The Mopwater Files

by John R. Erickson

  Or responsibilities.

  We ain’t too swift on thinking,

  We ain’t too sharp in math.

  We’re experts, though, at stinking

  ’Cause we never take a bath.

  We’re proud to be ignoramuses,

  Ramuses, ramuses.

  We just love being ignoramuses,

  It’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

  Me and Rip never went to school

  Or learned arithmetic.

  But we’ve got our own method for counting

  And it works out pretty slick.

  We point with our toes and call out the count,

  “One, four, seven.”

  And if someone says, “You guys can’t count,”

  We beat him up. It works. Ho, ho.

  We’re proud to be ignoramuses,

  Ramuses, ramuses.

  We just love being ignoramuses,

  It’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

  We’re ignor-rent of language

  And proud of it to boot.

  We’re fluent in burping and belching

  And we don’t give a hoot.

  And as for the writing of portry and songs

  With rhyming and rhythm and stuff.

  We do if we want and don’t if we don’t,

  And if you don’t like it we’ll break your face.

  We’re proud to be ignoramuses,

  Ramuses, ramuses.

  We just love being ignoramuses,

  It’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

  We’re proud to be ignoramuses,

  It expresses our deepest thoughts.

  We figger we’re both getting famouses

  For the science of mental rot.

  And one of these days we’ll win an award.

  You weenies’ll be so surprised.

  Not the Nobel or Pulitzer,

  But the Ignoramus Prize, ha ha.

  We’re proud to be ignoramuses,

  Ramuses, ramuses.

  We just love being ignoramuses,

  It’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

  When they had finished singing the . . . uh . . . song . . . whatever it was . . . when they had finished their latest piece of coyote trash, they yipped and whooped, howled and hollered and hopped, leaped and jumped and congratulated each other for being such wonderful singers and composers.

  Then they turned toothy grins on Madame. “What little owl thinking now of Rip and Snort?”

  She rolled her eyes and gave her head a shake. “That was the worst song I ever heard, or ever dreamed of hearing.”

  Their grins wilted. “Song not worst. Song gooder and goodest. Song expresserating deepest thoughts of ignoramous coyote brothers.”

  “It was so bad, you may very well have set all music back fifty years.”

  “Little owl better not talking trash about coyote music, ’cause Rip and Snort berry greater singest in whole world. Also hungry for owl supper, oh boy.”

  “If you’re such good singers and if your song was so wonderful, why did those weeds over there begin to wilt in the middle of your song?”

  All eyes swung to the north, to a small patch of careless weeds. By George, they had all withered and died.

  “Ha! Must be pretty strong music, killing weeds.”

  “Yes indeed. Poisonous is the word.”

  “Ruffian brothers not give a hoot for weeds, ready insteader for supper of fresh owl.”

  Their yellow eyes began to sparkle and their tongues swept across their respective mouths. I was watching all of this from my hiding place in the brush, and I kept waiting for Madame to . . . well, DO SOMETHING. Why was she just sitting there? I mean, she had magical powers. Why wasn’t she using them?

  Those were all interesting questions, but it suddenly occurred to me that Rip and Snort were fixing to make a meal out of her, and never mind the interesting questions. Unless someone took charge of the situation and . . .

  Gee, I sure hated to lose a friend like Madame Moonshine, but I wasn’t the kind of dog who made a habit of butting into the affairs of . . . well, hungry cannibals.

  I mean, it wasn’t my fight. I had problems of my own, and as a matter of fact, I had BIG problems of my own and . . .

  But on the other hand, the brothers were creeping toward her with a kind of evil lightning crackling in their eyes. I could see that Madame was afraid, but I kind of admired the way she held her head up and faced her destiny.

  She had spunk and courage, that little owl, and it was just a shame . . .

  I pushed myself up on all fours and walked into the middle of the gathering.

  Chapter Eleven: I Manage to Save Madame Moonshine

  See, I’d come up with an idea. Whether or not it was a good idea remained to be seen. It was the kind of idea a guy comes up with on the spurt of the moment and on short notice.

  It was based on something Rip and Snort had revealed about themselves in their song: They were ignoramuses.

  With a cover of boldness that covered the terror in my deepest innards, I went striding into the clearing, took a stand in front of the brothers, and stopped them with a raised paw.

  “Halt!” They halted and stared at me with big puzzled eyeballs. “Rip, Snort, we don’t have much time, so listen carefully. That song you just sang released a cloud of deadly poisonous gas over this whole area. We’ve got to get you out of here before . . .”

  I pointed toward the wilted weeds. “Uh-oh, it’s already begun to work. You see? The fauna and floride have begun to die. The weeds will be the first to go, followed minutes later by trees and bushes, followed minutes later by animals, birds, and fish.”

  The brothers exchanged long glances.

