Moonlight Madness

by John R. Erickson

  “Yeah?”

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you. You seem to be distracted with other things. Maybe I should come back at another time when I can fit into your busy schedule.”

  “Whatever. No problem.”

  “Yes, well, maybe I should stop bleating around the bush and come right to the point. You see, one of my jobs as Head of Ranch Security would be to notify the proper authorities if you happened to break out of your cage—a course of action which you seem to be exploring, even as we speak.”

  At last his hands stopped moving. He stared at me. “Break out? Not me. Just nerves.”

  “Are you saying that you’re not trying to bust out of your cage, that busy hands are just part of the normal behavior for a raccoon?”

  “Right. Hyper at night. Can’t sit still. Go, go, go.”

  “Okay, well, that sounds better. I mean, I’ve got nothing against you, Eddy, but if I thought you were trying to bust out of your cage, I would be obligated to report it.”

  “Sure.”

  “Nothing personal, but I’ve sworn an oath to this ranch and I’ve got a job to do. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “You bet. It’s an elevator.”

  “Huh?”

  He threw a glance over both shoulders and motioned for me to come closer. I did.

  “It’s an elevator,” he whispered.

  “What’s an elevator?”

  “This. The cage. Goes up and down.”

  I stared into his little black eyes. They seemed honest and sincere, and yet . . .

  “Wait a minute. You’re telling me that this cage is actually an elevator?”

  “Shh. Nobody knows. Just you and me.”

  “An elevator?” I chuckled and walked a few steps away. “I don’t think so, Eddy. You must be thinking of some other cage. See, I was around this afternoon when Slim and Loper pulled this thing out of the weeds. It wasn’t an elevator then and I would find it very hard to believe that it’s one now. Sorry.”

  “Pst.”

  He used his fingers to give me the “come here” signal. Well, I couldn’t see any harm in . . . there was no way he was going to change my mind on this deal, so I went back to the cage. If he had time to talk, I had time to listen.

  He was a pretty interesting guy, actually, and he had sort of sparked my curiosity. I put my ear up to the cage.

  “I can prove it.”

  “Oh, really? Ha, ha, ha. Well, that’s a little hard for me to believe. You’re saying that you can prove to me that this thing is an elevator?”

  “Right.”

  “Well . . . uh . . . proof is proof, I always say, but I must warn you that I’m a pretty hard case. It’s come from my years in security work. I mean, if it doesn’t stand up to the rigorous scientific testing methods we’re accustomed to, it just won’t fly.”

  “Get in.”

  “Huh?”

  “Get in. I’ll show you.”

  “Me, get in there? Well, the door’s locked, pal.”

  “Simple. Undo the latch.”

  Undo the . . . hmmmm. I hadn’t thought of that. I mean, it hadn’t occurred to me to . . . but yes, there was a latch on the outside of the cage door, and yes, it did appear to be a simple device that could be moved with a paw or a nose.

  Well . . . why not? I still didn’t think he could prove his case, but I saw no harm in . . . I nudged the latch with my left paw. Eddy opened the door and motioned me inside.

  Okay. I crawled into the cage, which was pretty small for my huge enormous body, and . . .

  Do you think I’m going to tell you what happened next?

  No, thanks.

  It wasn’t funny.

  It’s none of your business anyway.

  Just forget the whole thing.

  Sorry I brought it up.

  Go away.

  Chapter Seven: Conned by a Coon

  Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound hateful, but you must understand that what occurred next was embarrassing, and we’re talking about VERY embarrassing and humiliating and hard for me to discuss.

  A guy hates to talk about those things. I would be glad to skip it and go on to more pleasant subjects, and you would probably be glad too. You won’t be proud to know that . . .

  Oh boy. This hurts. Better just face it, blurt it out, and let the pieces fall where the chips fly.

  Okay, here goes.

  I crawled into the cage, knowing in my deepest heart of hearts that it couldn’t possibly be an elevator, and yet I wanted to be totally fair about this thing and give Eddy the Rac every opportunity to prove his theory, his wild, stupid, phony theory, that the cage was actually an elevator.

  I was trying to be a nice guy who would go the second mile for a friendship and give this sneaky little raccoon the benefit of the doubt, even though I’d had a long history of bad dealings with his kinfolks.

  So what did I get for being a nice guy? As soon as I got myself scrunched into the cage, he said, “Going up,” stepped outside, and closed and latched the door.

  I, uh, waited for the elevator to go up. It didn’t. Instead, I found myself locked inside Eddy’s cage, while Eddy was outside on my ranch.

  HUH?

  “Hey, wait a minute, what’s the big idea, you can’t . . .”

  “Sorry. Had to do it. Had to get out.”

  “What? Are you saying . . .”

  Eddy shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m a rat.”

  “You may be worse than that, pal. Let me out of here!”

  “I’m a rat. Always happens. Moonlight Mad­ness. Can’t help it. Do crazy things.” He leaned for­ward and whispered, “They ought to lock me up.”

  I stared into his masked face, which some mis­guided members of our ranch community had earlier described as “cute.”

  “Ought to lock you up? Hey, Shorty, we had you locked up and then . . . let me out of here this very minute, and that is an order!”

