The Case of the Double Bumblebee Sting by John R. Erickson Read Free Book Online Page B

to bite him. But somehow he distracted me with smooth talk and ear-scratching, and . . . well, before I knew it, he was finished and I never got around to . . .
    Maybe next time, when I felt better.

    He told Sally May that I would be swollen for several days and that I should stay in a cool place with plenty of water close by. To which she said, “I hope that doesn’t mean in my house.”
    â€œWell, that’s up to you. The cooler, the better.” He lifted me off the table and set me on the floor. “The good news on these snakebites is that the dog builds up an immunity. The next time he gets bitten, he won’t be so sick.”
    Sally May’s eyes narrowed. “Next time? You don’t think he’s learned anything from this?”
    The doctor laughed. “Oh no, they never learn. Sometimes they go right back to the same place and the same snake and do it all over again, until the snake either moves out or dies from exhaustion. Some of these old ranch dogs get two or three bites every summer, and their owners don’t even bother to bring them in.”
    I could hardly conceal my outrage at this . . . this disgraceful and insulting . . . who or whom did he think he was talking about? Maybe your ordi­nary ranch mutts went back to the same place and the same snake and got bit again, but hey, I was no ordinary ranch mutt.
    I was the Head of Ranch Security, and for his information and for the record, I learned quickly and never forgot any of life’s painful lessons.
    And there would be no more snakebites for me, thank you, Doctor. And all at once I didn’t think he was such a swell guy, spreading lies and phony information, and I had a suspicion that he’d BOUGHT that diploma on his wall from . . . somewhere. Sears and Roebuck, maybe.
    And besides all that, he was an Aggie! And what did an Aggie doctor know about dogs or anything else?
    Yes, I was outraged.
    He had lost all credulity with me.
    Next time, I would just take my doctoring business somewhere else . . . although there wouldn’t be a next time.
    I should have bitten him when I’d had the chance.
    â€œDogs never learn.” The very idea! I had never been so insulted.
    We made the drive home without any major wrecks or incidents with the police department. Oh, we did make one stop—at the fireworks stand on the south end of town, of all places. That didn’t make any sense to me until later, and then it made quite a lot of sense. You’ll see.
    When we got back to headquarters, Sally May got some rags and gunnysacks and made me a little bed in the shade beside the water storage tank. I suppose she figgered that would be the coolest spot for a dog in my condition, although . . .
    I, uh, gave her Sad Looks and Slow Wags to remind her that, well, it would probably be quite a bit cooler and nicer inside the house. She had an air-conditioner, don’t you see, and while I didn’t really approve of air-conditioners for ranch dogs, this was kind of a special case.
    I mean, me being sick and everything. Swollen up. Terrible fever. Raging terrible fever.
    Okay, maybe I was feeling better after getting the shot from that phony vet, but still, it’s foolish to take chances with the Head of Ranch Security, right?
    But we didn’t succeed in selling that idea to the, uh, lady of the house, so to speak, and I took up residence beside the storage tank and settled into a long and boring period of recoveration.
    It was long and boring. Drover came up to keep me company, but that made it only longer and boringer. In spite of all his many flaws, he is a boring dog. At last, he even bored himself and went away.
    That left just me and the flies. The flies were terrible. They were driving me nuts. I hate flies. And then . . .
    You’ll never guess who arrived on the scene. Hint: two big black ugly birds whose presence was not exactly an omen of good fortune.

Chapter Nine: Who Needs Buzzards at a Time