The Case of the Secret Weapon

by John R. Erickson

  Hencely, I kept my distance and waited for her to see me. She seemed pretty distracted, watching all the action at the picnic, but I was in no hurry. Time was on my side, see, because the Birdly Wonder wasn’t in his usual spot, sitting beside her and behaving like the idiot he truly was.

  Heh heh. I could wait and let events unfoliate in their own time.

  Whilst I waited, I took the opportunity to primp a bit and improve my appearance. Appearance is important to the ladies, don’t you see, and you don’t want to show up looking like a ragamuffin—hair sticking up, ears crooked, sandburs in your tail, dog food crumbs on your chops. Those are the signs of a ragamuffin, and the ladies aren’t impressed by such things.

  It was my good fortune that I had positioned myself right beside a pickup with rounded chrome hubcaps. That was a piece of good luck, because those chrome hubcaps work like a mirror. I could see my reflection in the shiny surface, and it’s common knowledge that when you want to slick yourself up, you need a mirror. I had me a mirror, a good mirror, and I stood before it and studied . . .

  Good grief, was my nose really that big?

  I’d always taken a lot of pride in my long cowdog nose, but what I was seeing in the mirror shook my pride down to the roots. My nose was HUGE, five times its normal size!

  Gulp.

  My mind raced back to the events of the past several days, as I tried to imagine what had caused this catastrophe. Was it something I ate? Had I come in contact with some dreaded virus that had attacked my face and twisted it into horrible shapes?

  How could I present myself to the Woman of My Dreams, when my face—the only face I’d ever owned—had been transformed into something ugly and grotesque?

  I was lost in these dark thoughts when I heard footsteps coming up behind me. I hoped with all my heart that it wasn’t Beulah. If she saw me in this condition . . . hey, good looks aren’t everything in this life, unless your nose resembles a big sausage and when that happens, buddy, looks matter and you’ve got big problems.

  I turned and saw to who or whom the footsteps belonged. Drover. He was wearing a long face and shaking his head. “Hank, I tried to tell Slim about the robber, but he didn’t understand. Maybe you’d better . . .”

  “Never mind the robber. Something terrible has happened to me.”

  He wrinkled up his nose and made a sour face. “Yeah, you smell like a skunk.”

  “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

  “Well . . . because you keep smelling like a skunk . . . and it’s hard to ignore.”

  “Never mind the skunk. It’s the least of my worries. Something awful has happened to my face. Look at my nose.”

  He narrowed his eyes and looked closer. “What about it?”

  “It’s been disfigured. The skunk spray must have contained some kind of poison that causes flesh to grow into ugly shapes.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I saw my face in the mirror.” I pointed to the hubcap.

  Drover moved toward the mirror and stared at his face. “I’ll be derned, that’s about the ugliest nose I ever saw.”

  “See? Now you know the awful truth.”

  “Yeah, but it’s my nose, not yours. Do you reckon . . .”

  “Drover, we’ve been friends for a long time. I need your help.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “I can’t allow Miss Beulah to see me in this condition.”

  “Hank, that’s MY NOSE in the mirror.”

  I gave him a ferocious glare. “Drover, stop thinking of yourself. We’ll deal with your nose tomorrow. Today, we must deal with mine. Is that asking too much?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you think.”

  I paced a few steps away and gazed off into the distance. “You must carry a message to Miss Beulah.”

  “I thought you said I couldn’t talk to her.”

  “Everything has changed. My life will never be the same again.” I paused a moment to gather my thoughts. “Will you give her an important message?”

  “Oh sure, be glad to.” He started walking away.

  “Come back here! I haven’t given you the message yet.” He came back and sat down. “All right, here’s the message: ‘Beulah, my spotless dove, I hath noticed that you came to the picnic without Plato. My heart rejoiceth and singeth, but I’m not able to see you at this time. Please hold my place in line. Signed, Your Dearly Beloved Hank.’ Can you remember all of that?”

