The Case of the Swirling Killer Tornado by John R. Erickson

time to dis­cuss your personal problems.”
    â€œOh my gosh. What are we going to do?”
    â€œI’m not sure. I was hoping you might have some ideas.”
    â€œWell, let’s get me cured, before I turn into a cat.”
    â€œOh yes, the cure. Here’s the deal. Roll over three times and repeat the, uh, curative words. Let’s see,
    â€œPiggy bacon, wrongly taken.
    Piggy ways are now forsaken.”
    â€œI think I can do it, Hank! Watch this.” He rolled over three times and said the, uh, magic curative words. Then he leaped to his feet and gave himself a shake. “There, I did it and I’m so happy! I don’t feel like a cat any more.”
    â€œGreat, Drover, I’m happy for you. Oh, one last part of the cure: I get all the supper scraps for a week.”
    â€œSure, Hank, that’s the least I can do.”
    He hopped and skipped with joy. I watched him and felt a glow of, well, fatherly pleasure, you might say. Helping others through difficult situations has always . . .
    Huh? All at once my thoughts were pulled away from good deeds and helping others, as I suddenly realized that (a) the wind had stopped blowing; (b) the rain had stopped falling; (c) the air seemed thick and heavy.
    A spooky calmness had moved through the house, across the ranch, perhaps across the entire world.
    â€œDrover, do you notice anything odd?”
    â€œWell, let’s see. We’re dogs and we’re in the house where the people stay, but all the people went outside where the dogs stay. That seems kind of odd to me.”
    â€œYes, but I mean the air.”
    â€œOh.” He sniffed the air. “Yeah, it smells like two wet dogs and I guess that’s odd.”
    â€œWrong again, Drover. All at once the air is still and heavy, and those are symptoms of a hurricane. Are you familiar with hurricanes?”
    â€œI thought they said ‘tornado.’”
    â€œNo, a tornado has never struck this valley. We’ve already discussed that. It must be a hurricane. Do you know about hurricanes?”
    â€œWell . . . not really.”
    â€œA huge swirling wind, Drover, one of the most destructive storms in all of nature. It can pick up trees, cars, houses, even dogs, and carry them to who-knows-where.”
    Lightning twinkled outside and in its spooky silver light I saw Drover’s eyes. They had grown to the size of pies.
    â€œOh my gosh, I had just started feeling safe ’cause Sally May left the house, but now you’re telling me . . .”
    â€œI’m telling you that hurricanes are even more dangerous than Sally May when she’s mad.”
    â€œOh my gosh!”
    â€œAnd we’re in grave danger.”
    â€œOh, this leg is killing me!”
    My teeth were beginning to chatter. My legs were quivering. The air was so heavy now, I could hardly breathe. “Drover, we’ve got to get out of here. But how?”
    â€œYeah, but how?”
    â€œGood question.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    I found myself pacing again, as I tried to focus all my powers of concentration on this problem which seemed to have no solution. I mean, we were locked inside a house, right?
    I thought and thought and thought, and also paced and paced and paced. Nothing. It wasn’t working.
    â€œDrover, we’re cooked.”
    â€œYeah, and I’m not even hungry.”
    I stopped pacing and whirled around to face him. “Yes, because you ate two pieces of my bacon, you little sneak, and . . . why did you mention food? I was talking about something else.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know. I guess I’m so scared, I’m liable to say anything. I think you said something about . . . somebody was cooking supper . . . I think.”
    â€œHmmm. That doesn’t ring any bells.”
    Suddenly a bell rang . . . the telephone again, perhaps the sheriff’s department calling to . . .
    Drover jumped. “Oh my