LITMIR.BIZ

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be in Battle Stations.

      We were. We’d made it just in time. I marched back and forth in front of the troops.

      “All right, men, we’ve seen the enemy. At first glance, he appears to be huge and awesome, but I want to remind you that he puts on his pants just the way we do. Any questions?”

      Drover raised his paw. “If we don’t wear pants, can we go hide in the machine shed?”

      “No. The pants business was just a figure of speech, Drover, and I’d be grateful if you’d try to be more serious.”

      “I am serious. I’m seriously scared of storms.”

      “Yes, and that’s one of your problems. You’re too serious about everything. You have no sense of humor. Any more questions?” Drover raised his paw. “Yes? You in the back.”

      “What should we do with the wounded?”

      I continued pacing. “The wounded. Good question. I hadn’t actually worked through that one, but yes, we need to have a contagency plan for the wounded. Hmmm. Okay, here we go. We’ll have to establish a field hospital in the machine shed and try to get the wounded in there as soon as possible.”

      “Got it. See you around.”

      If I hadn’t stopped the little mutt, he would have gone streaking to the machine shed. “Hold it, stop right there, halt. You’re not excused, and where do you think you’re going?”

      “Well, I was fixing to rush me to the hospital.”

      “We haven’t even barked a shot yet.”

      “Yeah, but this old leg is just tearing me up.”

      “Soldier, I’m fixing to tear up another part of your anatomy if you don’t hold your position. We’re in Battle Stations and the enemy is approaching. Get back to your post, and that’s a direct order.”

      “Oh darn.”

      “And I will not tolerate cursing and swearing in this outfit.”

      “Oh drat.”

      “There you go again. For cursing and swearing in the line of duty, you get three Shame-on-You’s.”

      “Oh phooey.”

      “Make that six, Drover. You want to go for nine?”

      “Sure, might as well.”

      “Okay, pal, you want to buck the system and be a little rebel, so you’re up to nine Shame-on-You’s.”

      “Oh fiddle.”

      “There’s twelve. How about fifteen? You want to shoot for bigger numbers, huh? We’ve got time. Go ahead, get it out of your system.”

      “I thought I was bucking the system.”

      “You’re bucking against life, Drover.”

      “I knew a bucking horse one time.”

      “Yes, and what did it get him? He bucked and he bucked and he bucked, and what did it get him? Tell me.”

      “Well, he pitched Slim through the saddle shed door.”

      “Exactly. And do you see what all this means?”

      “Not really.”

      “It means . . . it means that you have twelve Shame-on-You’s on your record. Do you want to go for fifteen?”

      “No, I’m out of naughty words.”

      “Good. Twelve’s bad enough. If you ever try to get another ranch job, those Shame-on-You’s will be on your record. Everyone will know what a rot­ten little mutt you really are, and do you think anybody will offer you a job?”

      “I wouldn’t.”

      “Neither would I, Drover. In fact, with your lousy record, I’m not sure you have a place in our Security Division. How does that make you feel?”

      “Can I go to the machine shed?”

      “No.”

      “Shucks.”

      “There’s eighteen, Drover. You keep piling them up.”

      “I think it’s only fifteen.”

      “Fifteen, eighteen, what’s the difference?”

      “Columbus discovered America in 1518.”

      “Yes, and the reason he discovered America was that he didn’t stand around cursing and swearing. He sailed his ships. He studied the stars. He wrote in his log.”

      “Slim burns logs in his stove.”

      “That’s exactly my point, Drover. Do you want to burn logs or sail across the ocean?”

      “Well . . . I don’t like water.”

      “Exactly. And if you continue this pattern of foul language, you’ll spend your whole life . . . hmmm, was that a raindrop?”

      “I think it was the ocean.”

      “What?”

      “Columbus sailed across the ocean, but at the end of every ocean there’s a pot of raindrops.”

      I walked several steps away and gazed off at the approaching storm. I took a deep breath and let the wind blow my ears around.

      “Drover, I must tell you something.”

      “Sure, anything.”

      “Sometimes I think the stress of this job is too much for me. I . . . I’ll be honest. Now and then I feel that . . . that the things I’m saying . . . just don’t make sense.”

      “I’ll be derned.”

      “Please don’t curse and swear.”

      “Sorry. I won’t be derned. I’ll never be derned.”

      “Thanks. I hope you mean that.”

      “Oh, I do.”

      “Good. Drover, sometimes . . . sometimes I have this, this strange sensation that . . . my mind is a bowl of scrambled eggs. Have you ever had that feeling?”

      “Boy, I love eggs.”

      “I know, but I’m talking about the sensation of scrambled eggs. Have you ever felt that your entire life, all your thought processes, your plans and dreams . . . were coming out of a bowl of scrambled eggs?”

      “Well, let’s see. Nope, never have.”

      “Hmmm. Just as I thought. It’s this job, the crushing responsibility, the ozone we breathe day after day at the top of the mountain.”

      I heaved a deep sigh, walked back to Drover, and laid a paw on his shoulder.

      “I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to chat. It’s so seldom that I get to, well, chat with the men.”

      “Yeah, or even with us dogs.”

      “Exactly.” I gazed up at the stars which were now covered with thick clouds and were therefore invisible. “The hour is late, Drover, and the night is dark. What are we doing here by the yard gate?”

      “Well, let’s see. I don’t remember. Do you reckon we’re waiting for scraps?”

      “Maybe so, although I don’t remember Sally May ever bringing out scraps in the middle of the night.”

      “Yeah, and if she’s not going to bring out scraps, it doesn’t make much sense for us to be waiting for them. I guess.”

      “Good point, son. Maybe we should go back to bed.”

      “Boy, I can go for that.”

      “I don’t know about you, but I’m worn to a frazzle, completely bushed. This

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