LITMIR.BIZ

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morning. Let’s go back to the beginning and try again.”

      “Yeah, but I forgot what we were talking about.”

      “Berries. You were talking about strawberries.”

      He gave me a loony stare. “Why would I talk about strawberries?”

      “I have no idea. Wait, I remember. You said he said he saw a strawberry growing in the road.”

      A little flicker of light came on in his eyes. “Oh yeah. He said he saw a berry run across the road.”

      The air hissed out of my lungs. “Okay, let me address this in two parts. First, berries don’t grow in the winter. Second, berries don’t run across roads. And third, he didn’t say ‘berry,’ he said ‘bear.’”

      “Hee hee hee. It must be a joke. We don’t have bears.”

      “Of course we don’t have bears, but that’s what he said, and I don’t think he was kidding.”

      This threw us into a moment of troubled thought. Then Drover brightened. “Wait, here’s an idea. Maybe he said ‘burro’ instead of ‘bear.’ They sound kind of the same: burro and bear.”

      “Hmmm. Actually, that makes a certain amount of sense. Yes, of course. He saw a donkey crossing the road.”

      “Yeah, and maybe his name was Donkey Hoety and somebody was trying to pin a tail on him.”

      “It all fits together, doesn’t it? By George, I think we’ve finally figured it out. Slim saw a donkey crossing the road.”

      “Yeah, but I wonder why he crossed the road.”

      “That’s easy. We just apply Higher Logic. Why does a chicken cross the road?”

      He wadded up his face in a pose of deep concentration. “Well, let me think. To get to the other side?”

      “Exactly, very good. Now let’s move to the next step. If a chicken crosses the road to get to the other side, why does a donkey cross the road?”

      He struggled with this one. “Well, let’s see. ‘Cause he’s chasing the chicken?”

      “No, absolutely wrong. Donkeys don’t chase chickens.”

      “I wish you wouldn’t ask me such hard questions.”

      “Drover, it’s so obvious you can’t see it, but I’ll give you a hint. Chicken, road, donkey, road.”

      A big smile bloomed on his mouth. “Oh, I get it now. The chicken rode the donkey. Hee hee, boy, that was easy.”

      What can you say? Nothing. There are some events in our lives that can’t be explained, and some dogs that can’t be helped. “Nice work, son, you really nailed it.”

      “Thanks, but I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

      “Right. It was a good hint, wasn’t it? I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

      “Yeah, I love getting the right answers. It makes me tingle all over.”

      While he tingled all over, I stared out the window and wondered how this nincompoop had ended up on my staff. Just bad luck, I guess.

      Where were we?

      Oh yes, burros. We had unauthorized donkeys on the ranch, so I opened a new file, The Case of the Wandering Donkey, and our Special Crimes Division put out an APB for a four-legged, long-eared animal named “Donkey Hoety.”

      Oh, by the way, APB is our shorthand for All Points Bulletin. Is that impressive or what? You bet. You know, if the people on this outfit paid more attention to their dogs, things would run a lot smoother. But let’s don’t get started on that.

      The point is that for the rest of the day, while Slim drove from pasture to pasture, Drover and I kept the whole ranch under surveillance. I mean, we left no stern untoned. We checked out every animal on the ranch, and compared them to our profiles of donkeys and burros.

      You’re probably wondering, “What’s the difference between a donkey and a burro?” Great question. The answer is, they both have big ears. But the impoitant poink is that our surveillance of animals on the ranch turned up no unidentified donkeys or burros. At the end of our daily feed run, Donkey Hoety was still unaccounted for.

      To be honest, it caused me to wonder if Slim actually had seen a donkey or if he’d been daydreaming. On this outfit, we’re never sure.

      Chapter Two: An Evening of Fun and Entertainment

      Well, there you have a rare glimpse of what goes on behind closed doors at the Security Division. A lot of people think that ranch dogs just sit around all day, scratching fleas and barking at birds. Ha. Far from it.

      The truth is, we collect a vast amount of information every day. Some of it is reliable, some is just garbage. We have to sort through every bit of it, give it shape, and provide the kind of heavy duty analysis that brings it into hocus pocus.

      Wait. Into focus, sharp focus. We rarely get involved in hocus pocus.

      Come to think of it, what is hocus pocus? I’m not sure, so let’s skip it.

      Data analysis is one of the most difficult parts of this job, because we’re surrounded by people who are dedicated to pulling pranks and goofing off. We dogs never know what to believe and are often left bewildered, faced with the challenge of trying to figure out if it’s raining or Tuesday. Sometimes it’s both, sometimes it’s neither, and it’s our job to sort it all out.

      But the point is that the Security Division sifted through a mountain of data and started a file for The Case of the Wandering Donkey. In the space of a few short minutes, we had come up with a name for the suspect (Donkey Hoety) and a motive (he was looking for his tail).

      It’s pretty amazing what two dogs can do when they put their minds together, isn’t it? You bet.

      Late that afternoon, we made our way back to Slim’s shack. Drover and I had recently moved the Security Division’s command post from its normal location at ranch headquarters, down to Slim Chance’s bachelor shack on the banks of Wolf Creek. We do this every year when the weather turns cold. We’ve found that our communications gear functions better at Slim’s place, and you know how important it is to have all that high-tech equipment working in top shape.

      Also, Slim let’s his dogs stay in the house on cold winter nights, heh heh, and, well, that’s a huge factor in keeping up the morale of the unit. Studies have shown that dogs who sleep inside houses with warm stoves perform 83% better than those who sleep on frozen gunny sack beds beneath gas tanks.

      I mean, this isn’t just the opinion of one dog who’s got some skin in the game. This stuff has been studied and documented. If you want your Security Division to be sharp and alert, bring ‘em inside and let ‘em stretch out beside the friendly glow of a wood-burning stove.

      Slim had his faults, but on the matter of Dogs In The House, he was on the cutting edge of ranch management. The man had learned that a happy, well-rested Security Division is the best investment a ranch can make.

      Anyway, we made it back to Slim’s place around sundown. In February, darkness comes early, around six o’clock, and it can be very dark. Maybe that seems obvious, that darkness is dark, but it’s also true. Around here, our darkness is dark.

      The fire in Slim’s wood stove had died down to embers, so he brought in a load of chinaberry and mesquite wood, and chunked up the stove. Before long, the house was warm and cozy, and Slim set about making himself some supper.

      He’s a bachelor, you know, and doesn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen. His suppers usually come straight out of a can: hash, Vienna sausage, sardines, or mackerel,

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