Drover, Head of Ranch Security

Chapter Seven: Drover's Deputy

Roscoe could hardly believe the words that had come out of Drover's mouth. The whole world seemed to crash down all around him as he realized that his lifelong hero had disappeared just like THAT. He wondered how his mother would react.

"Uncle Hank's really gone?" he sniffled as he looked up at Drover with teary eyes.

Drover nodded sadly. He hated that he had to be the one to tell the puppy the news. Roscoe was much too young to have to deal with a family death, especially when that certain relative happened to be your idol.

Roscoe wiped his eyes with his right front paw, not liking the wet feeling on his face. Drover wasn't really sure what he could say to comfort him; he was still trying to comfort himself. Boy, life in general seemed to have gotten harder since Hank left.

"All I ever wanted was to be a cowdog like Uncle Hank," Roscoe said to no one in particular as he started at the dirt. "So much for that. Now I'll have to go home and get adopted as a town dog like Mother wants."

Suddenly, the pup's head shot up and he got an excited look in his eye. "Hey, I know! Drover, you can teach me how to be a cowdog!"

Drover nearly fainted. "Wh-what? Who, me?"

"Yes, you! You were Uncle Hank's friend, right?"

The white dog rolled his eyes around. "Yeah, I guess...."

"And so you had to have learned some stuff from him, right?"

Drover had a bad feeling about this. "Uh...maybe some stuff...but listen, I'm not exactly qualified to---"

Roscoe was bouncing up and down on his four paws now. "Oh come on, Drover, please? I'll be a great assistant, you won't get any trouble out of me! I'm a quick learner, you won't regret it! Oh, please oh please oh please??"

"Wow, you're really sure about this, aren't you?" Drover asked with a sigh.

"Sure as I've ever been! This'll be so much fun! We can herd cattle, chase cats, beat up monsters!" Roscoe was started to ramble to himself now. "Go after rustlers, tear up coyotes, go to war with the dogcatcher---"

Drover felt sick to his stomach and the pasture seemed to be spinning in circles. All those things Roscoe was naming off for them to do was all stuff that Hank had always entitled himself to do.....all the stuff that Drover had skipped out on. How in the world was he going to live up to his new deputy's expectations? Not to mention how was he even going to do any of that stuff to begin with? He had no clue what to do!

"Doesn't that sound like fun, Drover? Drover?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Great. Real fun. Oh boy. Boy howdy. Yippee. Yeehaw."

"Great! I can't wait! So what do we do first?"

Drover cocked his head to one side, signaling confusion. "First?"

"You know, what do we do first? You have to start the day off doing something first or you'll never get to what's second."

Drover thought about that. It seemed to make sense. But he still didn't know the answer to the question. Maybe he could make up stuff as he went along and then he'd piece it all together from there.

"Well...let's see here," Drover muttered to himself as he tried to think of something Hank-like to do....something that was relatively safe anyhow.

Roscoe was wagging his tail furiously and his tongue was hanging out with a very excited look on his face as he waited for Drover to come up with something to do. Drover felt so unprepared for this. He didn't want to really do anything, but he hated to disappoint his little friend especially after he had just learned that his wonderful, brave uncle had just passed away.

Suddenly, he heard the faint sound of Sally May's voice from the house calling his name to come get some scraps. Roscoe got distracted for a second and looked in the direction of the house.

"Who was that?"

Drover quickly had an idea. "That was Sally May, the rancher's wife. She throws out table scraps every morning for us to eat."

"Wow, really?"Roscoe asked in amazement. "We always just got this dog food that tasted like saw dust."

"Yeah, we get that too, that's why we like to take advantage of scrap time." He thought he heard Roscoe's tummy growl. "You probably need something anyhow since you travelled all this way."

"Oh yeah, I'm starving! And we need our strength so we can do cowdog stuff later, too, huh?"

"Oh...yes, of course..." Drover agreed relunctantly. He usually liked to just take a nap after eating. A full stomach always made him so sleepy! He had a feeling that this kid was going to make life a little...difficult.

Drover had made Roscoe wait around the corner of the house while Sally May dished out the scraps. The woman didn't like having stray animals near her yard and if she ever caught the pup, she would've high-tailed him back to his home in Twitchell to become a town dog. Drover didn't want to be responsible for sending Hank's nephew back to a life he didn't want to live so he figured he better help the kid out.

