The Case of the Deadly Ha-Ha Game

by John R. Erickson

  The silence was ripped by the sound of Snort’s voice. “Uh! Lost trail of dummy dogs. Now everything smell like . . . paint.”

  Did you hear that? What a struck of loke! The brothers had followed our scent right up to the five hundred and thirty-seven half-empty cans of paint and . . . and I had thought of that all along, no kidding, losing our scent around the paint cans, I mean, it had been an obvious ploy, and it had worked like a . . .

  But all at once, I began picking up a new sound. Clacking. I lifted my ears and swiveled them around. The sound was close. It was coming from . . .

  “Drover, for crying out loud, will you stop clacking your teeth!”

  “I c-c-can’t h-help it! I’m so s-s-s-scared . . .”

  The jagged hacksaw laughter of the coyote brothers cut through the gloomy darkness of the dark gloom. It sent cold chills down my backbone. Then . . .

  “Aha! Rip and Snort not need smell dummy dogs no more. Got sound coming from back of shed. Sound berry much like clacking tooths.”

  To which Rip gave his only statement of the night. “Uh!”

  Once again, we’ve come to a part in the story that might be too scary for the average reader. I mean, we were trapped in the machine shed, right? If Rip and Snort caught us back there, we were dead meat, history, supper for cannibals. Everyone down at the house was asleep, so we were totally on our own.

  I’d say things were looking pretty bad. If we got caught and eaten, there would be no more story. And you know what? That’s just what happened. We got caught and eaten by cannibals, and that’s it.

  I know you paid a lot of money for this book, but what can I say?

  Sorry. Shall we discuss funerals? Maybe not, because when coyotes finish a meal, there isn’t much left for a funeral, so I guess . . .

  No, wait, hold everything!

  You won’t believe this. I didn’t believe it. It was unbelievable, and yet . . .

  Okay, here’s the deal. When Snort heard Drover’s teeth clacking, his powerful ears tracked the sound to our hiding place. He knew we were trapped. It made him so happy, he was bubbling over with wild cannibal joy and he cut loose with a big laugh. “HA!”

  And Rip, who was just as joyful, said, “Ha ha!”

  “Ha ha ha!”

  “Ha ha ha ha!”

  “Ha ha . . . not start stupid Ha-Ha Game again . . . ha ha ha!”

  “Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

  “Got to quit ha ha, not have time for . . . ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

  Can you believe it? The dummies got sucked into the powerful gravitational pull of the Ha- Ha Game, and they’d done it to themselves! Their laughing and hooting rattled the tin on the roof, and paint cans went clattering in all directions as they rolled across the floor. The coyotes, that is. They were rolling around on the floor, but so were the paint cans.

  When I realized what I was hearing, I turned to my assistant. “Drover, we’ve just pulled our coconuts out of the fire. Against incredible odds, we’ve been saved.”

  “Oh good! I sure like coconuts.”

  “I didn’t say coconuts. I said chestnuts.”

  “I never ate one.”

  “Nor have I, but apparently you roast them over an open fire, and there’s an old expression . . .”

  “You reckon we ought to get out of here?”

  I aimed a withering glare at the piece of darkness where I thought Drover should be. “Who’s in charge around here? And who’s going to correct your mistakes if I don’t do it?”

  “Well . . .”

  “I’m sorry, we’re out of time. We need to get out of here.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “Okay, listen up, here’s the plan. Between here and the door, we’ll use the Bulldozer Program. Just lower your head and batter your way through anything in your way, especially if it’s hairy and big.”

  “I hear that.”

  “When we reach the door, we’ll set a speed course of one-five-zero-zero, go to Full Flames on all engines, and head straight for the house.”

  “What about the fence?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Jump it, go under it, take it out, whatever. The fence is irrevelent.”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “What?”

  “I said, the fence is irrelevant.”

  “That’s what I just said. The fence is irrevelent and quit butting into my strategic planning. We’ll take out the fence and then go straight into Alert and Alarm. I think our friends at the house will want to know that their dogs have been attacked by savage coyotes.”

