“Never mind what happened. I told you to stay with the troops.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t find any.”
“That’s no excuse. You disobeyed an order, and it will go into my report.”
“Oh drat. You look kind of disappointed.”
“Oh? Well, maybe I am. To put it in a nutshell, my career has suddenly hit a snag.”
“That’s a funny way to put it.”
“What’s funny about snags?”
“No, I mean ‘in a nutshell.’ How come everybody puts things into nutshells?”
I stared into the vacuum of his eyes. “Drover, how do you come up with these questions?”
“Well, just think about it. Who has nutshells to put things into?” His eyes drifted up to the clouds. “Wouldn’t it be easier to put things into baskets or dishpans?”
“It would be easier, but not as poetic. A nutshell captures the idea of smallness.”
“Yeah, but what about coconuts?”
“What about them? They grow on trees and monkeys throw them at each other.”
“Yeah, but they’re not small.”
“Well, that’s your opinion. The fact is that all coconuts are not the same size. We have big ones and small ones, and the small ones are smaller than the big ones.”
“Yeah, but you never hear about monkeys putting things into nutshells.”
I stuck my nose into his face. “Drover, please don’t try to draw me into a pointless argument. I don’t care about monkeys.”
“Well, you’re the one who brought up nutshells.”
“I’m sorry I brought it up. The point I was trying to put into a nutshell was that my career has suffered a blow. Furthermore, a charming, wonderful lady dog just left this ranch in tears.”
“How can a ranch be left in tears?”
I felt my eyes bulging out. “The ranch was not in tears. Sardina Bandana was in tears when she left the ranch.”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t in tears.”
“Of course she was. She had to leave without me.”
“Well, when I saw her, she looked as happy as a lark.”
I stared at the runt. “She wasn’t as happy as a lark. She was merely trying to bear her sadness with dignity.”
“I wonder if bears eat coconuts.”
“What?”
“They walk kind of like monkeys.”
“Drover, what are you babbling about? Monkeys, bears, coconuts . . . none of it makes any sense!”
He shook his head. “I know. All I did was ask about nutshells.”
“Nutshells? I’ll show you nutshells. YOU’RE a nutshell! Good-bye, and please don’t ever speak to me again.”
I hurried away from the little goof, never suspecting that I would . . . well, you’ll see, but I’ll give you a little hint. I got involved in a big real estate deal and rented myself . . . an air-conditioned office!
Chapter Ten: I Do Business with the Cat
Pretty exciting, huh? You bet, and here’s how it happened.
After enduring that loopy conversation with Drover about nutshells and monkeys, I hurried away before he could draw me any deeper into the swamp of his mind. I mean, Drover is a nice little guy in some ways, but carrying on a normal conversation with him can be very discouraging. He talks in circles and spirals, and before you know it . . . never mind.
The point is that I had escaped with most of my mind intact. I hurried down the yard fence and happened to catch a glimpse at Mister Kitty Perfect, lounging in cool air-conditioned comfort of his iris patch. As I blew past, he perked up and waved.
Did I speak or wave back? Absolutely not. Speaking to cats is not only a tee-total waste of time, it’s also against regulations. No sir, I blew past him and made my way up the hill to the . . . boy, it was hot!
I slowed my trudge up the hill. I stopped. I turned my gaze back to the cool greenness of Sally May’s yard and . . . uh, found myself easing back down the hill and to the yard fence.
I threw glances over both shoulders, just to be sure that Drover wasn’t around to spy on me. He wasn’t. I had no idea where he went and I didn’t care. At least he was out of my life for a while.
I, uh, drifted down the fence and . . . well, noticed Pete on the other side, sitting in the shade. You know, it never hurts to be neighborly to the neighbors, even if one of your neighbors happens to be a cat. I know, I know, we have rules against flatternizing with kitties, but speaking to them every once in a while doesn’t cause any great harm.
“Hey, Pete, how’s it going?”
He smirked and waved a paw. “Hello, Hankie. You’re back.”
