The Case of the Shipwrecked Tree

by John R. Erickson

  Huh?

  All at once, Captain Alfred pulled on the rope and . . . hey, what was the deal here? My sandwiches started rising in the air . . . well, the bucket rose in the air, and the bucket just happened to contain . . .

  In a flash, almost by magic, my tongue leaped out of my mouth and I began . . . licking my chops, shall we say, as I watched this tragedy unfoil. Unfold. I hopped up on my back legs and grabbed one last sniff of—boy, those things smelled terrific! I could even smell the boiled egg and the mayonnaise!

  But then they were gone, snatched out of my grisp by our ship’s captain, who hauled the bucket up into the tree.

  Into the ship, our three-masted sailing vessel.

  I had just missed a great opportunity to . . . uh . . . continue guarding the sandwiches, shall we say. However . . .

  Chapter Eight: I Try to Do Business with the Cat

  Captain Alfred was sitting in a fork of the tree, pulling the bucket up by the rope. When he got it all the way up, he removed the sandwiches, which were wrapped in paper nap­kins, and placed them on the deck, then lowered the bucket to the ground.

  Pete beamed me a cunning smile. “Well, Hankie, I guess you don’t get a bite.”

  “Hey, Pete, for your information, I was guarding those sandwiches, and it never even crossed my mind to eat them.”

  “Oh really? How come you were licking your chops, hmmm?”

  “I wasn’t licking my chops, Kitty, or if I was, it had nothing whatsoever to do with eating Alfred’s lunch. Furthermore, I’m shocked and asandwiched that you’d even suggest such a tunable thing . . . terrible thing. Just because you’re a greedy little moocher doesn’t mean that the rest of us have such corrupt minds.”

  His eyes widened. “Oooo! Well, maybe I was wrong, Hankie.”

  “Of course you were wrong. You’re always wrong. You were wrong the day you were born, and you’ve gotten wronger ever since. Now, if you’ll be kind enough to buzz off, I have many things to do. We’re fixing to take a long and dangerous sea voyage on the sea—and you’re not invited.”

  “Well, just darn the luck!” He batted his eyes and grinned. “See you around, Hankie.”

  As he walked away, I yelled, “Not if I see you first, you little pest!”

  Drover was watching, and he was impressed. “Boy, you really got him on that one! Nice shot.”

  I rolled the muscles in my enormous shoulders and glared after the cat. “Yes, well, putting these cats in their place is a very important part of our job, Drover. Let a cat go a couple of days without a humbling and the next thing you know . . .”

  Holy smokes, it had suddenly occurred to me that Captain Alfred was coming down the tree . . . climbing out of our ship, that is, and Pete was climbing up!

  Do you see what this meant? The little sneak was heading toward MY SANDWICHES!!

  Hey, this was getting serious! I couldn’t just stand there and let the stupid cat . . . but dogs don’t climb trees, right? Very seldom. We just weren’t made for climbing trees or boarding ships, but there was Pete, inching his way up the . . .

  I had to do something! Unless I took bold and immediate action, the thieving little cat was going to eat my . . . that is, he might very well steal Alfred’s lunch. And you know how I am about these kids and their dietary so-forths. Growing boys need a good nourishing lunch. They need the many finnomins and minerals that are contained in . . . well, in tuna fish sandwiches, for example.

  This was a moment of decision. I had to make a stand for Healthy Children! And so it was that, in a flash, I hopped myself into the five-gallon bucket, and as Captain Alfred walked up to me, I beamed him Looks of Greatest Urgency which said, “Captain, I request permission to board the ship. Haul me up, sir!”

  Alfred stared at me and grinned. “Gee, what a good doggie.”

  Right, exactly. That was me, a good doggie to the bitter end. And, uh, we needed to hurry up, before a certain cat . . .

  Alfred climbed back up into the tree. He hadn’t noticed the cat, but that was okay. I would take care of the cat, heh heh, if Alfred would just hoist me up there.

  The boy leaned back and started pulling on the rope. It was hard work and I could hear him grunting and straining, but he stayed with it. I rode the bucket, higher and higher, until at last I was there!

