“Well, we’ll just see about that. Drover, wake up. We’ll need you to judge this.” The runt let out a moan. I marched over and kicked him on the bohunkus. “Hey, wake up and smell the cobras.”
He lifted his head and cracked one eye. “Help, murder, Mayday, I’m scared of snakes, oh my leg!”
“Forget the leg. Wake up and pay attention. I’ve got something cooking here.”
His eyes popped open. “The chicken?”
“No, not the chicken. While you were fainting, we learned that the chicken business was just another of Pete’s famous lies. I should have known.”
“Oh drat.”
“Drover, please try to control your naughty language.”
“Oh piffle.”
“That’s better. What we have cooking here is . . .” I gave him a cunning wink of the eye, “. . . a P-L-A-N.”
He twisted his head and stared at me. “Something’s wrong with your eye.”
“Drover, something’s fixing to be wrong with your . . . Think, Drover, concentrate. I have a P-L-A-N.”
His eyes went blank. “That’s not how you spell chicken. You spell chicken with a C-H.”
“I know that, you . . .” I fought to control my temper. “P-L-A-N.”
“Plane? You’ve got an airplane, and we’re going to climb in and fly away so the coyotes won’t eat us? Oh, I’m so happy!”
The air hissed out of my lungs. I shot a glance over at the brothers. They were jumping up and down, showing each other their biceps, and getting warmed up for the big contest. I turned back to Drover.
“Forget the spelling, Drover. I have a plan.”
“Oh, I thought you had a plane and I was so excited about taking a ride. I’ve never ridden in an airplane. Now I’m all disappointed.”
Once again, my lips were twitching in . . . something. Rage. Anger. Unspeakable frustration in the face of chaos. “Drover, sometimes I think I hate you.”
“No, ’cause if you’d ate me, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Will you shut your trap! Now sit up and pay attention, and stand by to,” I dropped my voice to a whisper, “make a run for it.”
“What? I couldn’t hear that.”
“Make a run for it.”
“Right now?”
I saw a small hackberry tree nearby, walked over to it, and banged my head against it three times. I returned to the dunce and said, “Just pay attention and be ready to move out.”
“Oh, okay. I can handle that.”
The brothers were warmed up for the big contest. They were getting restless, so I turned my attention back to them. “Okay, fellas, we’re ready to begin this deadly contest, from which only one of us will return alive.”
Snort’s eyes widened with glee. “Uh! Sound gooder and goodest. Rip and Snort not scared even little teenie bit.”
“Well, you ought to be scared. This contest will make anything you’ve ever done look like a chick purchnick.”
“Uh! Coyote eat chick but not believe in potty chicken.”
“Actually, I meant to say ‘church picnic.’”
He bashed me over the head with his paw. “Hunk talk too much. Rip and Snort not give a hoot for chicky churchnik. Hurry up and start big contest.”
I picked myself up off the ground. “Okay, guys, this is it. We’re fixing to engage in a contest called the Ha-Ha Game.” They gave me scowls. “The Deadly Dangerous Ha-Ha Game.” They nodded and grinned. “Here are the rules. I’ll start off with a ‘ha,’ then we go back and forth, and each one of us will add another ‘ha’ to what the other one said. The point is to keep from laughing. You got it?”
Snort shook his head. “Sound stupid, not deadlier or dangerous.”
“Well, it starts off easy, but after it goes on for hours and hours, it becomes a real test of strength and endurance. And don’t forget, only one of us will come back alive. Ready?”
The brothers lowered their heads and took a wide stance. They were ready. So was I.
Would you care to see a transcript of the contest? We seldom do that, you know, because . . . well, we just don’t, mainly because of the kids. The children. We wouldn’t want to expose them to toxic levels of violence and bloodshed and noise and all the other stuff that comes out of these deadly dangerous contests.
What do you think?
I guess we could give it a try. If our readings on the Toxometer get too far into the red zone, we’ll just shut ’er down and go on to something else.