  “Can’t. Sorry. Boy, what a rat.”

  And with that, he ambled into the machine shed in that distinctive humped-up monkey walk of his.

  “Hey, you can’t just walk away and leave me in this . . . you come back here this very minute and . . . I am the Head of Ranch Security and I demand that you let me out of this cage immediately! At once! Now!”

  No answer. And by that time, the terrible truth had begun to soak through the topsoil of my mind. I had been duped by a dope, conned by a coon . . . and I could hardly wait for Slim and the others to find me, come morning.

  Me in the coon cage and the coon in the machine shed—where, by the way, he was busy turning over buckets and cans and wrecking the place. I knew that’s what he was doing because I could hear the racket.

  That’s typical behavior in coons, by the way. Always poking around, looking into things, making a mess, getting into mischief.

  I should have known.

  What a fool I’d been.

  Oh boy.

  It was what you’d call a very long night, squeezed as I was into a jailhouse for rabbits. And yet in some ways it wasn’t long enough. I dreaded the coming of daylight, when my friends at the house would . . .

  I, uh, found myself rehearsing my story—that is, going over the proper tail wags and sad expressions that would somehow explain exactly . . . uh . . . what I was doing . . . in the cage.

  It would be a tough presentation, one of the toughest in my entire career. I knew there was an excellent chance that nobody would believe ANY story I might come up with, no matter how wild or crazy.

  I couldn’t sleep. The hours slithered by, punctured by the clanging and banging in the machine shed. At last the noise stopped, yet I was still unable to fall asnork . . . murgle skiffer porkchop zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  Okay, maybe I drifted off for a moment or two, and w
hen my eyes popped open, I saw Drover standing in front of me. His head was cocked to the side and he was wearing a foolish grin on his mouth.

  “Hi, Hank. I wondered where you were.”

  “Did you, now?”

  “Sure did, but I didn’t think you’d be in there. Gosh, I never would have thought to look for you in the coon’s cage.”

  “Well, once again, Drover, your thinking comes up short.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Because I am in the coon’s cage.”

  “Sure looks that way. What are you doing in there?”

  I glared at the runt. “What do you suppose I’m doing in here, you . . .” I caught myself just in time. A plan had begun to unfold in the vast expanses of my mind. I smiled and softened my tone. “I’ll tell you, Drover, but you must promise to believe my story.”

  “Oh sure. I always believe your stories.”

  “Hmm, yes, and that’s one of your most admir­able qualities, Drover. You trust your fellow dogs.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, good old trusting Drover.”

  “And trust is such a wonderful quality.”

  “Yeah, sure is!”

  “And one of the things that just breaks my heart about this shabby world is that, alas, many dogs have lost that fundamental bedrock of trust.”

  “Yeah, and who can sleep on a rock?”

  “Exactly. And while we sleep, Drover, the world becomes a colder, harsher place . . .”

  “Winter’ll be here before you know it.”

  “. . . as dogs become wary and suspicious of each other and cease to believe that truth is truth and honesty is honesty.”

  “Yeah, and it’s got to be one or the other.”

  “Exactly. So, to sum this all up, let me take this opportunity to tell you, my friend, my good trusting friend, how much and how deeply I admire you for believing everything I tell you.”

  He began hopping around and spinning in circles. “Gosh, Hank, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

  “You deserve it, Drover, and I apologize for not saying it sooner.”

  “Oh, you couldn’t help it.”

  “That’s true, actually. I sometimes find it hard to express my deepest feelings. It’s a handicap.”

  “I know all about handicaps. I’ve got this short tail and sometimes it’s a terrible burden.”

  “I know you worry about your tail, Drover. It probably bothers you that everyone thinks you look like an idiot.”

  “Yeah, it gets me down. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand the pain.”

  “Hmm. That bad, huh?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s terrible. Sometimes this pain in my heart gets so bad, I can’t feel the pain in my leg.”

  “Mercy. And that can be a pain in the neck.”

  “Terrible pain. I just wish I had a normal tail. Then everything would be perfect.”

  I paused here for dramatic effect. Then, seizing upon the drama of the moment, I announced, “Drover, I think you can be helped.”

  His mouth fell open. “You mean . . . my tail?”

  “Exactly. Modern science has made huge strides in Tail Longeration. It’s a new field, Drover, and we’re coming up with exciting results.”

  “No fooling? There’s hope for my tail?”

  “More than hope. There’s an excellent chance that you can be cured of this terrible handicap.”

  All at once he was hopping and spinning again. I gave him a moment to vent his feelings before I gave him the rest of the, uh, good news.

  “Drover, there’s a new procedure. It uses a special high-tech device called the Posterior Append­age Growth Stimulator Cage.”

  “Gosh, that sounds pretty complicated.”

  “Oh yes, very complicated, and as you know, the more complicated these things sound, the more effective they are.”

  “Yeah, ’cause if a guy understands what it means, it can’t be very good.”

  “Exactly my point. And, Drover, would you believe that you’re standing in front of a Posterior Appendage Growth Stimulator Cage at this very moment?”

  His eyes grew large. “You mean . . . this cage?”