  I leaped out of the bucket onto the deck and found myself standing right . . . sniff, sniff . . . right beside the captain of our ship, let us say. The boy was tired and breathing hard, and to show him just how proud I was, I gave him a big juicy lick on the face.

  “Well done, Captain! Against incredible odds, we have . . .”

  It was then that I noticed . . . well, the ground. The ground was a long, long way down there, and the wind had started blowing and the tree . . . the ship, that is, the ship was beginning to roll on a stormy sea and . . .

  Yipes! Quick as a wink, I wrapped all four paws around the nearest tree limb, and suddenly it dawned on me that—dogs don’t belong in trees! And at that very same moment, Alfred started climbing down the tree—to see if he could get Drover to sit in the bucket, it appeared—but, hey, what about me?

  “Alfred, son, don’t leave me up here in this tree! Listen, this was a bad idea. In a moment of sand­wich lust, I forgot that . . . Alfred, I’m scared of heights! There it is, I admit it, and if you go back down, you’ll be leaving your very best and dearest friend . . .”

  He didn’t hear, or didn’t understand my pleadings. He left me there, all alone and clinging to the swaying limb.

  Oh brother! I’d really done it now. How could I have . . . and what made it even worse and more awful was that I was so busy hanging on that I couldn’t even think about those sandwiches. I mean, I could smell ’em. They were right there beside me, but I didn’t dare turn loose of the limb and . . .

  HUH?

  Pete?

  Oh no! There he stood, right in front of me—grinning and purring and flicking the end of his tail back and forth. He had somehow managed to show up at the very moment of my darkest hour!

  Our eyes met. In his whiny voice, Pete said, “Well, well, it’s Hankie the Wonder Dog. I didn’t know you liked being in trees.”

  “Oh yes, I hang out in trees all the time. Hey, Pete, I guess you noticed the sandwiches, huh? Well, I’ve been thinking . . . maybe we can work out some kind of . . . uh . . . deal. Here, check this out. You take one sandwich and I’ll take the other. Fifty-fifty split, fair and square. What do you say?”

  He looked me over, and I had a feeling that he noticed . . . well, that I was clinging to the limb for dear life. “Pete, I wouldn’t make such a generous offer to any other cat, but . . . what the heck, we’ve known each other for years, right? And I’ve always kind of liked you, and I’ve always thought we ought to . . . uh . . . do some business together.”

  Pete pushed his nose inside the wrapper on one of the sandwiches. His eyes grew wide. “Well, that’s very nice, Hankie. Let me take a bite and then we’ll talk deal.”

  “Good idea, Pete. Sure. Take your time.”

  I must tell you that it was killing me to talk nice to the cat! Before my very eyes, he took a bite off the sandwich and chewed it up. And all I could do was watch!

  Meanwhile, down on the ground, Captain Alfred was trying to poke Drover into the bucket, but he was having no luck at all. Drover, the little weenie, was scared of riding in buckets and even scareder of going up into trees.

  Pete chewed up his first bite and took another one. He beamed me a big, scheming cattish smile. “Mmmmm! Oh, Hankie, this is delicious! Have you tried it?”

  “I, uh, no. Not yet. To be very frank, Pete, and I’m being perfectly honest here . . . I’m a little concerned about . . . falling out of this tree.”

  “Are you? Poor doggie!” He took another bite. “Oh, this is—Hankie, you would just love this sandwich!”

  “I’
m sure I would, you little—” I strained to keep a pleasant tone in my voice. “Here’s an idea, Pete. Maybe you could . . . you know, put a bite in my mouth. Then we could share it together. Sharing Life’s precious moments is very important, you know.”

  He gave that some thought. “No, I think I’ll eat some more by myself. But maybe we could share . . .” He batted his eyes and grinned. “. . . the smell. Here.”

  Do you know what he did? He picked up the sandwich in his front paws and held it right under my nose! And you can imagine what that did. All at once my mouth was watering and my whole body trembled with antsipitation . . . antsipera­tion . . . whatever it was, my whole body trembled with it, and I just couldn’t resist taking a snap . . .

  Yipes! I almost fell out of the tree!

