The Adventures of Robin Hound

by K. Kibbee

  Sam, who’d been tracking the beetle’s progress for far longer than either dog realized, sniffed, “It’s just a bug,” which only seemed to incense Robin Hound.

  “B-bu— Bug-g-g,” bubbled up like hot popping corn from the hound dog’s mouth as the beetle drew dangerously close to him. He shuttered his eyelids and then squeezed them tightly closed, just in time to miss the insect mounting his left jowl. After sensing it there, Robin’s eyes sprang back open and crisscrossed to examine the beetle that was now perched at the tip of his wide nose, clapping its pinchers in a menacing display.

  Theodore’s mandate to “Keep quiet” was eclipsed entirely by a yowl that shook the entire forest as Robin Hound regressed into a series of infantile screeches and then broke into a full sprint. He was quite a sight—the galumphing hound dog—all knees, elbows, and flapping wrinkles. With every clumsy stride, he bayed like he’d been stuck with a hot poker . . . except for on the handful of occasions when he faltered on a rock or a prickly bush, and wailed a little louder. But, to his credit, Robin kept his smart little cap on throughout the entire ordeal.

  Meanwhile, Theodore and Sam took to the valley in pursuit of the spooked bunny, and found themselves racing about the forest like twin versions of Elmer Fudd—one with arms outstretched like he meant to catch the wind and the other with a nose twitching so fast that he nearly did.

  “You see him?” Sam shouted out after they’d made a few fruitless sweeps of the underbrush.

  Theodore grumbled along with his stomach, and confessed, “Nuthin’!” but continued on sniffing for several minutes before his shoulders hunched in defeat.

  “Well,” Sam huffed, drawing to a stop. “Don’t think I’d-a had the heart to eat him anyway—starving or not.”

  The Corgi paused, tilted his head thoughtfully, and speculated, “Yeah, me, neither,” just as a wail came from over the ridge.

  “Got’s him—I gots him!” was laced with palpable excitement from Robin Hound as it floated down the hillside and snared Sam and Theodore. The two immediately leapt into action and followed the hound’s bays back up the incline and into a small cove, where Robin had cornered the rabbit. The poor creature was panting from fear and exhaustion, and had clutched itself into a tight little ball at the base of a cedar tree, which the hound dog was circling.

  “Wow, you actually found it,” Theodore gushed upon approach. He glanced sideways at Sam, and added, “Good thing it wasn’t a beetle,” which gave them both a little chuckle that the hound pretended not to hear.

  “Well then,” Robin Hound baited, “I gots him for ya’. You get to it then.”

  “Get to what?”

  Robin sniffed, mid-pace. “Eat’n him up.”

  Theodore froze and blinked, taken aback. “Sam. He’s saying for us to eat it.”

  “What?” Sam near-burped, glancing nervously at the frightened little rabbit. “Doesn’t he know how to—. I mean, shouldn’t he—?”

  Theodore set eyes on the hound dog, who’d kept his head low enough to count the blades of grass he was still pacing over. “Yeah, Robin—you’re the hunter . . . the right hand . . . err, paw . . . of Robin Hood . . . shouldn’t you . . . ah . . . do the honors?”

  The hound stopped pacing. He raised his head, and a droopy eyebrow. “Well, umm—,” he faltered, his eyes darting from face to face. “I, um, I . . . I’m not so hungry. Was you . . . you who said you was hungry.”

  Theodore’s eyes narrowed to slivers as he examined the gargantuan dog who seemed to be shrinking before his very spectacles. “Not hungry, eh?” he repeated, making eyes at Robin’s Hood’s concave belly. “You swallow that beetle or something?”

  “Nope,” the hound blubbered. “Just not hungry.”

  “Hey! Look! He’s getting away!” Sam interrupted the dogs’ exchange as he called out from the foreground—his shrill declaration trailing off along with the bunny as it broke for the brush. A couple of jukes and a jive later—and breakfast was gone.

  Robin Hound hadn’t shifted an inch to prevent the escape, and Theodore quietly told Sam that the hound’s forced apology had had “all the sincerity of a cat renouncing tuna fish” as their heavy footsteps carried them out of the grove.

