Free The Case of the Kidnapped Collie by John R. Erickson Page B

captivity . . .”
    Beulah let out a gasp. “Oh Hank, no!”
    â€œ. . . before you carry her away, Scraunch, I want to sing her one last love song, just for old time’s sake.”
    His face showed dill pickles and lemons—a sour expression, in other words. “Uh! Scraunch not give a hoot for dummy love song.”
    â€œThat’s fine, Scraunch, it’s not for you anyway. You don’t even have to listen.”
    He reached out a paw and poked me in the chest. “Hunk not tell Scraunch what to doing.”
    â€œOkay, fine. Listen to the song. It might improve your mind and upgrade your cultural standards.”
    He gave me a big wicked grin. “Scraunch not listen to dummy love song.”
    â€œThat’ll work. All right, Beulah, here we go.”
    â€œOh Hank, don’t abandon me to the coyotes!”
    â€œJust listen to the song, dear. I think you’ll find it pretty interesting.”
    Whilst I tuned up my tonsils, Scraunch turned his back on me and covered his ears with his paws while keeping a foot on Beulah. As you will soon see, he was walking right into my trap.
    My Best for You
    Beulah, collie of my dreams
    With flaxen hair and eyes that beam
    A light that warms me like the morning sun.
    You do not know, I should not say,
    I think of you most every day,
    And dream of you when every day is done.
    But there’s a shadow in my dream,
    A certain bird dog, and it seems
    That you find him hard to ignore.
    He’s not a bad guy, I’ll admit,
    He’s good with quail but I submit
    That life with him could sure be a bore.
    Now, Beulah, listen carefully,
    There’s more here than the eye can see,
    This song is actually a secret code.
    So do the things I say, my dear,
    I’m going to bust you out of here,
    And when I move you’d better hit the road.
    When the music stops, I’ll punch the brute
    And do my best to break his snoot
    While you and Plato run off to the west.
    So don’t look back but now and then
    Remember that you had a friend
    Who cared for you and gave you his best.
    Scraunch missed the hidden message in the song, of course, but Beulah caught it. I could see the change in her eyes on the third verse. I gave her a nod of my head. She nodded back.
    I took a big gulp of air and prepared myself for the next scene in My Life’s Drama. “Hey Scraunch,” I tapped him on the shoulder, “I’m finished.” He turned around. “But I’m taking your nose with me. Here’s a little bouquet from me and Beulah.”
    I drew back my right paw and delivered the hardest, straightest punch I could muster. I leaned into it, fellers, and gave it everything I had.
    Ker-WHOP!
    Holy smokes, that guy had the hardest nose in all of Texas! It was like slugging an anvil, a tree, a tombstone, a huge rock. It sent an earthquake through my paw, up my arm, through my entire body, and out to the tip end of my tail.
    But you know what else? It knocked him back­ward one step, and that’s all Beulah needed. In a flash, she scrambled to her feet and went streaking off to the west. On the other side of the bushes, she met up with Plato, and together they set sail for the house.
    â€œGood-bye, Beulah,” I heard myself say. “I wish it could have worked out better for us but . . .”
    I turned my gaze back to . . . gulp . . . the horrible expression on his face sent shingles of sheer terror down my backbone, tingles, that is. Blood dripped off the end of his nose and there was a prairie fire raging in his eyes.
    â€œScraunch, I think I can explain everything if you’ll just . . .”
    â€œRanch dog die!”
    Before I could argue the point, or turn and run for my life, Scraunch leaped right into the middle of me and . . . that’s all I remember.
    He murdered me right there and that’s the end of the story.
    Sorry.
    Okay, maybe he didn’t quite get the job done, but only because the hunters came to my