  “Yes, Drover, yes. I stayed up all night testing it out, and I’m proud to report that it’s ready to go on the market. Can you believe that?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Bearing in mind, of course, that your trusting nature is one of your very best qualities. In other words, your positive attitude makes you a perfect candidate for this revolutionary new procedure.”

  “Well, I . . . it’s kind of hard to believe.”

  “Hurry, Drover, we haven’t a moment to spare. Open the door latch with your nose, climb in here, and I’ll set all the knobs and switches for a two-hour treatment.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Okay, thirty seconds. In thirty seconds, you’ll have a new tail, you’ll be the proudest dog . . . why are you walking away?”

  He was slinking away. “You know, Hank, I’m kind of scared of machines.”

  “Oh rubbish, I’ve been here all night.”

  “Yeah, and that seems kind of fishy, and I think maybe I’ll just . . .”

  “Drover, come back here! Open this door at once, and that is a direct . . .” He turned and scampered away. “Come back here, you moron, can’t you see that . . .”

  He was gone. That was bad news. Even worse news was that I heard the back door slam. Some­one was coming.

  The backstabbing little dunce.

  Chapter Eight: Laughed At by All My Friends

  I heard the yard gate squeak, then slam shut.

  I heard footsteps on the gravel drive. Someone was coming up the hill toward the machine shed.

  It was Little Alfred, which was great news.

  Given a choice, I would have chosen to be discovered by Little Alfred. Out of all the humans on the ranch, he was by far the most, shall we say, compassionate and understanding of dogs.

  He might very well size up my situation, realize just how embarrassing it was for me, release me from the cage, and swear a Solemn Oath never to reveal what he had seen.

  I know, that was hoping for a lot, but when a guy has nothing left but hope, it doesn’t make much sense to hope for something small.

  Maybe the boy and I could work out a deal.

  Here he came, dressed in shorts, boots, and a T-shirt. He was kicking rocks with his boots—something his mommy had told him not to do because it scuffed up the toes.

  No doubt he was anxious to see Eddy the Rac. No doubt he would be surprised to find . . .

  He stopped. His eyes grew wide. His face blanked out. Then a smile began to curl on his mouth and he started laughing.

  And drat the luck, instead of coming over to the cage, where we could talk things over and work out a little deal, he went running back to the house.

  “Hey, Mom, come quick! I got something to show you!”

  Oh no, please, not HER. Anyone but Sally May. If I had to be discovered in this ridiculous situation, let it be by someone else, anyone else.

  She would never understand. It would merely contribute to her false impression that I was a . . . well, a bungler and a fool, so to speak.

  As you know, she had accused me of being those very things on several occasions. Nothing could have been further from the truth, of course, but you know how those things get started.

  They start with false impressions. Incorrect inter­pretations of the, uh, data. Gossip. Misunder­standings. Quotes taken out of context.

  One thing leads to another. The thing grows and feeds on itself, and before you know it . . .

  Oh boy, our relationship didn’t need this.

  Maybe she wouldn’t come—still in bed perhaps, or busy fixing breakfast. Maybe she had left for the day . . . for the week
. . . gone to visit her mother . . . anyone, I didn’t care.

  The screen door slammed. The yard gate squeaked. I heard TWO sets of footsteps crunching gravel and coming my way.

  Okay, it appeared that we were moving rapidly into a Worst Case Skinario, so I began rehearsing my story. I would give her Tragic Eyes, Humble Ears, and Pleading Wags. I would have to throw myself upon her mercy and hope that she might understand . . . what?

  Well, that these things just happen, sometimes without any reason or explanation. A guy goes to sleep on his gunnysack bed and wakes up inside a . . . well, inside a rabbit hutch . . . formerly occupied by a raccoon.

  And he’s totally shocked. How could this be? How could this have happened?

  The answer, of course, is that this is a very strange world and things happen all the time, every single day, for which we have no, uh, good explanation.

  Yes, I had my story down, and she just might go for it.

  Here they came. Alfred pointed at . . . well, in my general direction, toward the cage . . . at ME, you might say, and began laughing.

  “Look, Mom. Hank’s in the cage and Eddy’s gone!”

  Sally May stared at me with, hmmm, with eyes that had witnessed many, many strange events. They were world-weary eyes that had seen just about every kind of mess and disaster that could be produced by one husband, two children, two dogs, one cat, one hired hand, and a normal ranch.

  She blinked twice. Her expression did not change. I, uh, went into the Tragic Eyes and So Forth Procedure and thumped my tail, as if to say, “Sally May, I know this looks odd but . . .”

  “I don’t believe this,” she said. “Go get your daddy, and tell him to hurry. I want him to see his dog.”

  Oh boy. I had hoped for a quick settlement, so to speak, but it appeared that it was going to drag out.

  The boy ran back to the house. Sally May walked up to the cage. By this time, a tiny smile was showing on her mouth, which was probably better than the . . . alternatives.

  She shook her head. “Hank, you are such an incredible fool. How do you do these things?”

  Well, I . . . I didn’t know how to answer that. I mean, it was a loaded question and I wasn’t sure what she meant by “these things.” See, this had never happened to me before and . . .