Ready? Here we go. Here’s the actual true transcript of the Deadly and Dangerous Ha-Ha Game.
Chapter Eight: The Deadly Ha-Ha Game
Actual True Transcript
Deadly and Dangerous Ha-Ha Game #1
Wednesday Evening 8:37:24
PLEASE NOTE! What you are about to read is an actual, factual, word-for-word transcription of an epic battle conducted on the ranch, on the very evening it occurred. The names used are the actual names of the combatants, and no effort has been made to hide their identities. They include, in the order of their appearance, Hank the Cowdog, Head of Ranch Security, a local hero adored by lady dogs all over Texas; and Rip and Snort, two fleabag cannibal brothers.
The transcript is uncut and uncensored. Viewers, listeners, and observers should be warned that it might contain scenes that are terrifying and language that some viewers might find monotonous. In the event of a post-battle reaction, please consult a doctor, veterinarian, or licensed plumber.
HANK: Ha.
R&S: Ha, ha.
HANK: Ha, ha, ha.
R&S: Ha, ha, ha, ha.
HANK: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
R&S: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
HANK: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
R&S: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ho-ho, hee-hee, har-har, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ho-ho-ho, hee-hee-hee, har-har-har . . . etc.
PLEASE NOTE! Transcript ends at this point, when the cannibal brothers collapsed in spasms of insane laughter and were unable to continue the battle, leaving Hank the Cowdog the undisputed champion.
End of Ha-Ha Game Transcript
Do you get it now? Pretty smart, huh? You bet it was. I had lured the dumbbell coyote brothers right into a clever trap, and they fell for it like a ton of hooks, lines, and sinkers. See, once they got into that ha-ha business, they started laughing, and once they started laughing, they couldn’t stop.
The mind of a dog is a frightening thing.
Heh heh.
And once I saw that the fleabags had been immobilized by their own laughter, I gave them a smile and a wave, and walked away from the pile made of their squirming bodies. Drover was waiting for me, and his eyes were wide with amazement.
“How’d you do that?”
“It was easy, but never mind. We don’t have time to discuss it. While they’re out of commission, we need to hurry back to headquarters.”
We left the brothers screaming with laughter and rolling around on the ground, and went streaking back to headquarters. Even though I had whipped the stuffings out of the cannibal brothers and had become undisputed Ha-Ha Champion of the World, I didn’t want to become careless or cocky.
I mean, just because you’re the smartest, toughest, best-looking dog in the whole Texas Panhandle doesn’t mean that you can get coyless about carrots. Careless about coyotes, I should say. They’re stupid brutes, but they do have a kind of crude intelligence that makes them dangerous adversaries. Remember the wise old saying . . .
Never pick up a snake until the fat lady sings.
Never pick up a snake until the fat lady cuts off its head.
Never pick up a fat lady while she’s singing.
There’s some wise old saying about snakes and fat ladies, but I don’t care about it and I’m not going to mention it.
Wait. I think I
’ve got it. Never pick up a fat snake . . .
Maybe I can paraphrase the wise old saying. The point is that you can ruin your back picking up fat ladies, and some of them will slap the snot out of you, and dead snakes aren’t always as dead as they . . .
Just skip it. I’m sorry I brought it up.
Where were we? Wherever we were, it had nothing to do with fat ladies or dead snakes. Oh yes, our escape.
I had just made the decision not to be careless or cocky about my huge triumph over the dumbbell coyotes. Hencely, instead of strolling back to headquarters, we punched in the Rocket Dog Program, went roaring through the horse pasture, and came to a gentle landing on the gravel drive in front of the machine shed.
Only then did I dare to do what any normal American dog would have done. I looked back toward the horse pasture, stuck out my tongue, made monkey ears, and yelled scorn and abuse at the coyotes.
