The of the Booby-Trapped Pickup

by John R. Erickson

  He opened the door and stepped outside. “Get out of my pickup, you meathead, and don’t ever set foot in it again!”

  Fine with me, buddy! The sooner I got out of that dog-killer pickup, the quicker I would keep my head where it was supposed to be.

  I slinked . . . slank . . . slunk . . . across the seat and dived out the door, one step ahead of the boot he aimed at my tail section.

  “Now get in the back and try to act your age, not your IQ.”

  See how he is? One little rip in his shirt and he was ready to plunge our relationship back into another Period of Darkness. Anger. Insults. Irrational behavior. I don’t know how you please these people.

  Okay, I admit that he’d suffered a few gouges on his hands, but don’t forget whose neck had almost been amputated.

  I leaped up into the back of the pickup, sat down near the front, and began sulking. Yes, I sulked and I was proud to be sulking. It was the right and proper thing to . . . wait a second, hold everything. Had you forgotten who was out there in the pasture?

  I’d forgotten. I mean, when the pickup had tried to cut off my head, I’d been forced to turn all my attention to the crisis at hand, and I’d completely forgotten about . . .

  I leaped up and rushed to the rear of the pickup. There, I watched a strange scene unfoil. Slim opened up one of the feed sacks and scooped out a double handful of cake (that’s pelleted feed, don’t forget). He tossed a couple of pieces of cake toward the coyote. She sniffed the air, sniffed the ground, and walked toward the spot where the cake had fallen.

  She followed her nose until she found the first piece, took it in her mouth, and began crunching it up. Slim nodded and smiled and tossed her several more pieces.

  Amazing! Do you realize how unusual this was? Coyotes are creatures of the wild and they never come around people. They don’t like people, are scared of ’em, and always run away. Yet here was Missy Coyote . . . eating cake!

  “Aaaaaaa-oooooo!”

  Slim shot me a frown. “Hank, hush. Let ’er eat.”

  Right. I’d let ’er eat . . . tomorrow. She had the rest of her life to eat cake, but right now, she was fixing to get reacquainted with Hank the . . .

  You won’t believe this. I couldn’t believe it. Guess who was already on his way out into the pasture to meet my coyote princess. I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t Slim.

  Chapter Eleven: Missy Coyote Falls Madly in Love with Me

  Drover. Little Mister Buttinski. I should have known. He always does this. He’s not smart enough or bold enough to find a girl of his own, so he’s always trying to horn in on my deals.

  Well, I was fixing to put a stop to that nonsense. I leaped out of the back of the pickup and went streaking out to greet the lady of my . . .

  Have we mentioned that cows will sometimes chase a dog? It’s true, and we need to talk about that. See, when a dog makes an appearance in a herd of cows, there’s always a dummy or two that will chase him around and make threatening gestures with her horns. But here’s the crazy part. See, cows chase dogs because they mistake the dog for a prowling coyote, because cows don’t like coyotes.

  Do you see where this is leading? Missy Coyote had come right up to the edge of the herd and the cows hadn’t paid her any mind, but when the Head of Ranch Security entered the scene, they thought I was a coyote, and came hunting ME! That gives you some idea of just how DUMB they are. Incredible. I couldn’t believe it.

  Well, I couldn’t believe it until that big Hereford cow scooped me up on her horns and flang me about twenty feet into the air. At that point, I had no choice but to believe it. Glaring down at her from high above the feed ground, I yelled, “Moron, I work here! I’m the guy who protects you from—”

  BAM!

  The, uh, ground rushed up to meet me, terrible wreck, and no ordinary dog could have . . . COUGH . . . walked away from it. But I’m no quitter. I not only walked away from it, I ran away from it because . . . well, because that same hateful witch came after me again, snorting steam and throwing hooks with her horns.

  For a second, I faced her and gave her a savage burst of barking. “Idiot! I’m not a coyote! I’m the Head of . . .”

  Anyway, I’ve already admitted that I, uh, retired from the battlefield, so to speak. Okay, I ran for my life, which was no disgrace. It was just a little embarrassing, since I was trying to impress a lady.

