LITMIR.BIZ

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just going to lay there in the shade, aren’t you?”

      Yep.

      “You’re not even going to jump up and wag your tail and tell me how wonderful I am, are you?”

      Nope.

      “It kind of hurts my feelings, Hankie.”

      Life is hard.

      “Well, I wish I could just lay around in the shade, but some of us have to work for a living.”

      That was a cheap shot. For his information, I not only had a job but a very important job. It just happened that . . . well, I had run out of energy and ambition.

      You won’t believe this. He flopped down on the gravel drive and pillowed his head on my rib cage. Had I invited him to . . . urg . . . put his sweaty head in the middle of my poor exhausted body? No. I considered taking countermeasures but . . . too much trouble.

      “Ahhh! That’s better, but you’re awful bony for a pillow.”

      Well, if he didn’t like my bones, he could go find a jellyfish. And speaking of bones, his head wasn’t any featherbed. It was solid bone and it was heavy and hot and I didn’t need it on my rib cage, thank you.

      “Boy, this heat is terrible. It didn’t used to bother me, but it sure does now. I’ve got thirty-seven jobs to do and enough energy for about three of ’em.”

      Me too.

      “Too many birthdays, Hank. Don’t you reckon that’s the main problem?”

      I had no opinion on that.

      At last he raised up to a sitting position. He looked down at me and grinned. I summoned up the energy to whap my tail on the ground three times. Whew!

      “Well, this has been fun, Hankie, but I’d better go pack them wheel bearings on the stock trailer. I can already tell that you ain’t going to do it.”

      Correcto.

      With much grunting and muttering, he pushed himself up and shuffled off to the machine shed.

      At last, peace and quiet. I closed my eyes and began floating out on the sea of snoik morkus skittlebomb . . .

      Huh? My eyes popped open. Someone had moved my shade again! Was this some kind of joke? What was the deal? Every time I got comfortable, some idiot . . .

      I summoned my last reserves of energy and . . . Drover? There he was in front of me, giving me his usual foolish grin.

      “Hi Hank. What you doing?”

      “What I’m doing is trying to sleep, Drover, and restore my precious bodily fluids, but some maniac keeps moving my shade around. Did you see anybody messing with my shade?”

      “Well, let me think here. I saw Slim.”

      “No, it wasn’t him. I had him under constant surveillance.”

      “Boy, that’s a big word.”

      “Thanks.”

      “I wonder what it means.”

      I dragged myself back into the shade and flopped down. “I don’t know what it means. I don’t have the energy to explain it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

      “Oh, that’s okay. Sure is hot, isn’t it?”

      I glared ice picks at him. “Yes it is, Drover, so why are you so chirpy?”

      “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been watching the chickens chase grasshoppers.”

      “Great.”

      “You ever watch a chicken chase a grasshopper?”

      “Yes.”

      “It’s kind of neat, isn’t it?”

      “No.”

      “I mean, they’re pretty good at it.”

      “It’s their busi­ness, Drover. If you’re a chicken, that’s what you do. Good night.”

      “Good night . . . only it’s the middle of the day.”

      “I’m aware of that.”

      “Boy, it sure is hot.”

      “That’s why I’m shaded up, Drover. It’s too hot to do any work, so snorkle the mirking piffle.”

      “Yeah, but I can’t sleep and I get bored. You ever get bored?”

      “Snork.”

      “I do. You ever try to catch a grasshopper?”

      “No.”

      “Me neither, but I bet I could. Want me to try?”

      “Sure. Go catch a pifflehopper.”

      “Okay, Hank, here I go.”

      At last! Peace and quiet. I sank into the warm embrace of a delicious dream and . . . Beulah? My goodness, there she was in all her splintering glory: the deep brown eyes, the flaxen hair, the perfect collie nose, the smile that said . . .

      Chapter Two: Drover Eats a Grasshopper

      “I caught one, Hank!”

      I lifted my head and opened both eyes and looked at the front in face of me. “Beulah?”

      “No, a grasshopper.”

      “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

      “Well, let’s see. My name’s Drover and I’m your best friend and I just caught a grasshopper.”

      “Just because you’re a grasshopper doesn’t mean you’re a friend of mine. Where am I?” I blinked my eyes. “Okay, it’s coming back now. You’re Drover.”

      “That’s what I said.”

      “There for a second, I thought you were Beulah.”

      “No, it must have been me, ’cause I’m all I’ve ever been.”

      I stared at the runt. “What?”

      “I said, I’m all I’ve ever been but I caught a grass­hopper.”

      “That doesn’t make a lick of sense.” All at once, he licked his chops. “Will you stop that?”

      “Stop what?”

      “I’ve told you over and over not to do that.”

      “What did I do?”

      “I said that you’re not making a lick of sense and . . .” He licked his chops again! “There, you see? You keep doing it. What’s wrong with you?”

      “Well, I can’t help it.”

      I hoisted myself up to a sitting position and turned a withering glare on my . . . whatever he was. My nitwit assistant, I guess.

      “Of course you can help it. It’s a totally absurd and meaningless gesture.”

      “Not really. See, I ate a grasshopper and that’s why I was licking my chops.”

      “You ATE a grasshopper?”

      “Yep, I sure did. Caught him with my own two paws and ate him with my own mouth.”

      I gave my head a shake. “Drover, that’s disgusting. Eating a grasshopper? Son, chickens eat grass­hoppers, but dogs don’t.”

      “Yeah, but I did.”

      “That’s appalling.”

      “No, it was appealing.”

      “Don’t

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