Giggle Book Four

by BobA. Troutt

  *****

  Giggle Book Four

  Two Peas in a Pod

  It was Friday night when Cooty Scratch Carter and his best friend, Hound-dog, cruised along the main strip in the little town of Happy Springs. They laughed and had a ball as they circled the courthouse and tooted the horn at the old men sitting by the courthouse steps whittling. Honk, honk, honk went the horn as they tooted and waved at the old men each time they circled by.

  “Now, there’s a couple of guys who are one brick shy of a full load,” one of the men stated.

  “Yep,” replied another. “I’d say their elevator doesn’t go all the way up.”

  “Wouldn’t it be good to be young again,” one of the men said as he laughed and smiled.

  After Cooty and Hound-dog circled the courthouse for the last time, they sped down the main strip in their old white pickup truck with the radio blasting; they were listening to WLS in Chicago that played Motown sounds.

  “Hey, man,” said Hound-dog. “I can really dig that song,” he said as he reached over and turned the radio up louder.

  “What it is. What it is, my brother,” replied Cooty. “It’s the Soul Brothers.”

  “Hey, brother, what’s happening?” asked Hound-dog when the pickup truck began to cut out, miss and jump.

  “I don’t kn…ow,” replied Cooty, “but it doesn’t sound good. Aw, man, we are out of gas,” cried Cooty as he looked at the gas hand.

  “Come on, brother. Are you sure?” asked Hound-dog. “This is Friday night and we need to look cool. We can’t look cool if we are pulled over to the side of the road in a pickup truck that is on empty.”

  “Oh, shut up, Hound-dog,” replied Cooty. “And, I’m not your brother.”

  Cooty coasted the pickup truck over to the side of the road on Wind Curve Circle, next to Duncan’s Diner. Cooty put the pickup truck in park and he and Hound-dog got out and sat down on the hood of the pickup truck, fussing.

  “Hey, Hound-dog, I thought you were my main man,” said Cooty.

  “I am,” replied Hound-dog. “Give me five.”

  Slap went their hands.

  “Like, man, how much money you got?” asked Cooty as he dug deep inside his pocket.

  “I don’t know, brother. Let me see,” replied Hound-dog as he dug deep inside his pocket.

  Cooty and Hound-dog pulled their hands out of their pockets, put their hands together and opened them to reveal what money they had.

  “Now, my main man, let’s see what we have here. Ten, twenty-five, thirty-two cents,” counted Cooty. “This is ridiculous,” cried Cooty. “Thirty-two cents is all the money we have between us.”

  “Yep, Cooty, that’s it unless you miscounted,” replied Hound-dog. “Here, let me count it,” Hound-dog said as he reached over and took the money from Cooty. “Ten, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-one cents,” he counted. “Hey, dude, I counted thirty-one cents.”

  “Say what!” yelled Cooty. “Let me see that money again.”

  Cooty took the money in his hand and counted, “Ten, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three cents. Where did that extra penny come from?”

  Hound-dog just snickered and placed his hand over his face.

  “Thirty-three cents,” said Cooty, “is all we have.”

  “Cool,” replied Hound-dog.

  “How is that cool? Thirty-three cents won’t by us enough gas to turn the engine over,” stated Cooty.

  “What are we going to do?” questioned Hound-dog.

  “What’s going on, boys?” asked Doc, the owner of Duncan’s Diner, when he came out to see what was going on. Are you boys having a little trouble?”

  “No…no…well…maybe…a little trouble,” Cooty replied.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Doc asked.

  Cooty told Doc they had run out of gas. He also told him it was Friday night and they needed to be cruising along the strip instead of sitting on the side of the road in a pickup truck with no gas.

  “Would you boys like to earn some gas money?”

  “Sure, I mean, yes, sir,” Cooty cried. “We’d love to. I mean, man, what do we have to do?”

  “Well, I would like to have a fresh frog legs special next week,” said Doc. “If you could get me some, I would gladly pay you handsomely for them.”

  “Hey, man, I think we can get you some frog legs with no problem,” Cooty said. “Hey, just leave it to us. We’ll take care of it. We’ll hop right on it. We’ll jump right to it. Yeah, man, like no problem. Like, man, how many do you want? We’ll get all you want; I mean need for your frog leg special next week.

  “Well, let’s see how many you bring back first,” replied Doc. “And here is a little money for gas to get you started.

  “Alright!” they yelled in unison.

