The Phantom in the Mirror
bark up the sun most every morn, I was here at the ranch when her babies were born
    I guarded the steaks that she put out to thaw . . .
    And maybe I was foolish for eating them raw.
    But what of the nights I’ve stayed up and barked?
    And tussled with monsters and things in the dark?
    Protecting the cattle and chickens and sheep
    And got myself shot at for jarring her sleep!
    Well fine, okay, it’s a poor-me kind of day.
    When you need a friend, just call me and I’ll look the other way.
    Poor me, poor pay! That’s all I have to say.
    That’s fine, all right, I’m out on strike,
    It’s a poor-me kind of day.
    So when there is trouble or monsters or stuff,
    I plan to be sleeping or warming my duff,
    I’ll tell them too bad and stay on my seat.
    Emergency calls can be handled by Pete.
    And then we’ll just see what happens from there.
    When they’re getting their due and getting what’s fair.
    And as the ranch crumbles, I’ll cry out with glee,
    â€œYou’ve caused this by being so mean to poor me!”
    Well fine, okay, it’s a poor-me kind of day.
    When you need a friend, just call me and I’ll look the other way.
    Poor me, poor pay! That’s all I have to say.
    That’s fine, all right, I’m out on strike,
    It’s a poor-me kind of day.
    The little mutt stared at me in disbelief. “Gosh, I hate to hear you talk like that. Somebody has to care . . . about something.”
    I laughed in his face. “Not me, pal. I’m off duty, and caring isn’t in my contract. Let somebody else care.”
    Just then we heard singing in the house. It was a church song, something about . . . let’s see if I can remember the words. Something about . . . here we go:
    â€œGloria in excelsis Deo,
    Et in terra pax hominbus.”
    It was a lousy song and they were lousy singers, sounded like a barn full of chickens and stray cats. Horrible noise and a stupid song.
    They deserved a skunk, all of them.
    Drover was listening to the music. “Gosh, that’s so pretty! We’ve never had music like that out here on the ranch.”
    I curled my lip at him and rolled my eyes. What did HE know about music? Was he some kind of expert on the subject? He didn’t even have a decent tail, is what kind of expert he was, only a chopped-off stub.
    Okay, maybe the song was a little better than I’d thought, but still . . . pretty good, actually, and there we were, sitting under this deep black sky full of stars, looking out on the whole entire universe that sparkled with ancient light, and the music seemed to be reaching out to the light . . .
    Not a bad sound, for a bunch of country people. Pretty good, actually. There they were, doing their little part to make the world a better place, and there I was . . . well, feeling sorry for myself, you might say.
    I heaved a big sigh. “Drover, do you know who cares?”
    â€œNobody, I guess.”
    â€œThat’s where you’re wrong. I care. I shouldn’t, but I do. I can’t help it. I guess that just goes with being a cowdog.” I pushed myself up. “Come on. We’ve got a skunk to whip.”
    â€œBut I thought you said . . .”
    â€œNever mind what I said. There’s more to this life than potato soup.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    I gazed at him in the starlight. “I’m not sure. It just popped out. Stars were put here to shine. People were put here to sing, and dogs were put here to protect the ranch from skunks. Does that make sense?”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œGood. Let’s move out. We’ll have to jump the fence.”
    â€œOkay, but this old leg . . .”
    I leaped over the fence and made my way around the southwest corner of the house. There, I picked up visual readings of the skunk. He was sniffing around in the iris patch, slowly working his way toward the open crawl space. At his pres­ent course, bearing, and speed,

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