  Silence and grumbling bellies followed the trio as they ventured deeper into the heart of Sherwood Forest, and it wasn’t until about an hour into their journey that Theodore finally spoke again.

  “Feels like we’re going in circles. Feels like we’re getting nowhere.”

  Robin Hound bristled. “Well, that’s a bunch a hooey! Only soul what knows these woods better n’ me is good ole’ Robin Hood, and he’d be trackin’ this very same path!”

  Theodore, who was fighting a significant build-up of underbrush that had gathered along his low-slung belly, wiggled as he walked, trying to shake it off, while Sam echoed, “Yeah. I know I’ve seen those three cedar trees before.”

  There was another dismissive sputter from Robin Hound, who’d kept his nose pointed towards the thick path ahead, presumably to avoid noticing the familiar family of cedars as he passed them. He’d made it only a few steps beyond the towering trio when he stopped dead in his tracks and gulped so low and loud that it rattled their boughs. His long, velvety ears perked just then, and his eyes began darting back and forth across the skyline. “You hear that?” he asked in a near-whisper.

  “Hear what?”

  “Dat buzzin’.”

  Theodore cocked his head, but heard nothing, so he tilted back and raised his opposite leg off of the ground for leverage, so that his satellite dish of an ear was pointed directly at the heavens. “Nope. Nothin’.”

  Stopped just behind his Corgi companion, Sam puzzled at the two dogs-turned-statues and wondered aloud, “What are we listening for?”

  “Dunno,” Theodore confessed.

  Robin Hound’s ears ticked up another notch. He remained very still, but his eyes darted every which-way. “Thought I . . . Thought I heard me a swarm,” the dog confessed, easing slightly as he said it.

  “A swarm?” Theodore repeated, setting his free foot back on the ground.

  Sam perked up in the background. “A swarm? Swarm of what?”

  “Ner’mind,” was Robin Hound’s only reply as he resumed his amble, eyes forward. A moment or two later, his faint yet unmistakable whisper of “Blasted beetles” trickled back to Theodore’s ears, and the little dog chuckled lightly. The levity carried Theo for another few miles, but when the same three trees returned like a mocking version of déjà vu, his disposition immediately soured.

  “Okay, Robin, now I’m SURE I’ve seen these trees before!” Theodore announced, glancing at the heavy boughs that seemed to have worked themselves into mocking smiles. “Sam’s right—we’re going in circles.”

  Without any bunnies or beetles to take center stage, Robin floundered in the spotlight. “Naw, naw—trees is trees,” he blubbered.

  Theodore planted his feet firmly in the ground. “NO. These are the SAME trees, and this is the SAME path that we just walked. Are you sure you know where this camp is?”

  Now it was Robin who stuck stubbornly in the ground, Robin who sounded certain. “Course I do! Me n’ Robin Hood—we’s best pals! He’s . . .” the hound trailed off, his eyes growing distant and dreamy. “Well, he’s just—he’s the best. And he done taught me everything he knows! He knows these woods, and so I knows these woods. And we certainly knows where ‘dat camp is.”

  “I take it from all his caterwauling that he still says he knows how to find the camp?” Sam speculated.

  Theodore nodded at his master and then gave the three cedars a root to tip scan. “Nope,” he said as his spectacles scooted back to the base of his muzzle, “I just know it. I just know these are the same trees.”

  Robin Hound let out a snort. “And what does some dull lil’ dog with silly glasses know, anyhow? I’m Robin Hound. I know these woods! You don’t even belong here!”

  Suddenly, Theodo
re found himself cowering, shrinking into a small ball. He felt flooded with a familiar, sickly sensation that reminded him of his puppyhood, when he’d felt useless, clumsy, and unwanted. He whimpered, “I guess you’re right. I don’t know,” as quietly as a church mouse, and tucked down his nub of a tail, and let himself sink into a shallow little puddle. Sam studied the exchange through anguished eyes, and then approached the beleaguered Corgi.

  “Theo—with those spectacles . . . well . . . I bet you can see from here to Narnia. And if you say these are the same trees . . . well then . . . I’d swear they are . . . even if I was a blind man.”

  Theodore’s puddly parts began to firm up. Sam regarded the little dog as if he’d just saved a baby from a burning car, and they firmed up a bit more. Soon, Theo had risen to his feet and was puffing out his chest. “Sam’s right,” he realized aloud. “I can see really good now, and I’m sure about this. We’re going in circles.”