“There, you losers, and the next time you dare to mess with Hank the Cowdog, you’ll get the same treatment—or something worse! Nyee, nyee, nyee! You couldn’t catch a flea on a grandpa’s knee! What a couple of morons! I can’t believe you were dumb enough to fall for that trick.”
I was just getting warmed up, I mean, this was fun! If you can’t be an unbearable winner, what’s the point of winning? But I noticed that Drover was getting moon-eyed and worried.
“Hank, maybe you’d better not rub it in. I think they’ve quit laughing.”
Sure enough, the laughter had stopped. “Oh rubbish, you worry too much. They’re out there in the pasture and we’re here at ranch headquarters, and everybody knows that coyotes won’t come into ranch headquarters. They’re scared of people.”
He glanced down at the house. It was dark. “Yeah, but the people have already gone to bed.”
“The odds are on our side, Drover, and the problem with you is that you’ve had very little experience at winning. You don’t know how to act.”
“I guess you’re right. What are you supposed to do?”
I patted the little mutt on the shoulder. “Listen to this. I’ll give you your first lesson on how to be a winner.” And with that, I did a little number called “Be a Winner.”
Be a Winner
Let’s start with a basic lesson or two.
Life’s a contest, son, and everything we do
Is a struggle, a battle, a game to the end,
And the ob-ject-ive is always to win.
Be a winner.
Be a winner.
Now, playing the game is the easiest part,
Just figure out the rules and start at the start.
Play by the rules, if it suits your design,
Or cheat, if you must, that’ll be just fine, but
Be a winner.
Be a winner.
Now, once you’ve notched up a victory
The fun begins, as you will see.
The crowd’ll cheer, you’ll beam a smile
Of humbleness—for a little while.
Be a winner.
Be a winner.
Good sportsmanship gets old real quick,
And humble pie can make you sick.
The time has come to create a buzz.
You’re the coolest dog who ever was.
Be a winner.
Be a winner.
Start things off by crossing your eyes,
Stick out your tongue and yell, “Hey, guys,
Here’s some monkey ears, get out of my road!
I won, you lost, and your momma’s a toad!”
Be a winner.
Be a winner.
There’s a moral here, some great advice:
There’s no point in winning if you have to be nice.
So do what you can to drive ’em berserk.
Be obnoxious and rude, rub it in, be a jerk.
Be a winner, heh heh, yeah,
Be a winner.
When I was done, Drover grinned. “Gosh, thanks. That helps a bunch.”
“Good. Great. I’m always glad to help you through life’s little trials.”
“Yeah, but I still don’t understand what you said to the coyotes that made ’em laugh so hard. Now that we’re safe, maybe you could tell me.”
I glanced over both shoulders, just to be sure we weren’t being watched, and lowered my voice. “I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to promise to keep it a secret. We don’t want Pete getting hold of this information.”
He promised to keep it a secret, and I told him about the Ha-Ha Game. Naturally, he was impressed. “I’ll be derned. How’d you ever think of that?”
“It’s an old spy trick, Drover. I’ve been saving it back for an emergency.”
“Boy, it sure worked. Do you reckon we could try it out, just you and me?”
I swept my gaze around the headquarters compound. Everything was quiet. “Sure, I guess we’ve got time to run through it once. You want to kick it off or shall I?”
“Oh, you’d better do it. I might mess up.”
“Good thinking. Don’t forget, the point is to keep yourself from laughing. Okay, here we go. Ha.”
“Ha ha.”
“Ha ha ha.”
“Ha ha ha ha.”
“Ha ha ha ha ha.”
“Uh-oh,” he giggled, “I’m fixing to lose it. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, hee hee, ho ho!”
When he lost it, so did I. I mean, when a guy is standing there in front of you, laughing himself silly, it’s hard to maintain Iron Discipline. “Ha ha ha ha, hee hee hee, ho ho ho, ha ha ha!”
Yes sir, we lost it, both of us, and we’re talking about falling down and rolling around in the dirt, is how much we lost it. I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. It was kind of a touching moment, actually, the elite forces of the Security Division taking time out of our busy schedules to share . . .