  I dug in with all four sets of claws, and then had to watch the cat eat the rest of my sandwich. It was a terrible ordeal, but I still had hopes . . .

  “Anyway, back to our deal, Pete. You’ve had a chance to sample the goods, and gosh, you’re probably stuffed by now . . . ha ha . . . so, uh, what do you say?”

  He yawned and stretched and took his sweet time in answering. “You know, Hankie, I’d love to do business with you, but I think maybe I’ll . . . eat the other one too.”

  I stared at him. “What! Pete, this isn’t fair. It’s cheating. You’re taking unfair advantage of this tragedy in my life.”

  He nodded. “I know, Hankie, and I just love it!”

  A ferocious growl was trying to work its way up my throatalary region, and I had to stomp it down with Iron Discipline. See, I still had some hope of working out a deal with the swindling little . . . I showed him a pleasant face.

  “Okay, I hear you, Pete, and I think I have the answer. Check this out. We’ll throw out the old deal and cut a new one—with a better split for you. Instead of fifty-fifty, we’ll go . . . say, seventy-five–twenty-five. I mean, you’ve worked hard, you deserve it. What do you say?”

  I held my breath and watched as he licked his left front paw with a long pink tongue. “Well, Hankie, that’s a pretty good offer.”

  “See? What did I tell you? Okay, if you’ll just . . .”

  “But I like my deal better. I think I’ll eat the other sandwich . . . but you can watch.”

  Huh?

  Right there before my very eyes, the little thief took a huge, gluttonous bite out of . . .

  Okay, that did it! A dog can stand only so much. I had tried to be reasonable, I’d made him the most generous offer a dog could make, and now I had to listen to him smacking and slurping, and . . .

  Something snapped inside my head.

  Suddenly I forgot that I was scared of heights and that dogs don’t climb around in trees. Fellers, a terrible injustice had been done and I was fixing to teach this cat a lesson I wouldn’t soon forget!

  Chapter Nine: Help!

  It was pretty amazing. All at once I lost all fear and had but one blazing thought in my mind: Pete would pay for this!

  I loosened my grip on the limb and planted my feet firmly on the deck. I stood up to my full height of massiveness. Then I raised my lips, revealing two rows of deadly fangs, and a huge rumble of righ-teous growling thundered in the depths of my throat.

  The cat stared up at me with terror-stroken eyes. “Now, Hankie, don’t be angry.”

  “Ha! It’s too late for that, Kitty. You’ve pushed me over the edge. You didn’t like my first or second deal? Okay, pal, try this one!”

  I jumped right into the middle of him. I mean, I had the little snot buried under an avalanche of . . . you know, a guy forgets what cats do when you jump in the middle of ’em. They turn into a buzz saw, is more or less what they do, and before I knew it, the miserable, whiny little creep had . . . well, chainsawed my face, shall we say.

  But that was okay, it was a small price to pay for the major victory I was fixing to win, if I could just get my paws on the little . . . through watering eyes, I armed all bombs and made another dive at him.

  He ran, of course. Your cowards and your cats always run, but running wouldn’t save Pete this time. He scampered out onto a limb, and you should have seen the fear in his eyes! He was shocked, stunned, astoopered, and do you know why? Because I followed him.

  The dumb cat! He thought I was scared of heights, scared of trees, and that I couldn’t follow a rinkydink little cat all the way out to . . .

  HUH?

  The limb seemed to be . . . uh . . . bending under my enormous . . . and all of a sudden I found myself way out on the end of . . .

  I went to Total Lockdown and hugged the limb with all four paws. Unless I was badly mistaken, I had just . . . I saw the ground five hundred feet below me . . . a thousand feet . . . two miles below me. Alfred was staring up at me with wide eyes, and he looked about the size of an ant.

  Uh-oh. Fellers, we had big problems here, and all at once pounding the cat seemed quite a bit less important than . . . in desperation, I initiated a program we save for emergencies just like this one. We call it “Moans and Wails.”

  Did it hurt my pride to do Moans and Wails in front of the grinning, sniveling cat? Yes, it hurt me deeply, but under the circumstances, I had no choice. I cranked up the heavy-dutiest Moans and Wails I could muster.