  Robin Hound guffawed, clearly taken aback. His chest bowed in the same number of inches that Theodore’s had just swollen. “W-w-well, waddaya you suggest then?” he spat, squinting through his heavy wrinkles and adding a snarky little “Smarty dog?” before Theodore had a chance to reply.

  Theodore didn’t reply at first. He took his time, scanning the trees, the forest, his companions—all in a very deliberate and pensive silence. Then his honey-colored eyes began to sparkle as he was flooded with an entirely mad, yet ingenious plan. He looked back at Robin Hound and explained, “We’re gonna get ourselves robbed.”

  Part Four

  Pop. Pop. Pop. Three jaws dropped

  “Sam—do you remember that book you read me a while back—the one about the boy scout?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Oh, good,” Theodore chirped, excitedly pacing the forest floor. “Well, do you remember the part where the boy scout got lost, and so he climbed up to that high ridge, where he could see the main road?”

  Another nod.

  “Well, that’s what we need to do. We need to find ourselves a high spot—a hill, or a big tree or something to climb—something that can help us see out over the forest . . . help us see the road.”

  Sam’s bottom lip jutted out and his brow scrunched into a thoughtful mess of wrinkle lines. He silently nodded again and then immediately began a scan of the surrounding forest. Meanwhile, Robin Hound’s own wrinkles deepened as his voice grew shallow. “Road? Why you wanna find the road? Told you—this here path’s safer.”

  “Safer-schmafer,” Theodore returned, eyeing the suddenly rubber-legged hound. “We wanna find Robin Hood and, the way I see it, he sticks to the road—where there’s people to rob. Ipso-facto, if we wanna find him again, we need to get ourselves out to the road where we found him the first time . . . where him and his cronies are always hangin’ out—looking for rich people to steal from.”

  Robin Hound’s great mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. He then proceeded to chew on his lip blubber while glancing nervously about the forest. Theodore waddled over to him, set a small paw on top of his large one, and suggested, “And hey—I bet there’s lots less critters and bugs out there . . . on the main road.”

  The hound yanked his paw back. “I know’s that!” he snapped, adding, “S’not the bugs I’m worried about,” in an ominous tone.

  “Well, what are you worried about then?” Theodore primly returned.

  “Same thing all us rebel types is—that no-good Nottingham. Him and his goons.”

  Theodore’s eyes broadened along with his mind. “Ah, I see,” he said, rolling the e’s around on his tongue as though trying to hold on to them just a little longer. He briefly panned the immediate area, seemingly in search of some insight that might be hiding in the bushes, and then added, “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for him, then!”

  Robin Hound grumbled.

  “I know you don’t think much of ‘em, but these spectacles really are . . . well . . . pretty spectacular! I can see great in ‘em and I promise—I’ll keep a look-out for nasty ole’ Nottingham and give you the high sign before he gets anywhere near us.”

  Robin’s eyes reduced themselves to lines on a crumpled canvas, but when Theodore pledged, “I promise,” and gave a confident bob of his head, they unfurled, if only slightly. Unfortunately, when Sam’s calls trickled in from the foreground, they shrunk yet again.

  “Hey! Here! I think I see it! I think I see the road!” Sam bellowed from a knoll not fifty yards away. He was bouncing and hooting as the two dogs made their way over, and he looked on with bright eyes as they climbed up to join him. “Here, Theo, I’ll help you,” he offered in greeting, scooping the Corgi up into his arms.

  Theodore panned the treetops and then pointed his muzzle in the same direction as Sam’s extended fingertip. The road was clear as day. “That’s it!” he rejoiced. “You found it!”

  Robin groaned, “Yay,” with all the enthusiasm of a teenager offered etiquette lessons and forced a glance in the road’s direction. “Now what?”

  For the slightest moment, Theodore hesitated. Sam, who still cradled the bespectacled dog in his arms, gave the Corgi a little squeeze, which seemed to pop the words right out of him. “We hit that road like it’s bricked in gold!”

