Text Leveling System

It's a Dog's Life

RDQ:	1506	Max Word/Sent	63	Total Words	3252		Diff Words	856
Lex	830	Ave Word/.Sent	8	Hi Freq occurs	2460	75.6%	Hi freq	369	43.1%
AR	4.3	Long Sentences	6.6	Low Freq occurs	169	5.2%	Low freq	127	14.8%

The End
of the World

It's me again Hank the Cowdog. One morning 
around ten o'clock Drover brought me some 
incredible news. He said the world was coming to 
an end.
I had gotten in from work around daylight 
washed up in the septic tank and hit my gunnysack 
just as the sun peeked over that big cotton-
wood tree down by the creek. It had been a slow 
night but still I was bushed. Must have been the 
accumulation of long nights. This security work 
begins to wear on a guy after a while.
I had given Drover the night off so by the 
time I came dragging in he was all fresh and 
ready to go exploring or some such foolishness. 
He asked if I wanted to go with him.]] 
"No sir I certainly don't and here's the rest of 
it. I plan to be sound asleep when the mailman 
comes by. You get your little self up there by the 
mailbox and give him a good barking. You got 
that?"
The smile left his face. "Okay Hank but I sure 
did want to go exploring."
"That exploring can keep for another day son." 
I scratched my gunnysack until it was fluffed up 
just the way I like it then I flopped down. What a 
beautiful feeling! "We tend to business first 
Drover and then if there's any time left we tend to 
pleasure. Why do I have to keep telling you that?"
"I don't know Hank. I forget things."
I looked at the runt and shook my head. "You 
forget things. How can you forget that the mailman 
comes by here every day at the same time? 
How can you forget that one of our most important 
jobs is to bark at him? How can you forget 
that you're wasting my time and I'm ready to go 
to sleep?" I noticed that he was staring at my ear. 
"What are you staring at?"
"You got three fleas crawling on your ear."
They were coming out of my bed. Derned 
gunnysack was getting a little ripe and needed 
changing. You'd think the cowboys would notice 
something like that and give me a fresh cake sack]] 
every six months or so but they can sell 'em back 
to the Co-op for a nickel apiece see and that sort 
of puts a price on my services.
You never really know these ranch folks until 
there's a nickel involved. Give the Head of Ranch 
Security a five-cent bed every six months? No 
siree not with cattle prices the way they are. 
That new gunnysack just might take the ranch 
down into bankruptcy.]] 
So if you want to know why my bed was full of 
fleas there's your answer. It had nothing to do 
with my personal hygiene. I bathe in the sewer 
every single day I make a sincere effort to keep 
the sandburs out of my tail I scratch every flea 
that shows himself.
In other words I'm one of the cleanest dogs I 
ever met except Beulah the collie and oh just 
the mention of her name makes my heart start 
whamming around in my chest!
How could she love a bird dog when she could 
have me? What did Plato have that I didn't have? 
I'll answer that question. Plato was so homely so 
pitiful so incompetent that Beulah felt sorry for 
him. That's all I could figger. I mean in a contest 
of looks brains courage brute strength or anything 
else you'd want to mention Plato came in 
dead last.
How did I get started on Beulah? I can't let 
myself do that and what the heck was I talking 
about?
I can't remember.
Okay I've got it now. Fleas. I was discussing 
fleas. It doesn't matter how careful you are with 
your personal hygiene if the ranch executives 
are too tight to give you a clean gunnysack every 
six months or so you're going to by George come]] 
up with fleas and Drover was correct in saying 
that I had three of the little devils crawling on 
my left ear.
Know what I did? I got my hind leg up and 
went to kicking them fleas and fellers I wouldn't 
want to be a flea in that situation because my 
hind legs are very powerful and my claws are just 
death on fleas.
"I think you got 'em" said Drover. "I hope they 
don't get into my bed."
"Son when this dog takes after a flea it needs 
more than a bed. It needs a cemetery and that 
goes for larger animals too. Now I'm going to sleep. 
Tell me what your assignment is."
He twisted his mouth around and squinted 
one eye. "Uh. . . let's see.. ."
"Mailman."
"Mailman. Mail-MAN. MAIL-man."
"Bark."
"Bark." He shook his head.
"Bark at."
"Bark at. . . bark at. . . mailman bark at... 
bark at the mailman!"
"Very good Drover. Now keep saying that to 
yourself and run up to the road before you forget 
again."
"Okay Hank bark at the mailman." He started]] 
off but stopped. "Hank how come we bark at the 
mailman?"
I stared at him. "Are you asking why we bark 
at the mailman?"
"Yeah. If he brings the mail how come we 
bark at him?"
"Holy cats Drover at your age you're still 
asking a question like that? Son if you don't 
know the answer by this time it wouldn't do any 
good for me to tell you. Now go on before I lose 
my temper."
"Okay Hank. Bark at the mailman bark at 
the mailman." And off he went to the mailbox.
I settled into my gunnysack and released my 
grip on the world. But you know what? I couldn't 
fall asleep for a long time. I kept asking myself 
"Why DO we bark at the mailman?"
If you look at it in a certain light it really 
doesn't make much sense. As far back as I can 
remember no mailman has ever killed a chicken 
robbed a nest broke into a sack of feed or done 
anything worse than deliver the mail.
But that right there is one of the primary 
dangers of having an active superior type of 
intelligence. On the one hand it's necessary for 
security work. On the other hand it can come 
up with foolish questions. Ma used to say that]] 