HUH?
Rip and Snort?
Chapter Nine: Oops
What were they . . . Hey, it was common knowledge that coyotes never . . .
They not only looked hungry, but also mad, very mad. Oops. Maybe we shouldn’t have given them monkey ears.
“Hey ha ha, Drover ha ha, do you ha ha see what I ha ha see?”
“Ha ha yeah. I thought they were ha ha out in the ha ha horse pasture.”
“Ha ha right, but they’re ha ha here now ha ha. And you ha ha know what ha ha? I can’t stop ha ha ha laughing.”
“Ha ha, me neither ha ha.”
“Ha ha Drover, I think we need to . . . ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
“Get ha ha out of here?”
“Ha ha right. Because if we ha ha don’t, they’re going to . . . ha ha ha ha.”
“Ha ha eat us?”
“Right. Yes. Ha ha ha ha ha.”
“Ha ha! Hank, that’s not ha ha funny.”
“I know, so stop . . . ha ha ha ha . . . laughing.”
The brothers had been watching us with big smirks on their toothy mouths, but then Snort licked his chops and rumbled, “Ha ha, now dummy ranch dogs die laughing and make supper for Rip and Snort, ha ha!”
That did it. I mean, you talk about something that will kill a party. Those words hit us like a bucket of cold water in the face, and suddenly we weren’t laughing any moron. Any more, let us say. “Quick, Drover, into the machine shed!”
One step ahead of the cannibals, we dove through the crack between the sliding doors of the machine shed. Whew! Boy, that had been a close one. I knew the coyotes would never . . . I mean, they had never dared set foot in the machine shed because . . . well, think about it. The machine shed was full of human smells and it just wasn’t the kind of place . . .
Yipes! They followed us inside!
“Run, Drover, head for the deepest, darkest corner and hide!”
“Help, murder, Mayday,
oh my leg!”
While Drover squeaked and moaned, I fired off several blasts of Over the Shoulder Barking, and we both cut a hole through the darkness and headed for the northeast corner. Getting there turned out to be no can of cookies.
Piece of cookie.
Can of worms.
Piece of cake, shall we say, because the machine shed was full of junk—not just the tools and bolt bins and welding equipment you’d expect to find in a machine shed, but also stuff you’d never expect to find. A table lamp. A stack of dishes. Alfred’s old high chair. Loper’s canvas-covered canoe. And five hundred and thirty-seven old paint cans that had been there since Sally May had painted the house.
Fellers, I sure felt bad about blasting a hole through all those treasures, but with two cannibals hot on my trail, I did it anyway, and we’re talking about a lot of crashing and banging. At last, we reached the northwest corner, as far from the door as we could get, and took cover under . . . something. What was that thing? An old coffee table, I suppose, with just enough room for me and Drover to squeeze ourselves underneath.
Then and only then did I dare catch a breath and whisper, “I think we’re safe. It’s so dark back here, those guys’ll never . . .”
It was then that my ears picked up the sound of . . . sniffing. A lot of sniffing, and it seemed to be . . . uh . . . coming in our direction.
“Drover, do you hear something?”
“Yeah. Sniffing, and it’s not me.”
“Right, and it’s not me either. I have a hunch that it’s the coyotes.”
“I was afraid of that. I guess we shouldn’t have played the Ha-Ha Game.”
“I agree. It’s a powerful technique and it was foolish of us to mess around with it. Now we’ve stapped into our own truck.”
“What?”
“I said, we’ve stepped into our own trap. For you see, Drivel . . .”
“My name’s Drover.”
“I know your name, Driver, but I’m so nervous I can hardly talk. For you see, we can’t depend on darkness to hide us. Those coyotes aren’t using their eyes. They’re following their keen sense of smell, and it’s only a matter of time . . .”
The Case of the Deadly Ha-Ha Game Page 5
