Free Lost in the Blinded Blizzard by John R. Erickson Page A

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    â€œMmmmmm, hello, Hankie. Been out for a little walk in the snow?”
    My ears twitched. Throwing the very last of my energy reserves into the task, I raised one eyelid. And there, curled up in a little ball on the porch, was Pete the Barncat.
    He was smirking at me. “I was here first, Hankie, and this is my porch.”
    Throwing the very last of my energy reserves into the task, I opened my other eye and staggered to my feet. “Oh yeah?”
    â€œUm-hmm. First come, first served.”
    Funny, I was feeling stronger by the second. “Oh yeah?”
    â€œUm-hmmm. And if you don’t leave my porch right now, I’ll screech and yowl and cry and limp around in circles, and guess who will come outside with her broom.”
    â€œOh yeah?”
    â€œThat’s right, Hankie. Sally May will come out with her broom and . . .”
    â€œROOOOF!”
    â€œREEEEEER!”
    I figgered we might as well put Pete’s theory to the test. I barked in his face. He hissed and yowled and humped up his back and pinned down his ears, and then, as if by magic, he began limping around, dragging a so-called wounded leg.
    The front door flew open. Pete took time out from his acting career to give me a wink and a smile, and then he said, “I told you, Hankie.”
    Loper stepped out on the porch. “Holy cow, it’s Hank. He made it with the cough syrup!” He came over and, you won’t believe this, picked me up and gave me a big hug. “Good boy, Hank, good boy!”
    I never would have dared believe that he would take me into the house. I mean, we know that I deserved such treatment, but miracles weren’t common on our outfit. But that’s exactly what he did.
    Oh yes, and the best part came as he was carrying me toward the door. He tripped over the crippled cat, stumbled, yelled some harsh words, and booted old Pete right out into the snow.
    Oh, how I loved it! Bravery and devotion to duty hath no greater rewards than to see the cat booted into a snowdrift.

    Well, once we got into the house, I became the hero of the hour—of the day, in fact, or even the whole week. Or month.
    Heck, the entire year.
    Loper took me over to the woodstove and set me down in the place of honor. He stroked my head and scratched me behind the ears, and then he even scratched me on that spot just below my ribs, you know, the spot that’s hooked up to my back leg?
    I’ve never understood exactly how and why that deal works, but when they scratch me there, my old back leg goes to kicking. Feels wonderful.
    And whilst he was doing that, Sally May came into the room and wrapped me up in a towel. And get this: She dried me off with the towel!
    Yes, her nose was wrinkled up and she said something about “cow lot” and “wet dog,” as I recall her words, but by George, the old gal put some elbow grease into that towel-work and got me dried off.
    Then they untied the medicine bag from around my neck and Sally May took the bottle back into Molly’s room, and by that time Little Alfred had appeared on the scene.
    He gave me a big hug and we wrestled around on the living room floor for a while. Then he blew in my face, as he seems to enjoy doing, and I licked him on the mouth.
    Sally May walked in on that little exercise and put a stop to it. “Alfred, keep your face away from the dog’s mouth! Do you want to get pellagra?”
    He said, no, he didn’t want to get pellagra, and neither did I, so we quit that game.
    Oh, but there were plenty of other games to play. See, because of my heroic actions—and also because Little Alfred made a very effective begging presentation—I was allowed to remain inside the house for the rest of the storm.
    Two whole entire days, if you can believe that!
    Yes, Sally May insisted that I visit the Great Outdoors once every hour for “fresh air,” as she put it, but that was okay with me.
    Hey, me and Alfred played Horse,