back at the beginning of time God built a thousand questions but only two hundred and fifty answers so there you are.
Why do we bark at the mailman? Because by George cowdogs have always barked at the mailman and they always will.
And with that out of the way I went to sleep.
It was wonderful delicious. Geeze I love sleep. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to lie there with my paws in the air and have dreams that make me twitch. I don't know what it is that makes twitching dreams special but they're the very best kind.
So there I was twitching and rolling my eyes and at peace with the world dreaming of fresh bloody bones and. . . well Beulah when all at once I heard a high-pitched squeal.
"Hank oh Hank it's awful wake up I'm so scared I can't stand it wake up!"
One eye popped open. It was a short-haired stub-tailed white dog and he was jumping up and down. "Bzelwykqe dkeithsle pclkenck ", I said.
"What?"
My other eye slid open. "These are my fresh bloody bones and next week's an entirely different matter."]] 
He twisted his head and looked at me. "What are you talking about Hank?"
I pushed myself up and staggered over against the gas tank. My head began to clear. "What's the meaning of this?"
"The meaning of what Hank?"
"The meaning of. . . I don't know. Whatever it is we're talking about."
"You mean. . . bloody bones?"
"Okay stop right there. Whose bones and why are they bloody? Try to remember every detail. Reconstruct the scene of the crime just as you saw it. So far we've only got one clue: the bones are bloody. What kind of bones were they?"
"Uh. . . fresh bloody bones."
"Very good. That's two clues: fresh and bloody. Now you've got to concentrate. Whose bones were they?"
Drover rolled his eyes. I could tell he was trying to concentrate. "I guess they're yours Hank. I haven't seen 'em yet."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well. . . I'm not sure."
"Then what is the meaning of this conversation? Why am I standing here?"
"I don't know Hank. Maybe you better sit down."]] 
I sat down and took a deep breath. "Drover I was asleep and you woke me up. Why did you wake me up?"
"Oh. Oh-h-h-h-h Hank I just heard the awful news and I thought you ought to know!"
"What awful news?"
The little mutt was shivering all over by this time. "Oh Hank the world's going to come to an end tomorrow at three o'clock!"
"HUH? The world. . . three o'clock. . . that's impossible!"
"No it's true I know it's true! Oh I'm scared Hank. This has never happened to me before!"
Just then Sally May came out of the house jumped into her car and went roaring out of the driveway throwing up gravel and dust. She turned left at the country road and headed west toward town.
Drover's eyes got as big as plates. "There you see that? She must have heard the news."
Well this was shall we say shocking. We didn't have much time to prepare. Furthermore how do you prepare for the end of the world? As I was sifting through the various options I heard a commotion up around the house.
It was Pete the Barncat. He was jumping up in the air and rolling around on the ground and]]
yowling. It appeared that he'd taken the fits. "Come on, Drover, we'd better check this out. We ran up the hill. Something terrible wa happening on the ranch and I had to find ou what it was.
The Thick Plottens
W
hen we got to the top of the hill we found Pete rolling around in the dirt in front of the yard gate. I studied the scene and came up with an explanation for his odd behavior: he had choked on a chicken bone.
I couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more than Pete, and yet there's a heart beating inside this massive body of mine and every now and then it can be touched by tragedy. I kind of hated to be there, watching Pete in his last moments of life.
Drover went up to him. Pete was on his back, kicking all four paws in the air and rolling his eyes. "What's wrong, Pete?"
He quit twitching and looked up at Drover.
"The end of the world is coming! I can feel it." Drover glanced at me. "Did you hear that?"
"I heard it but I don't believe it. Step aside and let me check this thing out." I pushed Drover out of the way and stood over the cat. "I'm going to order this cat to open his mouth. When he does, we'll find a chicken bone caught in his throat. "This is a classic case of greed, Drover, which is very common in cats. I recognized the signs the minute I got here. They get to thinking they
can eat anything and the first thing you know they get choked on a bone. Now watch. Open your mouth, cat."
He opened his mouth. Drover and I looked inside. I spotted two tonsils and the little punching bag that hangs in front of the throat. No bone.
I stepped back. "I was afraid of that. Sometimes the bone..."
"It's not a bone, Hank," said Pete in an eerie voice. "I can feel the end of the world coming." Drover gasped. "Hank, he said it again! Oh my gosh! What are we going to do?"
"First, we don't panic. Second, we interrogate this cat. And third ... we look for the third point in our plan of action." I went back to Pete. "Exactly what makes you think the world's coming to an end?"
"Cat's intuition."
"I don't believe in cat's intuition. There's no way to test it."
"Yes there is. Just ask me any question about the end of the world."
"All right." I paced back and forth. "What day is it due?"
"Tomorrow."
"What time of day?" "Three o'clock."
"Hmmm." His answers matched Drover's report. When you get the same answers from two different sources, you have to take it seriously. And then there was Sally May rushing away from the house. That had been pretty suspicious too. Pete lay there with his eyes closed. "I know how you can check it for sure."
"Well, by George let's hear it, and be quick about it."