  With a clear path in sight, the threesome made quick work of returning to the main road, although Robin did enough complaining during the short jaunt to make it seem unending. Phrases like “Hope you’s all like dungeons” and “They’s gonna make us into footstools” were muttered just loudly enough to be heard, yet quietly enough to warrant no reply. By the time the road was in sight, Theodore secretly wished that Robin was a lovely, quiet footstool. Maybe he’d piddle on one of the legs if he were?

  “Look! Look! I can already see someone!” Sam exclaimed from the head of their caravan. The salty-haired shopkeeper was motioning frantically towards the road, where two men approached—each atop a chestnut horse with steam rising from its flanks. Both animals were galloping, and the men bouncing in stride. Sam waved at the pair, but by the time he’d managed to clear the brushy undergrowth that ran alongside the road and make himself visible, the men had already passed. It wasn’t until some time later that they again heard the clatter of hooves, which was a welcome respite from Robin Hound’s incessant mix of complaints and grandstanding.

  The hound was mid-way through a seemingly embellished tale of one of his triumphant battles alongside Robin Hood when a familiar clip-clop-clip-clop came ringing down the too-long-deserted road.

  “You hear that?” Sam asked, shuttering his eyelids. Robin’s long-winded stories, which fell deaf on the shopkeeper’s ears, had sent him into what he’d quietly told Theodore was a “yowl-induced stupor,” and he’d jerked just before he spoke, as though awakened by an alarm clock.

  Theodore, also unwittingly bored into a semi-catatonic state, suddenly perked up and pointed his keen ears towards the horizon. “Horses!” he excitedly answered back.

  The tips of the horses’ ears appeared first—tiny triangles, flicking this way and that—and then the mop-tops of one, two, three riders all in a row. These horsemen were travelling at a much more leisurely pace than their predecessors, possibly owing to the elaborate headpiece that the middle man wore—which rocked in time with the steps of his steed. This fellow had hair the color of hayseeds, and it curled in tight, little ringlets around his bright eyes. His skin was fair and flawless. He looked sixteen at best. On either side of him rode men with wrinkles and scars, who seemed to carry the weight of many years. Their mounts were accordingly more modest than the one ridden by the chap in the middle—whose horse was dazzlingly white and looked as clean as Sam’s ivory Chevy pickup after wash-day. Contrarily, the two muddy bays that flanked either side of him more closely resembled the Chevy after a long day spent driving on wet, windy country road.

  “Ooooh,” Theodore sounded out, shifting his focus back to the shiny steed and his opulent rider. “That fella there in the middle—he looks just
like the kinda guy Robin Hood would rob!”

  Sam bobbed his head in agreement. “It’s no pocket protector, but that crown looks pretty impressive.”

  Robin Hound voiced no opinion, but snorted rather loudly and then rolled his eyes at Theodore’s hind end as the Corgi toddled into the road. Theo had just cracked open his muzzle to speak when he thought better of it and glanced backward, at his approaching master. “Ho there,” Sam awkwardly greeted the men, waving at them. “We . . . err . . . uhh . . . we come in peace.”

  “They aren’t aliens, Sam,” Theodore simpered just above a whisper, trying his very best not to grin.

  Sam smoothed his rumpled shirt and shook a half-dozen stray twigs and leaves from his mop of hair. He held out his hand just as the men ventured almost near enough to reach it.

  “Greetings,” the crowned man answered back with a lazy wave of his eyelids. The other two riders said nothing, but sandwiched their horses closer to the fancy fellow as he spoke. All three animals then came to a stop just inches from Sam’s quaking loafers, and the crowned man’s eyes narrowed. “Be you a peasant?”

  Sam didn’t answer at first, but instead examined the man atop the white horse like he was a particularly difficultJeopardy question. “Huh?”

  “A peasant,” the man echoed, his youthful features contorting as he spat. “ARE—YOU—A—PEASANT?”

  Sam glanced nervously between the mens’ hardening faces, then down at himself. He gave his shirt another flat-palmed smoothing out. “Umm, I don’t think so,” he replied.

  The man in the middle screwed his lips into an uncomfortable-looking knot. His once pale cheeks, now flushed red with anger, bunched up to hide the bright eyes that had shone above them only moments before. “You aren’t lying, are you?” he seethed, affording Sam no opportunity to respond before adding, “because you must certainly know that for a peasant to address royalty would be punishable by death.”