  “Yeah, or they’ll be mad ’cause we woke ’em up.”

  “Ha! I don’t . . .”

  “Ha ha!”

  “Ha ha ha! Don’t start that or we’ll never get out of here!”

  “Ha ha ha ha! I can’t stop, Hank, help, it’s got me again!”

  “Ha ha ha ha ha! You stay here and laugh all you want, pal. I’m leaving!”

  You probably find it hard to believe that I was able to overcome the fierce gravitational pull of the Ha-Ha Game, which was sucking me into its swirling center. Well, it was tough, I can tell you that, and most of your ordinary dogs wouldn’t have had the iron discipline to tear themselves out of the grisp of its deadly grasp. Even I had trouble. I mean, the power of that thing was just awesome.

  But I got ’er done, shifted up into the Bulldozer Program, and plowed a path through objects that would have stopped a charging rhino. Boy, you should have seen it! Furniture, canoes, huge drill presses, welders, paint cans, cars, you name it, flying in all directions. When Sally May saw the damage, she would . . . but that was another problem.

  I fought and clawed and battered my way to the door, and there I paused just long enough to yell, “See you around, you miserable moth-eaten . . .”

  Their laughter stopped, and I could hear them coming! When will I ever learn to . . . oh well, it was spilled milk under the bridge. I dove through the door and with a blast of powerful rocket engines, went streaking down to the house.

  As the fence loomed up before me, I got a warning light from Data Control: “Fence. Cancel, ignore, or try again?”

  With only seconds left, I typed in my reply: “Watch this, and mind your own business.”

  I took a deep seat, braced myself, and . . . BONK!

  Okay, that fence proved to be a little stouter than we had supposed and we decided to leave it, uh, standing. I mean, there was no reason for . . . never mind. I made it into the yard, that’s the important thing, and once there, I made a terrible discovery.

  Drover wasn’t behind me!

  Chapter Ten: Followed into the Yard!

  Drover wasn’t behind me because he was already in the yard. Somehow, through some flupe of luck, he had . . . but never mind the flupe of luck. Fluke of luck, that is. The good news was that he was safe. The bad news was that Rip and Snort were swaggering down the hill toward the yard.

  “Drover, how many times have I told you not to get ahead of your leader?”

  “I don’t know. Five?”

  “No, not five. At least a hundred times I’ve told you that every mission has a leader, and the leader should always go first. I am Head of Ranch Security. I am our leader! You’ve undermired the whole purpose of our mission.”

  “Yeah, but I was scared.”

  “Being scared is not an excuse. If we don’t have discipline in our ranks, what do we have?”

  “Two coyotes at the yard gate.”

  “What? Oh, them. Forget the coyotes, Drover. They’ll come right up to the fence and stop. We’ve seen this tactic before and they’ve never come into the yard. The point here is that you seem determined to turn our elite unit into a leaderless rabble of rubble. Every unit consists of . . .”

  “Hank, are you sure they won’t come into the yard?”

&n
bsp; “Positive. It would go against their nature. As I was saying, every unit consists of leaders and followers. It’s impossible for me to lead our troops into battle if . . . Are you listening?”

  “Sort of, but I’m watching the coyotes too, just in case.”

  “Trust me, Drover. If you don’t trust your leaders, what do we have? What has the world come to?”

  “Hank, I think they’re going to jump the fence.”

  “Oh rubbish, they wouldn’t dare come into the yard. Do you know why? In the first place, that fence is the boundary line between civilization and wilderness. Coyotes are, by their very nature, uncivilized brutes, so why would they want to come into the yard?”

  “Oh, maybe they still want to eat us . . . or something.”

  “To that, I say phooey. It’ll never happen. In the second place, Sally May would never allow coyotes in her yard.”

  “Yeah, she doesn’t allow dogs in her yard either, but here we are.”

