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    At last she spoke. “Well, Hank, it seems you have a hard time understanding us girls.”
    â€œYes ma’am, I certainly do.”
    â€œWell,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “some­times we have trouble understanding us too.”
    â€œUh-oh. You mean, you don’t have any more answers than I do?” She shook her head. I slapped my forehead with my left paw—and, ouch, jarred my almost-broken neck. “Oh brother, this is even worse than I thought. Where do we go from here?”
    She heaved a sigh and looked up at the clouds. “Why don’t you jump up here and we’ll watch the hunt together. We’ll worry about the rest of it later.”
    Well . . . watching bird dogs wasn’t my idea of great fun, but sitting in the back of a pickup with the most gorgeous collie gal in all of Texas . . . hmmm, that was no bad deal.
    A guy never knew what might happen.
    Tall oats from tiny acorns grow.
    Heh, heh.

Chapter Seven: She Resists My Charms

    O aks, not oats. Mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow.
    Anyways, it appeared that the winds of love had shifted and Beulah was craving my company. (It must have been my song that did the trick. Pretty good song, huh?)
    All at once I felt fresh energy and a new zest for life galloping through my entire system. I shrugged off the terrible injury to my neck and head, and sprang like a deer into the back of the pickup.
    Beulah was impressed. I could see that at a glance. Hey, no bird dog in history had ever jumped into a pickup with such grace and so forth.
    But wouldn’t you know it? As soon as Drover saw me back there with Miss Beulah—and Beulah about to faint from the excitement of having me at her side—when Little Stub Tail saw all this, he was suddenly cured of his childish spasms.
    He began running around in circles and tried several times to climb over the tail-end gate. He failed, of course, but managed to leave several scratch marks on Billy’s pickup.
    â€œHank, wait, I want up there too!”
    I gave him a withering glare. “I’m afraid not, son. Two’s a company and three’s a corporation. Beulah and I need some time alone . . .” I gave her a sly wink. “. . . and this would be an excellent time for you to do something constructive. For example, you might want to go chase your tail.”
    â€œYeah, but I don’t have a tail. It got chopped off when I was a pup.”
    â€œLife is hard, Drover, and often unfair. Be glad they chopped off your tail and not your head. And above all, scram.”
    â€œYeah, but I want to be with Beulah. I think she likes me.”
    â€œShe’s just being polite, Drover.”
    â€œOh drat.”
    â€œAnd we’ll have no more of your naughty language. Now, run along, and have a good day.”
    He whined and moaned and went padding off to the gas tanks. I watched him for a moment and took note of a rather important detail: He wasn’t limping.
    Well, having disposed of Drover and his . . . imagine him thinking that Beulah liked HIM . . . I turned to the Lady of My Dreams, wiggled my eyebrows, and . . . HUH? It appeared that she had, uh, moved to the front and was watching the sporting event, so to speak. I joined her.
    â€œSorry to keep you waiting, my lamb, but I had to take care of some unfinished business.”
    Her eyes swung around to me. They were sparkling. “He’s working.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œPlato.”
    â€œOh. Yes. Him.”
    â€œHe’s out in front of the men, and look at him go!”
    I tossed a glance toward the Birdly Wonder, and two words rushed to my mind: Big Deal. Of course I didn’t say this aloud. I knew that Beulah had some slight affection for the creep . . . uh, for the bird dog . . . for Plato, shall we say, and I didn’t wish to scoff at the utter stupidity of his . . .
    I didn’t want to poke fun at his occupation, is the point.
    â€œYou know,