Читать книгу Drover's Secret Life - John R. Erickson - Страница 6

Introduction

It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. Have you ever wondered what Drover does when he runs to the machine shed and hides? I’ve wondered about that, many times. I mean, the little mutt spends a lot of time in there. What does he do?

I asked him about it one time, and he said, “I count goats.”

“Goats? Why do you count goats? We don’t even have goats on this ranch.”

“Well, if I counted sheep, I might fall asleep. When you sleep, everything’s dark and I’m scared of the dark.”

Does that make sense to you? It made no sense to me, but over the years I’ve learned . . . how can I say this? I’ve learned not to expect much from Drover’s answers. All we can say is that he spends a lot of time in the machine shed and sometimes he counts goats that don’t exist.

But guess what. That isn’t all he does in there. I recently discovered that the little goof has been writing his life’s story. You think I’m kidding? I’m not kidding. He scratched it out in the dust on the machine-shed floor. I found it just the other day, half an acre of chicken scratch in the dirt.

Naturally, my first thought was that it should be erased at once. I mean, it was written by the same guy who hides under his gunnysack bed and snaps at snowflakes. Is the world ready to face an entire book about his life? No, and without a moment’s hesitation, I . . .

You know, I couldn’t bring myself to erase it. In fact, I started reading and . . . well, it was weird but also pretty funny. I laughed until my ribs hurt. It was so very . . . Drover.

I’m not saying that the world is ready for it or that you should read it, but if you want to give it a peek, here it is. If it causes you to count goats or snap at snowflakes, don’t blame me.

—Hank