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Slim’s bronc ride, I had more or less forgotten what had started it: Winkie, with the barn door on his horns. I think the men had forgotten too, but that rumble of grunts sent all our heads snapping around.
    Winkie had been standing behind us the whole time and hadn’t made a peep or moved a hair, but now…gulp…he began to stir. And all at once, in the back of my mind, I saw this flashing sign that said: “ Maybe you shouldn’t have barked .”
    It appeared that Winkie had gotten tired of wearing the overhead door, and to get rid of it, he proceeded to give his head several powerful shakes. There is nothing subtle about a buffalo bull and everything he does has an exaggerated effect. Winkie had a big head that was connected to a huge muscular neck, and when he shook his head, he was also tossing around a six-foot-by-three-foot panel of sheet metal—I mean, like a cat shaking a mouse.
    At that point, things happened in a blur. The sheet metal flew off Winkie’s horns and landed right in front of Socks, who had just recovered from his first nervous breakdown and went straight into his second. His eyeballs grew as big as pies, his ears went to the top of the flagpole, and fellers, he sold out—tore the reins out of Slim’s hand and bucked a straight line into the barn.
    I had just gotten over that surprise when I noticed…WINKIE WAS STARING AT ME…and he was making those deep grunting noises again and…yipes, shoveling up dirt with his front hooves.
    Have you ever been stared at by a buffalo? There is nothing in those eyes that a dog wants to see. We’re talking about cold black eyes that can freeze your gizzard.
    In the spooky silence, Uncle Johnny whispered, “Slim, you’d better move away from the dog. I have an idea that Winkie’s fixing to come uncorked.”
    Slim began backing away from me. The grunting sound in Winkie’s throat had turned into a rumble of thunder and I could hear his front hooves tearing the ground like a backhoe and…
    You know, at once I felt…well, very exposed, and when a dog is seized by the impulse of fear, he naturally wants to…well, seek the warmth and companionship of his human friends. Drawing my tail up between my legs, I began edging toward…
    â€œHank, get away from me!”
    â€¦the man I had loved and admired for so many years.
    â€œMeathead, get back!”
    You know, there’s a very special bond between a cowboy and his dog. I mean, we guard his porch, ride in his pickup, sleep in his bed, drink out of his commode, share his sorrows…
    â€œHank!”
    Why was he backing away from me, and screeching? Hey, that buffalo had a BAD look in his eyes and I needed a friend and a place to hide, so I went to Full Flames on all engines and took refuge behind…uh…the legs of my friend.

Chapter Seven: Winkie Does Some Damage

    O kay, let’s get something straight before we move into the dark and scary parts of this story. If I’d had time to think about the situation, I wouldn’t have taken refuge behind Slim’s legs.
    In the first place, he had skinny legs that offered about as much protection as a pair of toothpicks. If you’re running from a buffalo, take refuge behind something made of concrete and rebar, not the bird-legs of a cowboy.
    In the second place, I never dreamed that Slim would…well, trip over me and fall to the ground. Honest. It never entered my mind, and when he hit the ground, I felt terrible about it—so bad that I forgot about everything else and rushed to administer Healing Licks to his…
    â€œGet away from me!”
    Why was he pushing me away? And screaming? Gee, had all our years together come down to this? I was crushed. Hey, I’d invested my whole life in this guy and it just about broke my heart when he…

    Huh?
    The earth beneath my feet seemed to be trembling. I cocked one ear and heard…that was odd. Did