"You have to say please."
I chuckled at that. "Me, say please to a cat? Do you realize you are speaking to the Head of Ranch Security? I will not say please to a cat, ever."
I bent my head down and showed him some fangs-growled, narrowed my eyes, raised the hair on the back of my neck as well as all the way down my spine, gave him the whole nine yards of threatening gestures. And as you might expect, he changed his mind.
"Well, maybe I will tell you."
"You bet you will, and you'll tell the truth and nothing but the truth. So start talking while I still have myself under control."
When a cat has some running room or a tree to climb, he'll talk trash and very seldom will you hear him tell the truth. Rut put one. flat
on his back on the ground, stand over him with some deadly fangs, and fellers, you can make a Christian out of any cat. I guarantee it.
Well, we finally got the truth out of him. I don't know why he didn't tell the truth in the first place. It would have been so much simpler and easier for all of us, but cats are just that way. They seem to get a kick out of being deceitful. It's just part of their nature.
Under severe questioning Pete finally confessed about where he'd learned that the world was coming to an end. Just as I had suspected, it had nothing to do with so-called "cat's intuition." He'd been sitting on the window sill when Sally May got a phone call. He'd listened to the conversation (it's called eavesdropping and cats are very good at it) and he'd seen her write this message down on her calendar: "End of the world, 3:00 p.m."
I glanced at Drover. "Well, there's the scoop on this end-of-the-world business. Now all we have to do is check the calendar. Of course there's one small problem."
"Sure is."
"And what is that small problem, Drover?" He gave me a blank stare. "I was just asking myself that same question."
"The small problem is that we have to get into
the house because that's where the calendar is. Come on, son, we've got work to do." I turned to Pete. "You can leave, cat, but don't go far. We may have some more questions for you later on."
Pete gave me a very strange smile and went up toward the machine shed, twitching the end of his tail. I watched him for a long time. I didn't like that smile. There was just something about it that made me suspicious.
But we had work to do. Drover and I jumped the fence and began circling the house, looking for a way to get inside. All at once I heard an odd noise. I stopped.
"Hold it! What's that?" We listened. There it was again, a clicking sound. "It's a time bomb, Drover! Red Alert! Run for your life!"
We dashed around to the front yard and hid behind that big hackberry tree there by the porch. I waited for the blast, and in the silence I heard that same clicking sound-right beside me. My ears, which are very sensitive scientific instruments, followed the sound and traced it to Drover. "Why are your teeth chattering?"
"What?"
"I said, why are your teeth chattering? And how can I conduct an investigation with you making noise?"
"Oh. I'm sorry, Hank. I guess I'm scared about the end of the world."
I shook my head and walked a few steps away. "I don't know, Drover, sometimes I just think you're not worth the dadgum effort. How many times have I told you that a cowdog has to be fearless?"
He hung his head. "I know, you've told me but ... it's the end of the world, Hank."
"Maybe it is and maybe it ain't. At this point it's merely a suppository proposition and all we've got to go on is circumscribal evidence. We won't know for sure until we get into the house and check Sally May's calendar. Now, are you going to help with this investigation or do I have to send you down to the gas tanks for the rest of the day?"
He thought it over. "I guess I'll go down to the gas tanks."
"Oh no you won't."
"I guess I'll stay here."
"That's more like it. Drover, always remember this: it ain't the size of the dog in the fight that matters; it's the size of the fog in the dog. That's what life is all about."
He stared at me and then nodded his head. "I'd wondered ... what was it all about."
"Now listen very carefully." I looked all around
to be sure we were alone. "We've got no choice but to make a penetration into the house."
"A what?"
"A penetration. We'll make a small slit in that window screen and one of us will go inside." "Which one?"
"We'll decide that when the time comes. You ready to move out?" He gulped and nodded. "All right, let's go."
We slipped away from the tree and sneaked up to one of the south windows. The window was open. All we had to do was get past the screen.
A lot of people think that you can keep a dog out by locking the doors. That's not true. A cowdog who is highly skilled in penetration techniques can approach your ordinary window screen, make a small hole with one of his teeth, and then slit the screen.
I began the procedure-went up on my hind legs, poked one of my large front teeth through the screen, and made a slashing upward motion with my head.
The screen fell off and one corner of it hit Drover between the eyes. He yelped. "Sorry, Drover, but as you can see the screen was improperly installed. Typical cowboy job. But never mind. There's our open window. We're
ready to make the penetration. I'll go inside and you stand guard. If you see anything suspicious, give me the code word: Mayday. You got that?" He nodded.
"Now remember: pay attention, don't go to sleep, and keep your eyes open. The future of the entire world depends on us, Drover."
"What if we mess up?"
"That gets into the realm of the unthinkable. There's no margin for error. We've never played for bigger stakes. So, until we meet again..."
I patted him on the shoulder, coiled my legs, and leaped through the window.