  “Oh yeah, it’ll be easy.”

  “Drover, I want the message delivered exactly as I dictated it. This is extremely important, and my very future depends on it.”

  He was grinning and hopping up and down. “I’ve got it. You’ll be proud. Here I go!”

  He scampered away from the pickup, heading straight for Miss Beulah. I had a bad feeling about this, but . . . well, you’ll see.

  Chapter Ten: Terrible Damage to My Nose

  Drover scampered over to where Miss Beulah was sitting in the shade of a big elm tree, while I hid behind the left rear tire of the pickup and listened, hoping against hope that the runt would deliver my message just as I had delivered it—from the depths of my heart.

  As he drew closer to Miss Beulah, he began thrashing his ridiculous stub of a tail. She pulled her gaze away from the picnic and smiled at him. “Oh, hello, Drover.”

  On hearing her voice, he blushed and gasped, fell down and started kicking all four legs, just the kind of silly response you’d expect him to have in the presence of a lady. But at last he managed to climb back to his feet.

  So far, so good. I lifted both ears and tried to pick up every word.

  “Hi, Miss Beulah. I’ve got an important message from Hank.”

  “A message from Hank?” She glanced around. “Is he here?”

  “Yes ma’am, but he can’t see you right now, and he wanted me to give you this message.” He plopped his bohunkus down on the grass and launched into his speech: “‘Beulah, my spotless buzzard, I hath noticed that you . . .’”

  Beulah frowned. “Wait. Are you sure he said ‘spotless buzzard’?”

  “Well, let me think here. Maybe it was ‘spotted buzzard.’”

  “‘Spotted buzzard’? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. No, wait. I think it was ‘spotless dove.’”

  She smiled. “Oh, that’s better. Please go on.”

  Drover gazed up at the sky with dreamy eyes. “‘I see that thou hast cometh to the picnic without Plato, and I wisheth that thou wouldst be Drover’s girlfriend.’ That’s the message from Hank, Miss Beulah.”

  WHAT?

  I should have known he couldn’t be trusted. The little thief was writing his own script and trying to steal my girl! I cringed at the thought of going out in public with my deformed nose, but if I didn’t take control of this situation, my love life would be wrecked.

  I could only hope that she would look beyond my handicap and see the Dog Behind the Nose. I took a deep gulp of air and marched out into the light of day. “Drover, that’s enough of your lies! You’re dismissed. Go to your room immediately.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “Leave! I’ll deal with you later, you ungrateful wretch.” He ducked his head and tail and slipped away. I turned my gaze to the Lady of My Dreams. “Miss Beulah, I didn’t want you to see me in this condition, but it’s become necessary.”

  She sniffed the air and frowned. “Do you smell something?”

  “You see, I had a terrible accident this morning, and I fear my nose will never be the same again.”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “Really?”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ve been disfigured, like the Hump­back of Notary Public.” She giggled. “Beulah, I’m shocked that you would laugh at a time like this.”

  “I think you mean the Hun
chback of Notre Dame.”

  “That’s the guy. The world saw only his outward appearance, which was ugly, but his heart was pure as gold. I can only hope that you will look past this poor ruined nose of mine and see the goodness deep inside.”

  Again, she stared at me for a long time. “When did you first notice your ‘poor ruined nose’?”

  “Moments ago, when I happened to catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror.”

  “Which mirror?”

  “That hubcap over there.” I pointed to the chrome hubcap. To my astonishment, she started laughing again. “Beulah, your laughter pierces my heart like a dagger.”

  She turned away from me, gasped for air, and kept on laughing. “I’m sorry, Hank, but this is hilarious!”

  “Madame, it’s not hilarious to those of us who have been maimed.”

  She was laughing so hard, she fell down and pounded the ground with her paw. “Don’t you see what happened? That hubcap has a round surface. It distorts the image.”

  “Huh? You mean . . .”

  “Your nose hasn’t changed. It’s the same nose you’ve always had.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Look again.”