  Why hadn’t the cows chased Drover? He’d scampered right through the middle of them and they hadn’t even raised a moo. Did that make sense? No. It made no sense at all. I mean, first they’d had a chance to direct their nastiness toward Missy, a genuine wild coyote who was eating their food, and then they’d had a perfect shot at Buttinski.

  They’d passed up both chances, but when the Protector of Their Ranch had ventured forth . . . oh well. Cows are dumb, that’s all you can say.

  I turned on an amazing burst of speed and left the hateful cow eating my dust. How foolish of her to think she could chase down a top of the line, blue ribbon cowdog! And at that point, with all the distractions out of the way, I altered course and streaked over to the princess of my dreams.

  Wow! She was even more beautiful than I remembered: long fluffy tail, silky fur coat, sharp tapered nose, pointed ears. Wow! Unfortunately, she was being distracted by my former friend and assistant (I’d already decided to fire him), so she wasn’t able to appreciate the full effect of my manly swagger.

  Ten feet away, I could hear Drover making a fool of himself. “Gosh, I’ve never met a real princess before. I’ve heard about ’em in fairy tales and I’ve always wanted to meet one. I’m so thrilled and excited, I don’t know what to say.”

  Missy didn’t know what to say either. She seemed puzzled and slightly amused by his breathless presentation. “Little white dog have name?”

  “Oh yeah, sure, I almost forgot.” He grinned and rolled his eyes up at her. “I’m Drover.”

  “Drover work on big ranch with Hunk?”

  “Oh yeah. Well, he kind of works for me.” He fluttered his stub tail. “I’m a pretty important dog, and I was wondering . . . would you be my girlfriend?”

  I got there just in time to save her from this shameless fraud. I shoved my way past Drover. “Out of the way, you little thief, and how dare you try to steal my girl!”

  “Well, I just—”

  “Go to your room! Immediately.”

  “It’s back at the ranch.”

  “Then scram. Get lost. Go scratch a flea.” I inserted my enormous body between the runt and the lady, and gave her a sultry smile. “Ah, sweet Missy Coyote! How often hast thou visited me in slumberous sleep, filling the empty cave of my dreams with glorious sunlight and rainbowed visions!”

  Drover poked his head into the conversation. “That’s what I was fixing to say.”

  I pushed him away. “Missy, my ky-up coat cake . . . my coyote cupcake, I’ve hardly slept a wink since these eyes last feasted upon the prime rib of thy beauty.”

  Drover appeared again. “That’s not true, Missy. He slept all night last night, and I heard him talking in his sleep . . . about Beulah the Collie!”

  I whirled around and showed him a mouthful of fangs. “Will you shut your trap! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Well, when I saw her, I just fell in love. I can’t help myself.”

  “Drover, you’re not in love, you’re in-sane. Go away.” I pushed him into the background and turned to the lovely lady. “I don’t know who this guy is, Missy. I’ve never seen him before. He’s an impostor.”

  She seemed puzzled. “Not Hunk’s friend?”

  “He’s . . . okay, we used to be friends, but that’s all gone by the hayside. He’s fired, history. He’ll never work on this ranch again. The important thing right now is”—I wiggled my left eyebrow— “I’m here. And you’re here. And we’re both here. And, well, here we are.”


  She chirped a little laugh. “Hunk talk funny all the time, make Missy laugh.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, I’m trying to be very sincere, even romantic.”

  “What means . . . ‘rumantic’?”

  “I’m glad you asked, Missy. It means . . .

  Somehow Drover managed to worm his way between my legs and suddenly he popped up, between us. “It means I’m in love!”

  Okay, that did it. I was one second away from giving the little tuna the thrashing he so richly deserved, when suddenly the blare of the pickup horn sounded in the distance. Then Slim called out, “Come on, dogs, the train’s fixing to leave! Load up or walk.”

  Load up or walk? Ha. That was the easiest decision of the year. For his information, I had much better things to do than ride around with him in a booby-trapped pickup. I turned my adoring gaze back on . . .