  “Guys, I’ve got to put the entire ranch under Emergency Poison Alert and I’m glad I found you before it was too late. I’m clearing out this whole section of the ranch, immediately, at once.”

  Snort scowled at me. “Coyote brothers not wanting cleared out to be.”

  “I know, Snort, but this poison is like nothing we’ve ever encountered before.”

  The brothers went into a whisper conference. I counted my heartbeats, hoping . . .

  “Rip and Snort just fixing to eat little owl, not wanting to leave good nourishment meal.”

  “Holy smokes, Snort, that would be the worst thing you could do. That owl has soaked up all the deadly toxins. Eating her would be like eating a whole trainload of poison, train and all. Sudden death, that’s what she is.”

  They whispered some more. Then Snort gave their reply. “Coyote brothers not believe stupid dummy ranch dog. Brothers not scared of poisum ’cause brothers make poisum with cannibal song, ho ho.”

  “And you think that makes you immune?”

  He stared at me with his brutish yellow eyes. “Coyote not a mune. Coyote a cammible, and proudest of it to be.”

  I had to think fast. “Snort, we don’t have time to argue. If you want to discuss this further, you can do it with the Wolf Creek Volunteer Poison Squad. They’ll be here any minute, with men and trucks and gas masks.”

  That opened their eyes. “Uh. People coming?”

  “Oh yes, hundreds of them. In fact . . .” I cocked my ear. “Yes, I think I hear their trucks this very minute.”

  They held another conference. “Rip and Snort not believing dummy ranch dog, not hearing trucks coming and not scared of poisum.”

  It was looking bad. But just then the wind rustled in the cottonwood tree above us and—you won’t believe this—five or six dead leaves floated down between us. No doubt they had been scorched by the terrible heat, but the ignoramuses didn’t know that.

  I pointed to the leaves. “Uh-oh. You see? That tree just died from the poison, Snort, and with its last dying gasp
, it has sent you a secret message.”

  The brothers scowled. “What secret message?”

  “Don’t you get it? Come on, Snort, wake up! I came to warn you and now the tree is warning you. It’s telling you what to do. It’s right here in front of your nose.” I pointed my paw at one of the leaves on the ground. “What is that?”

  “Leave.” At first it didn’t soak in, but then Snort’s eyes popped open. “Leave?”

  “Right, exactly. Noah, Lot, disaster, leave!”

  They mumbled and muttered. Then, “Uh. Coy­ote know a lot, smell disaster and leave like tree.”

  They began backing away. Then they turned and vanished into the brush. Just before they left, I heard Snort mutter, “That pretty strong music for sure.”

  Silence. They were gone. I almost fainted with relief. Then I heard Madame’s voice behind me.

  “My goodness, unless my eyes deceive me, it’s Hank the Rabbit.”

  “We’ve been through this before, Madame, and I don’t have the energy to argue. Hank the Rabbit’s okay with me. I feel like a rabbit right now.”

  “And you’ve sent the ruffians packing. I’m so proud! My goodness, they were going to eat me.”

  “I noticed. I also noticed that you were going to let them. What’s the deal?”

  “Well, as you can see, they bound me with grapevine, pinning my wings to my sides. And how can I do a proper job of casting spells without my wings? It can’t be done. The wing is the sting. Disable the wing, dispose of the sting. Speaking of which . . . do you suppose you could unbind me. As it is, I’m bound to be tied.”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

  I began gnawing on the grapevine. Whilst I was doing this, Madame kept me entertained with her chatter, such as:

  “You’re tickling me. Stop that. No, don’t stop that. Continue. Oh, eee, ah! I suppose you know you are gnawing on my ribcage, and I suppose you gnaw, knowing full well what you’re doing. Now I know you gnaw, trah-lah, trah-lah, trah-lah.”

  That was typical Madame Moonshine talk. She didn’t always make sense but she seemed to enjoy herself. At last I cut her free. She smiled and flapped her wings.

  “There! Thank you, thank you, and thank you. But how can I ever thank you enough? Thanks is such a paltry gift, but if I offered you a chicken instead, it would be a poultry gift. Hence, by following the logic of the moon and stars, we receive the knowledge that mere thanks is more thankful than a chicken.”

  “I guess so. Whatever.”

  She swiveled her head around and studied me with her big owlish eyes. “Do you suppose we can use that information, Hank the Rabbit?”

  “Uh, Cowdog, actually. Hank the Cowdog.”

  “Oh rubbish. Cowdogness seems so boring and ordinary, but rabbitness has a way of keeping things hopping. And did I mention that you’re spending the summer with me in my cave?”

  “Huh? Spending the . . . no, we haven’t discussed that . . . uh . . . yet . . . Madame.”