  “Exactly my point. We are the guardians of civilization. That’s why we’re here, and if Sally May understood the nature of our mission, I’m sure she would be glad—nay, delighted—to have us in her yard.”

  “Uh-oh, one of ’em just jumped the fence. Hank . . .”

  “Don’t argue with me. The point here is . . . What did you just say?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Something about . . . somebody just jumped the fence?”

  “Oh yeah. One of the coyotes jumped over the fence. He’s in the yard.”

  HUH?

  I whirled away from Drover’s nonsense and saw . . . I whirled back to Drover. “He can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, but he just did.”

  “It’s forbidden. Sally May would . . .” I whirled back to the coyotes. “Hey, you! Get out of the yard, right this very minute! How dare you enter a civilized zone without permission!”

  Snort chuckled and raised a big paw-fist. “Got plenty permission. Rip and Snort madder and maddest over stupid Ha-Ha Game.”

  “Oh that. Well, hey, if that’s the problem, I think I can explain everything. No kidding.”

  “Brothers not give a hoot for no kidding.” He jerked his head at Rip, and Rip jumped into the . . . gulp . . . yard. “What Hunk say now?”

  “I say . . . Snort, I still say you can’t do this.” I turned to Drover. “They can’t do this.” Back to Snort. “Snort, let me point out that you are trespassing in a civilized zone, and, well, coyotes just never enter such places. It’s forbidden. It isn’t done. It violates all our, uh, treaties and traditions, and I’m sure you’ll agree . . .”

  They took a step toward us. Their respective mouths were covered with wild toothy grins.

  I took a step backward. “Snort, I’m warning you. Unless you leave this yard immediately, and I mean at once, we’ll be forced to take drastic action. We’ll . . . we’ll bark. We’ll wake up the house. We’ll call in the entire amassed forces of the Security Division. Would you believe that the Rottweiler Guard is waiting in their barracks?”

  Snort widened his grin. “Uh-uh.”

  “Okay, would you believe that we have a secret weapon that’s even deadlier than the Ha-Ha Game?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Okay, in that case . . .” I turned to face Drover, only that turned out to be an impossible task. See, he was cowering behind my back, and when I turned to face him, he turned too, staying behind me. “Will you stand still?”

  “Help!”

  “How can I give you the plan if I can’t see you?”

  “Help!”

  “Drover, this situation has gotten out of hand. We’ve lost the yard and we have no choice but to run for our lives. Prepare to initiate the Sell the Farm Program. Can you hear me?”

  “Help!”

  “On the count of three, we’ll cut loose with a withering barrage of backing and start barking out of here. And remember, even though we’re retreating, we don’t want them to know it.”

  “Help!”

  “One! Two!”

  ZOOM! He was gone like a little white rocket streaking around the south side of the house. I gave the cannibals one last burst of barkfire, then followed my cowardly assistant in . . . well, blind retreat, might as well go ahead and admit it. We had lost all discipline, all pretense that we were the elite forces of the . . .

  Hey, this was unbelievable! Coyotes had never come up into the yard. Okay, maybe once or twice before, but it was the kind of thing that rarely ever happened and we had no contagency plans for it. What could we do but run for our lives and hope that someone inside the house would come to our rescue?

  And so it was that we began, well, lapping the house. On the second lap, I saw Pete’s head poking out of the iris patch. “Hey, Pete, great to see you again! Listen, pal, could you come out here for a second? I’ve been thinking about all the mean things I’ve done to you, and hey, I think it’s time for us to, you know, patch things up. What do you think?”

  He stared at me as I raced past, then turned his eyes to the coyotes. I saw the blur of his tail and he was gone, the little sneak. Can you believe he’d turn his back on a couple of friends and just leave us to be . . . He would pay for this.

  And for his phony information about the Potted Chicken. What a pack of lies. I’d never believed one word of it.

  On the third lap around the house, I knew that we were in serious trouble. We still had a slim lead on the brotherhood, but they were gaining ground on every lap. Sell the Farm hadn’t worked, and we had no choice but to initiate Desperate Measures—go to Sirens and Lights, Flares and Whistles, the whole nine yards of countermeasures that might save our lives.