  Huh?

  She was gone! The horn must have scared her away. And you know who else was gone? I whirled around and went charging off to the north. “Drover, come back here! If I ever get my paws on you . . .”

  I topped a little hill and saw them in the distance, walking toward the canyon country off to the north. Drover was beside her, the little . . . he would pay for this! I turned on an amazing burst of speed and caught up with them. As I approached, I could hear Drover spouting poetry, if you can believe that.

  “Oh gosh, Missy Coyote, your face is delicious,

  I wish I could make it a sandwich

  With mayonnaise and pickles and mustard and bread.

  I think that the taste would be grandwich.”

  I knifed in between them and gave Drover Full Fangs. “That poem was pathetic, Drover. It was the worst garbage I ever heard.”

  “Well, it rhymed. I thought it was pretty good.”

  “Comparing the face of a lovely princess to a sandwich? That’s sick, Drover. I’m shocked and dismayed. Furthermore, your rhyme was awful—sandwich and grandwich.”

  “Well, I couldn’t think of anything else that would rhyme with ‘sandwich.’”

  “Never mind. I’ll deal with you later.” I turned back to Missy. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we’ve had this trouble before. Just ignore him. He’s a lunatic.”

  “What means, ‘lunatic’?”

  ‘It means he’s unbalanced. Unhinged. Immature. Much too childish to be . . . where are we going?”

  “Missy must go back to coyote billage.”

  “Ah, great. So I’ll walk you home. That sounds romantic, doesn’t it?”

  “Not so rumantic if Scraunch come along and find Hunk.”

  “Who? Oh, him. Your big ugly brother? Ha ha. Don’t give it a thought, my prairie wildflower. The way I’m feeling right now, old Scraunch wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Scraunch pretty bad fellow.”

  “He smells bad, Missy, but I can always hold my nose. Ha ha.” She didn’t appreciate the humor. “Okay, we’ll keep an eye out for Scraunch. Drover, I’m assigning you to guard duty.”

  “Me? Yeah, but—”

  “That’s a direct order. Make yourself scarce and keep an eye out for a big ugly coyote.”

  He hung his head. “Oh darn. I wanted to—”

  “Hush. We don’t want to hear about your problems.” I turned back to Missy. “So you like poetry, huh? Well, you’ll be thrilled to know that my poems are ten times better than Drover’s wilted rhymes. Here, give a listen to this one.

  “Oh Missy, my princess, your face is just awesome.

  It’s not like a sandwich, I say.

  See, Drover writes worse than a dim-witted possum.

  His poems are sure to dismay.

  “I, on the other hand, write from the heart,

  My verses are pure and sincere.

  I say that your face is more lovely than art,

  And Drover’s a pain in the rear.”

  I shot a glance to see if she had been swept away on a tidal wave of emotion. Apparently not. She gave me a puzzled look. “Missy not understand about sandwich and possum. Sound berry strange.”

  “I see. Well, I’m sorry you missed the deep emotional message in my poem, so let’s move along to something else. Would you be thrilled to know that I write songs? And would you be completely blown away if I sang a love song, just for you? Of course you would. Here, listen to this.”

  And with that, I belted out a terrific love song.

  Chapter Twelve: This Ending Will Knock Your Socks Off

  Walking with My Honey

  Walking along, just my honey and me, on a warm sunny winter’s day.

  Walking her home, just the two of us, having fun along the way.

  I give her a wink, she gives me a smile,

  I want to stretch it out another country mile.

  Walking with my honey back to Coyote Town, everything’s going to be okay.

  Walking along, Missy Coyote and me, I’ve got a feeling that is hard to believe.

  I feel ten feet tall and eight feet deep, and, man, it’s getting harder to breathe!

  She’s walking her dog, I’m walking my sweet,

  We can hear the little birdies singing “tweet, tweet, tweet.”

  Walking with my honey back to Coyote Town and wishing she’d never leave.

  Walking along just as slow as we can, did I notice that she gave me a grin?

  I think she did and it’s plain to see that Hank’s about to win.

  How ’bout a little kiss? It’ll never show.