Subjective Criteria

Illustrations: Little support

Dialog: Two speakers

Dialog: Broken dialogue

Dialog: Unlabeled Speaker

Vocabulary: Some difficult words

Language: Many descriptive words

Sentences: Multiple phrases

Text structure: Story/Poem

Inferences: Several Implications

Complexity: Several unrelated ideas

Concept: Fanciful

Chapters

Features

Character traits

Integral Setting

Simple Plot

Unusual use of vocabulary

Topic

Mystery

Dogs

Messiness

Detectives

*Fictional Ideas/Charac

Low Frequency Words

accumulation	apiece	approach	assignment	bankruptcy
barncat	brute	bushed	bzelwykqe	calendar
cemetery	circling	circumscribal	classic	cleanest
commotion	concentrate	conversation	courage	cowdog
cowdogs	crawling	dadgum	deceitful	delicious
derned	deserved	devils	dkeithsle	drover
drover's	eavesdropping	eerie	evidence	executives
exploring	fellers	figger	furthermore	future
geeze	gestures	gravel	guarantee	gulped
gunnysack	hackberry	haired	highly	hind
hygiene	improperly	incompetent	incredible	installed
instruments	intelligence	interrogate	intuition	investigation
involved	massive	mayday	mention	merely
moments	motion	nature	ordinary	ought
paced	panic	pclkenck	peace	penetration
personal	pitiful	plato	pleasure	plottens
primary	procedure	proposition	realize	realm
recognized	reconstruct	runt	sandburs	scientific
security	seldom	sensitive	septic	seriously
services	severe	sewer	simpler	sincere
siree	situation	slashing	sources	spine
squinted	staggered	stakes	studied	superior
suppository	suspected	suspicious	techniques	threatening
tonsils	tragedy	twitch	twitching	typical
unthinkable	upward	various	whamming	worth
yelped	yowling