn, and went streaking down the hall to Slim’s bedroom, where he vanished. I didn’t see him slither under the bed, but I knew he did.

      This was so predictable and so sad. You give your men a chance to prove themselves and this is what you get. Now, I would have to convene a court-martial and he would have to stand with his nose in the…

      BAM BAM BAM!

      “Slim, get out of bed!”

      Holy smokes, we had problems bigger than Drover. Had you forgotten the intruder? If you don’t start paying attention, we’re going to drop you from the next assignment. One Drover on this team is all we can stand.

      Chapter Three: Not a Robot

      Slim was coming down the hall, tucking in his shirttail. Good. He could take the lead on this deal and I would provide backup. I dived under the…that is, I found myself beneath the coffee table and started pumping out some cover fire. Awesome barks.

      He went to the door and yanked it open. There stood…hmmm, it wasn’t a robot, as you might have thought. It was an old guy: white hair, bushy eyebrows, smoky gray eyes, and red suspenders holding up khaki pants that bagged in the seat. I sent this info to Data Control and got an ID: Woodrow, Viola’s daddy.

      See? What did I tell you? We’ve never had a robot show up at Slim’s place and probably never will. I’ve tried to drill this into the troops: stick with the facts and don’t let your imagination run wild. Drover is the very worst about making a mountain out of a mohair.

      Anyway, there stood Viola’s daddy. Slim said, “Why…Woodrow. What a nice surprise.”

      “Did I get you out of bed?”

      “Heck no, been up for hours. I was updating my tally book.”

      “We need to talk.”

      “Well sure, come on in. You want some coffee?”

      “No, I’ve coffeed. Been up since five.”

      Slim brought a chair from the kitchen. When Woodrow sat down, it collapsed, I mean sank into a heap of rubble. Slim had to pull him out. “Sorry, Woodrow. I’ve been meaning to fix that thing.” He brought another chair from the kitchen.

      Woodrow tested it. “Is this one safe?”

      “Here, you take the easy chair and I’ll…” Woodrow waved him off and sat in the kitchen chair. It held.

      Slim flopped down in his big easy chair. “Well, what can I do for you?”

      “Are you going to marry my daughter or not?”

      Wow, that killed every fly in the room. Slim’s adam’s apple jumped and he blinked his eyes. “What?”

      “Are you going to marry my daughter or not?”

      “Well, Woodrow, yes, but I need to save up some money.”

      “She’s been wearing that ring for six months and I ain’t seen any signs of progress.”

      “Saving money is kind of slow on cowboy wages.”

      “I told you that from the beginning. You can’t afford a parakeet, much less a wife. If y’all wait till you can afford to get hitched, she’ll be eighty years old. Maybe you ought to start robbing banks.”

      “Well, I hadn’t thought of that.”

      “Or get some heifers, calve ‘em out, and start building your own cow herd. I’ll give you the pasture for free.”

      “Woodrow, if I wrote a check for heifers, they’d send me to the pen. My checking account’s in pretty sad shape.”

      Woodrow’s eyes were crackling and he leaned forward. “I’ll give you the danged heifers!”

      Now a little fire came into Slim’s eyes. “That’s nice, but I don’t want free heifers from you or anyone else. I can take care of my own business.”

      “Then do it! Go talk to a banker.”

      “I don’t have one. I like bankers even less than doctors.”

      “Well, I’ve got one and I’ve used him plenty. He loans money to people who want to make something of themselves.”

      Slim took a deep breath. “Woodrow,

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