  Your cannibal brother doesn’t need to know.

  Walking with my honey back to Coyote Town, and hoping it’ll never end.

  Pretty incredible love song, huh? You bet. It was certainly one of the best I’d ever composed and performed for a lovely lady. But the question remained—would it sweep Missy Coyote completely off her feet and cause her to smother me with love and kisses?

  I heaved a sigh and looked deeply into her . . . you know, there’s something a little unsettling about a woman with yellow eyes. Let’s be frank. I had looked into the yellow eyes of her brothers, cousins, and cannibal friends, and hadn’t exactly been warmed by the experience. Her yellow eyes brought back a rush of memories that weren’t so sweet, memories that caused the hair along my spine to stand up, and little termites of fear to crawl on the back of my neck.

  On the other hand, I wasn’t the kind of dog who allowed himself to be a slave to first impressions. So she had yellow eyes that were . . . well, a little creepy? I was mature enough to look deeper, and to see the goodness and beauty that dwelled below the surface.

  Anyway, I looked deeply into her unblinking yellow gaze. “Well, Missy, what do you say about that? Great song, huh?”

  She gave me a shy smile. “So Hunk want kiss from Missy?”

  For a second, I couldn’t breathe. “Well, I suppose . . . yes! Absolutely.”

  She glanced over her shoulders. “What about Scraunch?”

  “He’s your brother, Missy, but that doesn’t mean I want to kiss him.”

  “No, no. What if Scraunch come along and see us?”

  At that very moment, guess who showed up, squeaking and hopping around. Drover. “Hank, we need to talk!”

  “Some other time. I’m busy.”

  “C-c-coyotes!”

  “Of course she’s a coyote.”

  Suddenly Missy whirled around and whispered, “Hunk must leave! Scraunch coming!”

  HUH?

  I turned and saw . . . YIPES!! Fifteen big scruffy cannibals came boiling over the top of a little hill. They saw us and let out a chorus of blood-chilling howls. In the lead was Missy’s . . . gulp . . . have we ever described Scraunch? Big guy, real big. Huge. Jaws like a bear trap, teeth like a shark, eyes that glowed in the dark.

  Gulp.

  I turned back to Missy. “Would
you think it cowardly of me if I, uh, left you here? I mean, we have cattle to feed and patrols to do.”

  “Hunk leave now! Run!”

  “Well, if you’re sure . . .”

  She leaned forward and planted a delicious kiss on my mouth. “Hunk go back to ranch now! Run, run, run!”

  For a moment, I was lost in a fog of perfume, but then . . . uh oh, the mob was coming closer. They were yelling, hooting, and howling about all the terrible things they were going to inflict on my . . .

  “Drover, I don’t want to alarm you, but we need to be leaving.”

  “Help! This leg’s killing me!

  “On the count of three, we will launch all dogs and set a speed course back to the pickup. Ready? One!”

  ZOOM!

  He was gone, a little white rocket moving across the prairie at the speed of light. And there was nothing wrong with his leg.

  I tossed one last wistful gaze at my coyote princess, faced into the wind, and went to Full Throttle on all engines. I left my True Love in a cloud of dust, and left the coyote army choking on the fumes of my rocket engines.

  Slim was driving away when we got there and maybe he thought he was going to leave us afoot. Ha! There was no chance of that, not with Scraunch and all his buddies on our trail. No sir. I barked and dived in front of the pickup and even threatened to rip off the tires if he didn’t pull that thing over. I guess that scared him pretty badly, and finally he stopped and got out.

  Of course he had to make a few smart remarks. “I ain’t running a taxi service. You want a ride or not?”

  Oh yes, no question about that . . . and could we hurry?

  “Well, you ain’t riding up front with me. Get in the back.”

  Fine. No problem there. Who wanted to ride in that head-chopping pickup anyway? Not me.

  He let down the tailgate and we dogs went flying into the back, ran straight to the front and went into our Bunker Positions. I didn’t figure the coyotes would jump into the back of a pickup, but a dog should never take chances. When in doubt, head for the bunkers.