  I stalked over to the hubcap and peered at the image. Yipes! This time, what I saw wasn’t a huge nose but a huge EYE, and we’re talking about something you’d see staring at you from a dead fish. In other words . . .

  Okay, false alarm. Ha ha. See, that chrome hubcap was rounded and it . . . I don’t know what it did, but the point is that my nose was okay. Whew! Boy, it had me shook up for a minute or two.

  I cut my eyes from side to side and tried to calm the stampede inside my head. “Miss Beulah, this is very embarrassing.”

  Between chirps of laughter, she managed to gasp, “I’m sure it is.”

  “It’s all coming clear now. Drover tricked me, in hopes that he could steal you away, but now we know the truth.” I pulled myself up to my full height and beamed her a rakish smile. “Beulah, it appears that you’ve finally ditched your bird-dog boyfriend and . . . well, I’m here to take his place.”

  She stopped laughing and looked into my eyes. “Oh, Hank, Plato’s gone again. He’s off on another quest, and nobody’s seen him in two days.”

  “Hey, great news! The last time he did this, I was foolish enough to bring him back alive. This time . . .”

  Her eyes blazed at me. “Don’t say it! I won’t stand for you saying hateful things about poor Plato.”

  “Poor Plato, my foot! He’s an idiot and he’s caused me nothing but misery, and I’m thrilled beyond words that . . .” I noticed that her eyes had wandered. It appeared that she was looking at something off to the north. “Excuse me, but I’m in the middle of an important speech.”

  She kept her eyes focused to the north and brought a paw to her lips. “Shhhh. Look!”

  “Beulah, I don’t want to look at anything but your lovely face, and frankly, I’d rather you didn’t tell me to hush.”

  There was a long moment of silence, then she turned to me with a radiant smile, and I mean a smile that lit up the whole world. And she gasped, “Everything has worked out!”

  “Well, thank goodness! I’m glad you’ve finally . . .”

  “It’s HIM! He’s come back!”

  Huh? Who?

  I squinted toward the north and saw my life falling into ruins before my very eyes. Would you like to guess who was coming toward us, limping through the picnic ground? It was the same dingbat, stick-tailed spotted bird-dog jerk who had been off on a quest to find the Great White Quail . . . but instead of getting himself bumped off by a pack of hungry coyotes, it was my bad luck that he’d found his way back to civilization.

  With a mounting sense of outrage, I watched as Beulah rushed out to meet the buffoon. “Oh, Plato, I’ve been so worried!”

  With his tongue hanging out the left side of his mouth, he gave her the dumbest smile I’d ever seen and yelled, “Honeybun! I’m just in time for the picnic, huh? Great!” He saw me and gave me the same idiot grin. “Hank! Hey, great to see you again! You’re looking good, fella.” He gave me a wink. “Clean living, huh? Great.”

  In the privacy of my mind, I said . . . I won’t tell you what I said, but I can assure you that it wasn’t nice.

  The moron limped into the pool of shade and collapsed. Beulah hovered over him, casting worried glances. “Poor dear, you’re wounded! What have you done to yourself?”

  “It’s nothing, Sweetsie.”

  “Plato, you have cactus spines in your feet.”

  He scowled at one of his paws, which resembled a pin cushion. “By golly, no wonder they hurt.”

  “And you’re as thin as a snake! When was the last time you ate anything?”

  He frowned. “You know, I have no idea, probably days. I forget about food when I’m out on a quest.”

  She gave him a pat. “I’ll see if I can find you some scraps. You and Hank can talk.”

  “Great. Thanks a gob, Sweetums.” She left and he turned to me. “You know, Hank, when I’m off on a quest, my mind seems to shift into a different dimension.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I mean, it’s as though I’m looking at everything through a tiny lens.”

  “How interesting.”

  “Right, and I don’t even notice other details, such as . . . well, hunger and thirst and walking through a whole bunch of cactus.” He leaned toward me. “Hank, I was on the trail of the most amazing covey of blue quail you ever dreamed of.”