  “Thank you, Doc. Thanks a lot. Can you believe this, my man? It’s cruising time in the city!” yelled Cooty.

  The two went to get some gas, gassed up the old pickup truck and went back to cruise the main strip.

  “Hey, dude, have you ever been frog gigging before?” asked Hound-dog.

  “No, I can’t say I have,” replied Cooty. “But, it can’t be that hard.”

  “Hey, man. How many legs does a frog have?” asked Hound-dog.

  “Two,” replied Cooty. “I think.”

  “Awesome,” replied Hound-dog.

  The next night, Cooty and Hound-dog jumped into the pickup truck and headed for Pondville to do some frog gigging. As the little white pickup truck sped through the night, they suddenly came to a screeching stop.

  “Hey, man. I think I just passed Skillet Creek Road,” said Cooty. “That’s the road that dude said the frog pond was on.”

  “Yeah, man, I think it was. It’s sort of spooky out here,” stated Hound-dog. “I sure hope he was right about being able to catch a lot of frogs out here.”

  Cooty slowly backed up, turned on to Skillet Creek Road and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Zoom, they took off down the road like a flash of light.

  “If you see it, yell,” said Cooty.

  “See what?” asked Hound-dog.

  “The pond, the frog pond,” cried Cooty.

  “Okay,” cried Hound-dog. “Okay!” he screamed.

  About that time, Cooty hit the brakes and the truck went into a skid. As they held on and screamed for their lives, the pickup truck slid off the side of the road and stopped at the edge of the pond with the front tires in the water.

  “I thought you were going to tell me when you saw it,” said Cooty.

  “I tried,” replied Hound-dog. “I kept saying okay but you kept on going. Didn’t you see the Slow, Pond Ahead sign on the side of the road? Come on, man, back up.”

  Ribbitt, ribbitt, ribbitt, croak, croak went the frogs. As Cooty backed the pickup truck up, Hound-dog tapped him on the shoulder.

  “What is it, now?” asked Cooty.

  “Listen,” Hound-dog said.

  The darkness of night surrounded them and the sounds of the night echoed from within the darkness. The frogs croaked and ribbitted, the crickets chirped and in the far off distance the cry of the whippoorwill could be heard.

  “Hey, man, this place gives me the creeps,” said Cooty.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” replied Hound-dog.

  Hurriedly, they grabbed their gigs, turned their flashlights on and shined them across the pond. The light pierced the darkness and revealed the cattails that stood bold along the banks of the pond.

  “Look over there in them cattails,” Hound-dog softly whispered.

  “I don’t see anything,” replied Cooty.

  “Over there,” pointed Hound-dog as two little heads quickly disappeared into the mossy water.

  “Oh, that was a mud turtle,” replied Cooty. “What about over here?” he said as he shined his light on a hollow log lying partially in the water and partially upon the bank.

  Sure enough, there were thr
ee frogs staring back at them.

  “Shine your light on them so they won’t move,” instructed Cooty. “You go that way and I’ll go this way.”

  “You got it, dude,” replied Hound-dog.

  Carefully, they eased around the pond and slowly crept up behind them. They slowly eased back their gigs to gig the frogs but before they could gig them, their feet slipped out from under them. They slid down the bank and splashed into the water. Croak and ribbitt went the frogs as the crickets chirped and the whippoorwills went whipp—oor—will.

  “Good grief!” yelled Cooty. “I can’t believe this.”

  “I know, man. I thought we had them,” Hound-dog said as he made his way back to the bank. When Hound-dog thought he was close enough to the bank, he stood up. But, when he did, he got stuck in the mud. When he tried to lift his feet out of the mud, his shoes came off.

  “Aw, man,” said Hound-dog. “I’m beginning to wonder if a little gas money is worth all this trouble.”

  “Oh, hush your whining you little wimp,” Cooty looked back at him and said.

  However, that was before Cooty felt something moving in his shirt pocket. He opened his shirt pocket with two of his fingers and saw some tadpoles swimming around in his pocket.

  “Aiyee,” he screamed as he rushed out of the water with the tadpoles splashing out of his pocket.

  “Now, who’s the little wimp?” asked Hound-dog.

  “Well, we have lost our gigs,” said Cooty. “Now, I guess we’ll have to catch them by hand.”

  “Cool,” replied Hound-dog.

  Cooty got an idea and whispered it to Hound-dog.