“Ha ha. I wouldn’t put it exactly that way, Pete. I mean, to say ‘You’re back’ makes it sound as though, well, you’ve been expecting me.”
“Um hm. I have been. What can I do for you, Hankie?”
“Oh, nothing. No, I was just, you know, out on a stroll and saw you there and thought I’d be neighborly and say howdy. No kidding.”
“Howdy. It’s hot out there in the sun, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s not so bad. No, I kind of like the heat.” I gazed up at the flaming ball of sun overhead and felt myself melting. I leaned toward the cat and lowered my voice. “Okay, Pete, what would it take to rent your iris patch?”
He took a moment to buff his claws on his chest. “Three days’ scraps for one day’s rent.”
“Pete, that’s outrageous!” The cat shrugged. I ran his numbers through my spreadsheet application. “Okay, maybe we can work with your numbers, but there’s one problem. Sally May.”
He gave me a wink. “She’s through watering the flowers and she won’t come outside again today. I know her habits. She’ll never suspect a thing.”
I began pacing back and forth, as I often do when my mind is reaching into new and unexplored territory. I submitted kitty’s deal to another blistering analysis, checked every detail and number, did the math forward and backward.
I marched back to the cat. “Okay, Pete, we’ve got ourselves a deal.” All at once the cat started . . . I don’t know what. Coughing or sneezing or choking. “What’s the problem?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a little . . . hee hee . . . sneezing spell.”
“It’s probably all this dust. So when do I take possession?”
“Well, Hankie, we might as well get started now, huh?”
Pete was still struggling with his allergy attack, but he managed to climb outside the fence and I leaped over into the yard. I looked at him through the fence.
“This is something new, isn’t it? Me in the yard and you outside in the heat and the dust. How times change! I mean, who would have ever thought the day would come when you and I would do business together?”
He stared at me for a long moment with his weird yellow eyes. “Well, Hankie, none of my nasty tricks work any more. Maybe I’ll think of some new ones.”
I chuckled. “You can always hope, kitty.”
“And maybe, after you’ve spent some time in the shade, you’ll . . . get careless.”
That got a big laugh. “Ha ha ha. Don’t count on it, Pete. See, you’re dealing with the Head of Ranch Security, not some ordinary mutt like Drover. The Head of Ranch Security never gets careless.”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
“You bet. Oh, say, here’s a thought. Since we’ve just cut a major business deal, maybe we ought to shake on it.”
“Maybe we should, Hankie.”
He came toward the fence and stuck his entire front leg through the fence wire. Instead of giving his paw a shake—hee hee, you’ll love this part—I stood on it, so that he couldn’t move. Hee hee.
He shot me a daggerish glare and began twitching the last two inches of his tail. “Hankie, this isn’t polite.”
“Yeah? Well, get used to it, kitty. Oh, by the way
, I would have paid twice the rent you’re charging. Ha ha! Enjoy the heat.”
And with that, I marched away from the little sneak, left him crushed and broken, and took possession of my new air-conditioned office in the iris patch.
What a deal!
Boy, you talk about a great place to be in the heat of summer! Wow. Five minutes after I’d moved into the iris patch, I knew that it was not only the best, coolest, refreshingest spot on the ranch, but maybe even in the whole world.
It was on the shady side of the house, see, and the ground stayed damp because it was out of the sun. But even better was the fact that a cool breeze swept around the corner of the house, a great little breeze.
Yes sir, the iris patch and I were going to get along fine. Why, if I’d known it was such a pleasant spot, I would have evicted the cat long ago. Come to think of it, why hadn’t I? Oh yes. Sally May. But we had solved the Sally May problem, hadn’t we?
Pretty shrewd, huh? See, I had figured out that once she’d done her daily watering, she would stay in the house for the rest of the day. Okay, maybe Pete had pointed this out, but the fact remained that she would stay in the house during the heat of the day. And I had figured it out on my own.
