Every Dog Has His Day. John R. Erickson

several big ones. Furthermore, I have answers to questions that haven’t even been asked yet.”

      “How interesting!”

      “And speaking of questions, what do you have planned for the next thirty years?”

      I gave her a wink and she gave me one back. “I’ll, ah, have to look at my calendar and . . . ooooo, what have we here!”

      Her eyes seemed to be looking past me. I turned my head and found myself peering into the face of a dog I had never seen before, didn’t know, and didn’t particularly want to know.

      Description: black and white, long hair, long nose, medium height and build, pretty good conformation. In some ways, he resembled your border collie, a breed of dogs known for their ability to herd sheep.

      On closer inspection, I began to suspect that he not only bore some faint resemblance to the border collie, but that he was a border collie, possibly one with papers and hot-rod breeding.

      How could I have known all that in such a short span of time? Good question. The answer lies in my remarkable powers of concentration and a certain sixth sense I have about bloodlines. I mean, I can just by George look at a dog and pretty muchly tell you where he came from.

      This one not only had the markings of a low-class sheepdog, but he also grinned all the time. Always grinning, that’s the border collie. It comes from the fact that they go around with their mouths open and their tongues hanging off to one side. (Try that yourself and see if it doesn’t make you grin.)

      Let me pause here to point out that I’ve never had much use for dogs that fool with sheep, nor have I ever trusted a dog that went around grinning all the time, and furthermore, I didn’t care for the way Miss Scamper was making eyes at this one.

      I had a feeling that me and this sheep-herder weren’t going to become bosom pals any time soon.