  “Right on,” said Hound-dog. “We’ll show them.”

  Carefully, Hound-dog eased into the water; down he went. He cautiously eased underneath a frog sitting on a lily pad. Cooty shined his flashlight toward the frog’s eyes as Hound-dog slowly lifted the lily pad with the top of head. When he lifted the lily pad, Cooty was able to snatch the frog with the fishing net.

  “Hey, man, this is working great,” exclaimed Cooty.

  “Shhh,” hushed Hound-dog as he eased underneath another frog sitting on a lily pad.

  As the night slipped by, they caught the frogs one by one. Then it happened, the worst of the worse. As Cooty shined his flashlight about the pond, they noticed all the frogs had put on sunglasses.

  “You might as well come on out, Hound-dog,” said Cooty. “This gig is up.”

  “Aiyee!” Hound-dog screamed and hurried out of the water toward the bank.

  Startled, Cooty turned around to see what was wrong. A snapping turtle had Hound-dog by his nose. Hurriedly, Cooty rushed over to help him.

  “Ouch!” Hound-dog cried when Cooty pulled the turtle off his nose.

  “Hound-dog what are we going to do now?” asked Cooty.

  They both sat and thought for a while. Within minutes, Hound-dog had an idea. To keep the frogs from hearing, he whispered it to Cooty.

  “I think they will fall for it, don’t you,” Hound-dog said.

  “Who is smarter, the frogs or us?” asked Cooty.

  “Right now, I don’t know,” replied Hound-dog. “But, we’ll see.”

  Cooty and Hound-dog got down on all fours and started playing leapfrog around and around the pond. The frogs ribbitted, croaked and watched them. Suddenly, one and then two frogs joined in the game. Before they knew it, three, four and five frogs were hopping around with them. Around and around they went, one by one over the other. When the frogs leaped over Cooty, he would catch them in a fishing basket. Soon the basket was full and the pond was silent of croaks and ribbitts. All that was left was the chirping of crickets because the whippoorwills had flown off sometime during the night. Since they had caught all the frogs, they loaded up the pickup truck, put the basket of fish in the bed of the truck and headed down Skillet Creek Road to Duncan’s Diner.

  “Well, I guess we showed them frogs, right, Cooty,” said Hound-dog. “Now we know we’re the smartest.”

  “Yeah, man, I can’t wait to get that moolah so we can cruise the strip again.”

  “Right on!” shouted Hound-dog.

  It didn’t take them long to get to Duncan’s Diner. Doc was waiting for them. He was eager to see how many frogs they had caught.

  “Hey, Doc,” Cooty yelled when he drove up and saw Doc standing outside.

  “Did you boys get me some frog legs?” asked Doc.

  “Well, sir, we got you some frogs with legs,” said Hound-dog, “like you wanted.”

  “You did,” replied Doc. “Let me take a look and see what you got.”

  Cooty went back to the bed of the pickup truck and flipped open the lid of the fish basket. Doc quickly peeped in to see what they had.

  “Is this some kind of joke, boys?” he asked. “There are no frogs in here.”

  “What! What did you say?” asked Cooty.

  “I said there are no frogs in the basket.”

  Cooty and Hound-dog both looked in the basket and sure enough the basket was empty.

  “That’s impossible,” cried Cooty. “I put those frogs in the basket myself. You saw me, Hound-dog.”

  “Yeah, man, I saw you,” replied Hound-dog. “We had a basket full of frogs.”

  “Well, you don’t now,” replied Doc as he reached over and picked up the basket. “Well, here’s your problem. There’s a big hole in the side of your basket,” said Doc. “As soon as you were putting them in the basket, they were slipping out the hole,” he explained before he started laughing. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” he laughed.

  “We’re sorry, Doc,” said Cooty. “It was dark and we assumed the basket was okay. We’ll pay you back the money you gave us.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. It was worth the good laugh. You boys are like two peas in a pod. I’ll order me some frog legs from the local food company.”

  “Man, can you believe that,” said Cooty.

  “Well, I guess the frogs were smarter than us,” Hound-dog snickered.

  “I guess so,” laughed Cooty.

  On a warm summer night, out on Skillet Creek Road, the ribbitt, ribbitt and croak of the frogs along with the chirping of the crickets and the lonesome cry of the whippoorwill can still be heard in the darkness. And if you listen close, the giggle of the frogs still laughing about Cooty’s and Hound-dog’s night on the pond can be heard as well.