Had I made a great deal or what? Heh heh. What a dumbbell! Kitty Kitty was out in the heat and I was in the shade, and for that I had given up three measly days of scraps! See, what Pete didn’t know—and what you haven’t known up to this very moment—is that on miserable hot days, I don’t care about scraps anyway.
But there’s more still. I had every reason to suspect that after Poor Kitty spent the rest of the day baking in the sun, he would lose his appetite too, and when scrap time came around, he would discover the awful truth about our deal.
He had traded his air-conditioned iris patch for something worthless!
Ha ha, ho ho, hee hee.
I loved it! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to gloat about this, but you have to remember that Pete and I had a long and bitter history. The little snot had pulled many cheap tricks on me and had gotten me in trouble more times than I could count. Now that I had skinned him in a business deal, I just . . . well, I couldn’t hold back my devilish joy and delight.
It was turning into one of the finest days of my career.
Yes sir, there I was in the World’s Coolest . . . the only problem with the iris patch was . . . well, the irises. The iris plants made a lumpy bed, shall we say, and after I’d occupied the spot for thirty minutes or so, I decided to, uh, rearrange the furniture. We needed to move the sofa over here and the chair over there and soften up the bed a little bit.
This required some . . . well, digging, you might say. Not much. I mean, I sure didn’t want to make any drastic changes to the, uh, decorum because, well, Sally May might not approve.
Sally May wouldn’t approve, no question about it. No, these were just little changes, tiny rearrangements of the, uh, facilities.
Dig dig. Hack hack. Scrape scrape.
Have you ever tried to rearrange a patch of irises? It’s not as easy as you might think. In the first place, irises grow in clumps and they’re tough little plants. In the second place, when you lie on top of them, they poke you in many awkward places, such as the rib cage and belly.
That’s exactly why the people who build mattresses have never made a mattress stuffed with iris plants. They would go broke trying to sell an iris mattress to the American public.
Scrape scrape, hack hack.
But I’m no quitter. To quote the words of Slim Chance, “If at first you don’t succeed, get a bigger hammer.” It took a while to get those stubborn irises arranged just right, but I got ’er done. And then . . .
WOW!
Cool breeze, cool ground, cool air, cool shade . . . all of that amidst the fragrance of fresh iris juice! And let me tell you, fellers, fresh iris juice smells pretty nice.
I didn’t think my life could get any better, but you know what? It got better. As I was lying there, letting the cool breeze tickle my ears, I began to notice Pete. Remember him? The dumbbell, the guy I had recently trounced in a big real estate deal?
Hee hee, ha ha, ho ho. Sorry, but this part is so funny, I can hardly control myself.
He’d been out in the heat for an hour, see, and it was starting to grind him down. You know what he did? He started whining and moaning! Yes sir, whining and moaning and yowling about all the misery his pampered little body was finding out there in the Real World.
Did I feel sorry for him? Heh heh. You’ve probably guessed.
No, I didn’t feel sorry for him. I ate it up, gobbled it down in huge bites and savored every morsel of his unhappiness. You know why? Because he deserved it. I’d spent years hoping to cause the little creep this kind of misery, and now, all of a sudden, I had him just where he wanted me.
Get this. After whimpering at the yard gate for an hour, he made his way around the fence and took up a position only ten feet away from my new office. And there, he set up a pitiful moan-and-cry routine that was calculated to . . . I don’t know what. Make me feel some sympathy, I suppose.
Moaning and yowling, he said, “Oh, Hankie, I never realized just how hot and miserable it could be out here!”
“No kidding? Well, education is always expensive. Now you know what I’ve been living with all these years.”
“But Hankie, I’m not as big and tough as you.”
“Pete, that’s the price you pay for being a sniveling little cat. Stop complaining.”
“But Hankie, I’m beginning to feel that I made a bad trade.”
I snorted with laughter. “Go easy, Pete, you’re about to break my heart.”
“Won’t you reconsider and let me have my iris patch back?”
