"Hank the Cowdog: The Case of the Killer Swirling Tornado"

I've been carting boxes of books back and forth from Gettysburg to my shelf unit here in Pittsburgh. After so many miles, I think it's finally time to start reviewing them. So, every week I'll try to do four YA/Children books and two adult books.
*All the YA books are a holdover from last semester (and the last several years), but this should make it fun.*
So, to start, a goofy book.

"Hank the Cowdog: The Case of the Killer Swirling Tornado"(Vol. 25)
John Erickson
Puffin Books 1995
ISBN: 0-14-130401-4

Hank the Cowdog must protect the ranch yet again, but what's chance does the head of ranch security have against a huge, angry, killer, swirling tornado? Joined by his loyal sidekick, Drover, Hank must face an attack by the Charlie Monsters, the dark pull of Sally Mae's House of Horrors, the lure of raw bacon, and the storm itself. Will he save the ranch? Or will he be punished for destroying the screen door?

Dun- Dun- Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

Over the years, I've tried to read more Hank the Cowdog books because they're immensely entertaining and fairly easy-reads. But I've never really gotten inoto the rest of the series like I did with "The Case of the Killer Swirling Tornado", and part of this is because I listened to it as a book on tape first. I've actually memorized a large chunk of it, because the tape was hysterical. but Erickson just has so much working for him. The narration style of a self-important and slightly oblivious cow dog is clever and very funny. The following conversation is just one of the many great moments between Hank and Drover. Both dogs are on 'high alert" while resting their eyes (Trans: Sleeping).

Hank's in red, and Drover's in blue.

I couldn't help chuckling to myself. I mean, to who or whom did he think he was speaking? Whittlewheelbarrowing fodder-fiddle whicker-bill.
Mugg wump tree trunk. Norking smurk whifle feathers on Tuesday.
I donkey that. Horse hoof jellybean bonk woofer clock spring.
Rubbard pillowfight?
Omelet.
Yeah, but cornbread highway?
Tell your spaghetti leaves to double-clutch the peanut butter.
Beanstalk bird nest horizontal chicken pox.
All at once it occurred to me that this conversation was going nowhere. Drover was making very little sense and I was a busy dog. I didn't have time to listen to his foolishness.
I cracked my other eyelid and beamed him a look of purest steel. Drover, if you're going to talk to me, the least you can do is snork mirk the posthole digers.
His head came up. His eyes drifted open and moved around in, little circles. Who ate the trees?
I can't answer that. The point it... I blinked my eyes several times and slowly Drover's face came into focus. Perhaps I had been asleeper than I thought. The point is that I don't know what you're talking about.
Oh. Then what about the spare tire?
I still don't know what you're talking about.
He gave his head a shake, stood up, and walked around in a circle. Gosh, I don't know what I've been talking about either.

I still love rereading this book. And, yes, I know all the words to 'The Tornado Safety Song'

Happy trails!