Free The Case of the Double Bumblebee Sting by John R. Erickson

trouble believing it. It was lousy luck and it wasn’t my idea and it just happened.
    All at once I started hiccuping.
    Hic. Hic. Hic.
    Again, I thought nothing of it at first. I mean, everyone hic gets the hiccups now and then—dogs, humans, elephants. It’s a normal hic process, and it’s not something a guy has any control over. I mean, you hic don’t just wish that you could start hiccuping, do you?
    Of course not. Who wants to look and sound ridiculous? Not hic me.
    It probably had something to do with the snake­­bite. The poison, the deadly rattlesnake poison, was attacking my system and causing me to hiccup.
    Hic.
    See?
    Hic.
    There’s another one.
    Well, not in my wildest dreams would I have dreamed that anyone would take offense to my hiccups! Would you have thought so? I mean, here’s a sick dog who’s been confined to a corner of the kitchen and screened off from hic the rest of the world. He’s trying to survive his ordeal and mind his own hic business and . . .
    Sally May’s face appeared over the top of the sheet, and she said, here’s exactly what she said, word for word. She said, “Why are you doing this to me?”
    I thumped my tail on the floor. Hic. Doing what to her?
    â€œI’m trying to read a recipe. I’m trying to concentrate. I’m trying to make jelly for my family, because I love them and I want to do something nice for them. But I can’t concentrate because you’re over here HICKING.”
    Yes, I realized that, and I had no hic control over the alleged hicking. I was a hic sick dog.
    â€œI’ve read the same line in the recipe five times: ‘Add two tablespoons of hick.’ Now, will you please stop that and let me finish this job before I ruin the whole batch?”
    Sure, you bet. Anything for the good of the hic.
    Family.
    She went back to work. I stared at the sheet and concentrated extra hard on not hicking. No more hicking for me.
    Some dogs are able to use their mental pro­cesses to impose order and control over their bodies. Did you know that? Yes, it’s a rare gift that some of us have.
    What you do is sharpen all your powers of con­centration down to a tiny beam of concentrated something or other. Mental energy. Light. The mind shifts from being a lightbulb into being a laser beam. You then direct this powerful beam at the germs or worms or whatever it is that causes hicking.
    You burn them up, destroy them, turn them into mere vapor. Poof! They’re gone. No more hicking.
    You see? It worked.
    I couldn’t help being proud of myself. I’ve never been one to boast and brag, but this was pretty impressive.
    What? You think the hiccups came back? You think I lost my concentration? Ha. No way. My powers of concentration had proved themselves, and all I had to do was maintain that high level of concentration for a couple of . . .
    A flea chose that very moment to bite me on the tail section and . . .
    Hic.
    What rotten luck. I’d been doing so well, I’d just about had the thing . . .
    Hic.
    Sally May loomed overhead like a thunderhead cloud.
    â€œI’m sorry, Hank. I wish I were a better person, more patient, kind, and understanding. But I’m not, and you’re driving me nuts with that hicking, and you’re going back outside. Out! And you walk on your own four legs, mister, because I don’t need a trip to the chiropractor.”
    Okay, fine. If she didn’t want me . . . I pried my­self off the floor and followed her out the back door. I didn’t hic care. Staying outside was no big deal to me, but if I died in the night from exposure to the elements, I hoped everyone would know who had hic.
    Caused it.
    Passing through the back door, which she held open for me, I spied a nice soft patch of iris flowers, right under her kitchen window. No doubt that’s where she . . .

    â€œHank! Keep walking.”
    No doubt she wanted me to return to the bed