“Look, pal, we made a deal, fair and square. The fact that it was a bonehead deal is what we call ‘too bad.’”
“But Hankie, I’m so hot and miserable!”
I was loving this. “Look at the brighter side, kitty. Your misery is bringing joy to others. After all these years of being a selfish little creep, you’re finally making the world a brighter place. Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you’d tone down the moaning. I’m fixing to take a nap and I’d rather not listen to your noise.”
He stared at me with wide eyes. “You mean . . . you mean you could sleep while I’m in such misery?”
“Yes. Like a log. Like a chunk of petrified wood. Good night.”
I lowered my enormous body down into the cool embrace of the shaded ground and . . . wow, you talk about a great place for a nap! It couldn’t have been better.
Well, it might have been better if Pete had shut up his noise, but you know what? Certain dogs have the ablurtity to shut all snorks out of their murks, and they can actually porkchop the honking sasafrass and snurp through all kinds of noizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . . .
Through the haze of delicious sleep, I heard a woman’s voice say, “Pete? Kitty kitty? What’s wrong? Where are you? Oh, there you are, but what . . . HANK! What are you . . . look what you’ve done to my flower bed, you hound!”
HUH?
My eyes popped open.
Sally May? She was standing over me with . . . uh-oh . . . with flared nostrils and flaming eyeballs.
Chapter Eleven: A Thermonuclear Moment
I blinked my eyes and glanced around at my . . . uh . . . surroundings. Gulp. I was in her yard, it seemed, and even lying in her . . . yipes . . . in her former iris patch, which I had . . .
But wait, she wasn’t supposed to come back outside in the heat of the day, remember? Pete and I had already decided . . .
It was then that I caught a glimpse of the cat. He was sitting on the other side of the fence, grinning at me and waving his paw. And then he said—this is an exact quote, you might want to write it down—he said in his whiny, simpering voice, “Guess what, Hankie. I learned a new trick.”
Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle began . . . oh boy, I had really stepped into a bear trap this time. Was there any chance that I could talk my way out of it? Was there any hope that I could salvage what was left of my relationship with Sally May?
She towered over me, her fists resting on her hips. You know that dangerous wrinkle-line that sometimes appears in the middle of her forehead? It was there, and she sure looked . . . well, mad. Furious. Uncommonly angry.
Gulp.
In a flash, I switched all systems over to the special emergency message we call “I Can Explain Everything, No Kidding.” My tail began tapping out a slow rhythm of Deepest Remorse. I dropped my ears into the Pitiful Position and beamed her a look that was heavy with sadness and regret, a look that said:
“Sally May, I know what you’re thinking and . . . okay, I’ll admit that it looks pretty bad, but hear me out. You see, it was hot and I just couldn’t resist . . . the irises were poking me in the ribs, see, and I had to . . . but the bottom line, Sally May, is that your cat set up this whole deal and I was just an innocent . . .”
It wasn’t working, I could see it in her eyes, in her face, in her clenched fists. She sucked in a deep breath of air and thundered, “Where’s my broom!” And she stomped around the corner of the house.
Broom? Hey, I knew about her broom. I had met her broom several times before, and it had never been what you’d call a pleasant experience. It was time to, uh, scuttle the ship, shall we say.
Fellers, I was in big trouble.
I would be the last dog in the world to say a harsh word about my master’s wife, and yet . . . and yet there are times when she doesn’t seem to be . . . well, totally rational.
I mean, we’ve already discussed the heat, the terrible heat, and she should have understood that when a dog lives out in the heat, day after boiling day, he begins to crave greenness and softness and shadeness. And when he looks across the fence and sees . . .
Well, she didn’t understand, and I knew it the very moment she mentioned the broom. “Broom” is a four-letter word which means that the path of reason has been abandoned. It means that at least one of the parties in the dispute is angry. And, finally, it means that . . . well, the other party in the dispute had better run for cover.
The Case of the Most Ancient Bone Page 6