  “I don’t dream of quail.”

  “There must have been thirty-forty birds, just a magnificent covey!”

  “I’ll swan.”

  “But you know about blue quail. They run. They took off running and led me on a merry . . .”

  Suddenly I had an idea. I cut him off. “Plato, what happened to your nose?”

  He looked at me and after a few seconds, his vapid eyes drifted into focus. “I beg your pardon?”

  I glanced over both shoulders and whispered, “Something terrible has happened to your nose. It’s grotesque, deformed. I guess Beulah didn’t want to mention it.”

  He put a paw to his nose and felt around. “My nose? Golly, I didn’t notice anything.”

  “Plato, when you’re off chasing birds, you lose touch with reality. Remember?”

  “That’s true, it really is. So . . . my nose? Some­thing’s happened to it?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry to be the one to give you the bad news. You might even want to . . . well, leave the picnic.”

  His jaw dropped. “That bad?”

  “That bad. Beulah will never tell you this, but I’m sure she’s embarrassed to be seen with you.”

  He gasped. “Good heavens! I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “I know you don’t, Plato. Here, come look at your face in this mirror.” I steered him over to the chrome hubcap. “Brace yourself and take a look.”

  Heh heh. I guess you’ve figured out my Plan for Plato. Heh heh. The mind of a cowdog is an awesome thing.

  Chapter Eleven: My Wicked Plan for Plato’s Future

  You probably think it was cruel of me to take advantage of the birdbrain, and maybe it was, but I didn’t care. The jerk had caused me misery for years, having stolen my woman and broken my heart into sixty-two pieces, and if I had to cheat to win back Miss Beulah, so be it.

  He squinted at his face in the mirror . . . and you should have been there! Ho, it was the funniest thing I’d seen in years. His eyes flew open and his jaw went all the way to the floor. When he finally was able to speak, he gasped, “Good grief, you’re right. It looks awful!”

  I laid a paw upon his trembling shoulder—a true friend in his moment of greatest darkness, heh heh. “There, there. I’m sure it will heal.”

  “You think so?”
r />   “Oh sure. Give it a couple of years, and it’ll be fine.”

  “A couple of years! Hank, bird season starts in two months! What if I can’t hunt?”

  “One thing at a time, old buddy. Right now, we need to get you away from here.” I began easing him along. “I know you don’t want to embarrass Beulah.”

  “Right. No, Hank, I’d rather be flogged.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s hurry, before she comes back.”

  “Right.” I steered him south, toward the creek. We had gone several steps when he stopped, cocked his head to the side, and blinked his eyes. “Wait a second. I just had an interesting thought.”

  “Uh, Plato, we’d better . . .”

  “Just one second, Hank, I need to check something.” He rushed back to the hubcap and looked at himself again. He threw back his head and started laughing. “Hank, great news! I just figured it out. The surface of the hubcap distorts the image!”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “No, it’s true. What we’re seeing isn’t real. Here, come look for yourself.” I didn’t need to “look for myself,” but I did, just to keep up appearances. Plato laughed and whopped me on the back. “By golly, Hank, you really had me scared there for a minute . . .”

  He froze. His foppish grin melted, and he lifted his famous bird-dog nose. He sniffed the air several times, and slowly his gaze drifted around to . . . well, to me, it seemed.

  His face turned serious. “Hank, we’re friends, right? I mean, we can talk, man to man, dog to dog?”

  “What’s your point?”

  He glanced over both shoulders and lowered his voice. “Hank, only a friend would tell you this. You . . . you have an odor problem.”

  For a moment of heartbeats, I couldn’t decide whether I should laugh in his face or beat him up, so I said, “I got sprayed by a skunk. So what?”

  He scowled and pursed his lips. “Hank, I know Beulah pretty well and . . . Hank, let me be candid. She doesn’t like the smell of skunk.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “A bath might be good, Hank, and I say that in all sincerity.”