Sally May rubbed Drover on the head lovingly. "Poor puppy. I bet you miss smelly old Hank, even if he did always steal the best scraps. C'mere, Pete! Here, kitty kitty kitty!"

Pete yawned and stretched from his normal spot in the iris patch and lazily sauntered his way to wear his master was calling him. Drover glared at him for a second, remember what the cat had tried to do the day of Hank's funeral, but he kept his anger in check. One of Sally May's rules was not to harrass her cat and Drover for one sworn to obey those rules.

"That's a good kitty," Sally May crooned as she dished out Pete's helping on the yard side of the fence. "At least I don't have to worry about you two getting into a fight," she commented as she went back inside the house to clean up the kitchen.

As soon as she was gone, Pete turned his head to Drover and grinned. "So how's the new job, Drover? Proving to be too much for you yet?"

"No, Pete, actually it's going along quite well. I ran off some strays this morning that were bothering the cows."

Pete looked shocked. "Did you now? How very interesting. I have to congratulate you, and I feel I must apologize for ever doubting you."

Drover smiled. "Gosh, thanks, Pete!"

"Please, don't mention it. I'm surprised you've gotten a handle on the job already. Especially since it was just the other night that you were scared out of your wits by a giant hen."

Drover was immediately embarrassed, remembering the trick that J.T. Cluck and his hens had played on him. "How'd you know about that?" he asked the cat sheepishly.

"Oh, everyone knows about that, Drover. The whole ranch was talking about it. How the new Head of Ranch Security is afraid of chickens." Pete began to give sympathetic glances. "I tried to stand up for you, Drover, really. Because after all, we are friends even though we butt heads and all."

Drover's self-pity resurfaced itself. "Oh. That's real nice of you, Pete."

"Mmm-hmmm, it is nice of me. So nice in fact, I think I should get a reward."

"What?"

"Just a little token of your appreciation, Drover," Pete purred, twitching his tail back and forth as he spoke. "Doesn't that seem fair?"

"Um...I guess," Drover replied, getting a tad suspicious.

Roscoe suddenly bounded up, unable to take hearing anymore of Pete's mind games. "Back off, you mean ugly cat! You stop picking on Drover!"

Pete nearly flew out of his skin at the sudden appearance of the strange pup. He hissed and arched his back angrily at the growling puppy.

"Drover, who is this?" Pete demanded to know, not keeping his eyes of Roscoe.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Pete. I have a new deputy. Meet Roscoe---Hank's nephew."

Pete's eyes widened. "Hank's nephew? Where did you come from?"

"That's none of your business, cat! Now you go away and stop trying to make Drover feel bad, or I'll come in there and rip your ears off!"

Pete stared at Roscoe for a blank second and then suddenly a grin spread across his face and he began to laugh. "Oh ho ho, haha, you rip off my ears! Haha, you're just like your uncle! He always thought he could get me but he couldn't. And you won't either, you silly puppy. Just try to come in this garden and get me." He gave Roscoe a taunting look. "I dare you."

Roscoe looked about ready to dig a hole under the fence and go after the menacing cat, but Drover gently bit the pup's tail and started to tug him away. "Drover, what are you doing! He's talking trash about us dogs! We can't let him get away with that!"

"Kid, he'd rip you to shreds!" Drover exclaimed. "Besides, you don't want to mess with that cat. He lives here and if we mess with him, we'll get booted out for sure."

"Yes, listen to Drover," Pete agreed. "Hank was always getting in trouble for messing with me and got his face clawed everytime." He yawned. "It would be no challenge for me to have to fight you anyhow. Come back when you're older and we'll see if you can handle me." With that (and a snooty flick of the tail), Pete turned and took his scraps back to the iris patch with him.

Drover finally released Roscoe, who was none to happy about being pulled back from a fight. "That mean ol' cat! Who does he think he is? He doesn't run this place! Wait 'til I get older, I'll drag his worthless hide all over this ranch!"

Drover wondered if Hank had been like this as a puppy. He could easily imagine it. In the meantime, maybe it would better if Roscoe stayed away from cats in general. He didn't want to be the one responsible for getting Hank's nephew into a situation where he would come out on the losing side.

Roscoe's attention suddenly diverted from Pete and onto the scraps. "Oh boy, food! Come on, Drover, let's hurry up and eat so we can go do cowdog stuff!"

Drover groaned quietly to himself.