  Yes, I knew we would awaken the house. Yes, I knew that when awakened from peaceful sleep, our human friends tended to be . . . how can I say this? They tended to be angry and irrational. But once they understood the seriousness of our situation, they would . . . probably be angry and irrational, but maybe they would turn their anger and irration against the cannibals, instead of their loyal dogs.

  And so it was that on Lap #4 I went to Full Countermeasures. I barked. I howled. I moaned. I barked some more. What did Drover do? I’m not sure, for you see, somewhere between Laps #1 and #2, he had vanished without a trace, the little . . . How did he do that? I didn’t know. If I had known, I would have tried it myself.

  I mean, in the middle of a chase, how did the runt just disappear? And if those coyote brothers were such hot-shot trackers, why hadn’t they followed Drover’s scent instead of mine? Oh well.

  I went to Full Countermeasures, and we’re talking about loud barking that was full of distress and concern. As I approached Loper and Sally May’s bedroom window on Lap #5, I heard a welcome sound.

  Someone was opening the window! Oh, relief! Oh, salvation! I knew I was safe now. Loper would come flying out the window, grab a . . . whatever he might find to grab, a stick, a rock, a fence post, and he would start swinging, and coyotes would go flying in all directions.

  I would be saved. I would leap into Loper’s awaiting arms. He would hug me and I would lick his face. Just like old times. A great way to wind up the . . .

  “Hank, if you don’t shut up that dadgum barking, I’m going to come out there and kick your tail up between your shoulderblades! Now hush up and get out of the yard!”

  Kick my tail . . . hey, I was the guy who was trying to save his house and yard from an invasion of cannibals! If he was keen on kicking some tails up between some shoulderblades, how about if he started with Rip and Snort? Or maybe he didn’t care if the coyotes ate his loyal dog, and then ate all the shrubberies and flowers in the yard, and then ate the house too, huh?

  You know, in some ways this is a lousy job. How’s a guy supposed to be Head of Ranch Security if the people he’s trying to protect don’t . . . never mind.

  The bottom line was tha
t I was in big trouble. The window slammed shut. The coyotes had gained a few steps on me and I was beginning to feel the strain and exhaustion of the chase. Didn’t coyotes ever get tired? Maybe not, but I was starting to wear down.

  Things were looking pretty grim, fellers. I was gasping for breath and I could hear the brothers behind me, laughing and chuckling and muttering threats about all the things they would do when they caught me.

  I had one last trick in my bag of tricks. Over my shoulder, I yelled, “Hey Snort . . . HA!” Would it work one last time? I held my breath and waited.

  Snort yelled back, “Ha your own self! Rip and Snort not fall for dummy Ha-Ha Game one more time in a row, ho ho!”

  Well, that did it. I was out of luck, out of time, and out of breath. My cook was goosed.

  Chapter Eleven: Trapped in Sally May’s House!

  But then something happened, something pretty amazing, something I hadn’t counted on. As I was rounding the southwest corner of the house on Lap #6, I heard the voice of an angel.

  “Hankie, over here! I’ve got the scween off the window. Huwwy and jump into my woom!”

  Who? What?

  Holy smokes, it was Little Alfred, calling to me from his bedroom window! He had managed to unhook the screen and set it on the ground, and now the window was open and waiting for me to dive in.

  I altered course and took dead aim for the . . . you know, it was awfully dark out there, and to tell you the truth, I was having a hard time seeing the open window. Okay, we would have to do this on instruments.

  I turned to the massive computer screen of my mind and began typing in the various codes and commands that would activate the program. Data Control clicked and whirred, then came the message: “Wednesday’s Special: cornbread and beans.”

  Cornbread and beans! What kind of . . .

  Okay, we had gotten a garbage message from Data Control, so this would have to be a seat-of-the-pants penetration of the window. I lined everything up, made one last check of the position of the North Star, and hit the Launch Button.