Current Reading: The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog

 

Sometimes it is good to read a book written for children. John R. Erickson's The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog probably most appeals to American fourth graders, but I have been enjoying the book quite a bit. One of the things I like about this book -- and the others in the series -- is the sense of humor that is very childlike. Children are constantly trying to figure out how the world works without having the language or the knowledge structures to really do the job. So, they take what they know and try to put it together in a way that makes sense at the moment, but, in the future, they revise their understanding. Hank is like that, except his mind does not mature.

I am listening to the book on my iPod. I bought this book years ago; my family and I have enjoyed listening to it in the car when the children were younger.

Here is the beginning of the book; I think it gives some idea of the humor of the stories. Take a look:

It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. I just got some terrible news. There’s been a murder on the ranch.

I know I shouldn’t blame myself. I mean, a dog is only a dog. He can’t be everywhere at once. When I took this job as Head of Ranch Security, I knew that I was only flesh and blood, four legs, a tail, a couple of ears, a pretty nice kind of nose that the women really go for, two bushels of hair and another half bushel of Mexican sandburs.

You add that all up and you don’t get Superman, just me, good old easygoing Hank who works hard, tries to do his job, and gets very little cooperation from anyone else around here. Bloody Murder! I’m not complaining. I knew this wouldn’t be an easy job. It took a special kind of dog— strong, fearless, dedicated, and above all, smart. Obviously Drover didn’t fit. The job fell on my shoulders. It was my destiny. I couldn’t escape the broom of history that swept through . . . anyway, I took the job. Head of Ranch Security. Gee, I was proud of that title. Just the sound of it made my tail wag. But now this, a murder, right under my nose. I know I shouldn’t blame myself, but I do. I got the report this morning around dawn. I had been up most of the night patrolling the northern perimeter of ranch headquarters. I had heard some coyotes yapping up there and I went up to check it out. I told Drover where I was going and he came up lame all of a sudden, said he needed to rest his right front leg. I went alone, didn’t find anything. The coyotes stayed out in the pasture. I figured there were two, maybe three of them. They yapped for a couple of hours, making fun of me, calling me ugly names, and daring me to come out and fight.

Well, you know me. I’m no dummy. There’s a thin line between heroism and stupidity, and I try to stay on the south side of it.