  Down below, I heard Captain Alfred gasp. “Uh- oh, Hankie’s in twouble. I’d better go get my dad!”

  What a fine lad! He took off running to the machine shed as fast as his little legs would carry him, and he even dropped his sword so that he could run faster.

  So there I was, clinging for dear life to a shrimpy little tree branch. And by the way, the wind was blowing harder than ever and that shrimpy tree branch was rolling and swaying, making my situation even scarier and more depressing. Do you think Pete cared? Do you think he showed any concern or remorse? No sir. None. Zero.

  What he did was . . . you won’t believe this . . . the little wretch walked right over my face and strolled down my backbone. And then he turned and said, “Well, Hankie, if you need any help . . . call the dog­catcher. Bye-bye.”

  “Pete, you’re despicable!”

  “I know, Hankie, but you make it so easy.”

  “You’ll pay for this, Kitty! When I get out of this tree . . .”

  He left! The hateful little worm just turned and walked away.

  A strong gust of wind came up and the branch began rolling around in the wind like a tiny boat upon a raging sea.

  “Help! Help! We’ve got a Code Three situation on the ranch! Send all units to the cottonwood tree at once! This is not a test! Repeat, this is not a test! Alfred, hurry up!”

  I barked. I moaned. I howled. And the howler I louded, the more the tree swayed and bent in the wind, the terrible wind. I battled the raging seas and clung to my tiny life raft of a branch, moaning and howling and sending out one distress call after another.

  Down on the ground, Drover was squeaking and running in circles. A lot of good that did, but at least the little mutt was sharing my pain.

  Then, thank goodness, I heard voices to the north. I turned and saw Slim and Loper—do you suppose they were running down the hill? Oh no. They were walking, as casually as if they were . . . I mean, they were talking and laughing and taking their sweet time, while Captain Alfred (my one true pal in this crowd, it seemed) tugged at his daddy’s arm, trying to get him to hurry.

  I must admit that I felt a mixture of emotions about accepting help from those two jugheads. On the one hand, I sure needed help, but on the other hand, I knew that I would pay a heavy price for it. They were jokers, right? They never missed an opportunity to scoff and mock at the misfortunes of others, right?

  I mean, those two could take a normal situation and make it look silly, and . . . okay, my present sit­uation was a long way from normal and already looked pretty silly, so I had every reason to fear that they would . . .


  Sure enough, they approached the tree, wearing wide grins on their faces. See? I knew it. All at once I wished that Alfred hadn’t bothered—the limb swayed and rocked in a blast of wind, and I hung on for dear life.

  Okay, I was ready to take whatever came my way. I just wished they would hurry up!

  They were still talking, and I could hear their voices now. They were talking about . . . some guy who’d made a great bareback ride at the Pampa rodeo.

  Can you believe that? What a couple of birdbrains! Hey, I was trapped and macarooned in the topmost branches of a tree, in the middle of a terrible wind storm that was tossing me around like a . . .

  I cranked up a fresh round of Moans and Groans. Slim looked up. “Hank, just relax. We’re in a deep intellectual discussion.”

  Oh, sure. Right. Deep intellectual . . . I moaned and howled. Help!

  Slim shook his head. “Alfred, how did that bozo get up in a tree? I mean, the last time I checked, normal dogs don’t climb trees.”

  Alfred did his best to explain. We’d been playing pirates and . . . so forth. Slim and Loper got several good chuckles out of that, but then Loper scratched the back of his head and said, “Well, I’m glad you’re using your imagination, son, but—Slim, how are we going to get him down?”

  Their smiles vanished and their laughter died, as suddenly they were thrust back into the world of normal people—the world where emergencies aren’t funny and tragedies aren’t a joke, the world where dogs don’t climb trees for sport and cowboys have to grow up.

  And all at once they were scratching their heads and scuffing up dirt with their boots and struggling to use their tiny brains for something constructive. I could see the pain it brought them, and I must admit that it caused my wicked heart to sing. No kidding, it really did, and here’s the very song my wicked heart was singing.

  You Have to Grow Up, Boys

  Well, what did you expect, you clowns in cowboy clothes?

  Did you think that life’s a comedy, a never-ending show?