  “Oh piffle. I meant to tell you, but I was about to be eaten by cannibals and it slipped my mind. And besides, you just got here. Come, let’s retire to my cave and we can discuss our summer plans.”

  She went hopping toward the bluffs on the other side of the creek. I followed . . . although I was beginning to feel a little uneasy about the summer business. When we came to the tree that was decorated by her bodyguard, Timothy the Turbo Windbag, she stopped.

  “Timothy, you have been a naughty snake. How shameful and scandalous, allowing two ignoramus coyotes to tie you to a tree! I may be forced to review your employment record. It simply looks bad for a tree to be wearing my bodyguard. Come, Hank the Rabbit.”

  I followed her across the creek and to the bluffs. There, she disappeared into a hole and I followed. I crawled through the darkness for ten feet or so, until it opened up into a kind of underground room.

  She stood beside a flat-topped rock in the middle, with tree roots hanging around her head. She was looking down at the flat-topped rock and . . . I didn’t know what she was doing. Muttering, I suppose.

  “Go left. Go right. Stand up. Sit down.” She glanced up at me and smiled. “My troop of performing fleas. Would you like to say hello to them?”

  “Uh . . . not really. Fleas and I don’t get along. That is, we’ll get along fine as long as they stay over there.”

  She clapped her wings together and turned her eyes on me. “Well, we are safe from marauding coyotes, and ’twas foolish of you to enter my cave, oh Rabbity Hank, because I just might not allow you to leave. But before I don’t allow you to leave, tell me why you came.”

  “Well, Madame, I have a small problem.”

  “Oh good. A small problem is only half as large as a large one, so we needn’t bother with it.”

  “Okay, I’ve got a large problem.”

  “Oh dear.” She blinked her big moon eyes. “What have you done?”

  I started at the beginning and told her the whole story about the grasshopper, the root stimulator, the mopwater, and the fight I’d picked with Billy’s pet gorilla.

  “See, I talked my way into a fight with one of the biggest, meanest dogs in Texas, and I don’t know how to get out of it.”

  “Yes, it’s coming clear. If you don’t fight, you’re a coward. If you do fight, you’re a hamburger.”

  “Right, and I was hoping that you might be able to teach me some fighting tricks—you know, like karate or judo.”

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Karate or judo, kersplotting menudo, we’re plotting but you know—the answer is no.” Her eyes drifted down to me. “I know many things about many things, little things about big things, and big things about little things. But I know no things about . . . fighting. In my line of work, we don’t fight. We use our minds.”

  “Yeah, I saw you using your mind on those cannibals and it almost got you eaten.”

  “But I didn’t need to use my mind. You used yours. One mind is enough, yours or mine, and I don’t mind that it wasn’t mine. The result was the same.”

  “We got lucky, Madame. That was pure-dee dumb blind-hog luck, and I’d just as soon have something more substantial when I go into battle with Rufus.”

  “Rufus. An interesting name. Does he say roof-roof?”

  “That’s probably the nicest thing he says.”

  “Hmmm.” She raised a wing and began stroking some of the tree roots above her. “Rufus. Root stimulator. I am stimulating the roots on the roof of my cave. May I think about this?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “Yes, we have the entire summer, don’t we?”

  “Well, I . . . to be honest, Madame, I really . . .”

  “Hush. Silence.”

  She closed her eyes and went into a thinking spell. I could only hope that it was a good one.

  Chapter Twelve: Caution: Scary Ending

  As the minutes dragged by, I began to suspect that Madame Moonshine wasn’t thinking about my problem; she had totally checked out and gone to sleep. I got a clue from the fact that she snored.

  “Madame? Madame Moonshine? I don’t want to rush you, but I’m operating on a deadline. Madame, wake up.”

  Her eyes popped open. She stared at me and blinked. “You are in my cave.”

  “Yes ma’am, I realize that.”

  “Were you invited? And where is Timothy?”

  “Yes, I was invited, and the last time we saw Tim, he was tied to a tree. The coyotes, remember?”

  “Oh yes. It’s coming back.” She yawned. “And I have found the solution to your problem. It’s so simple, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.” She closed her eyes and raised her wings. “The universe is composed of three basic elements: rock, paper, and scissors.”

  “I thought the elements were fire, water, and . . . something else. Milk? No, cornm
eal. I don’t remember.”

  “No. Rock, paper, and scissors. Rock is hard and can break scissors. Scissors are sharp and can cut paper. Paper is obscurative and can cover rock. Which is the strongest of the three elements?”

  “Well, I . . . I really don’t know. But what does this have to do with . . .”

  “It has everything to do with everything, oh Rabbity Hank. It means that all things are strong, but all things are weak. Rufus is a rock. If you are a scissor, he will break you. So you must be . . . what?”

  I puzzled over the answer. “A bigger rock? A sludge hammer? I don’t know, Madame.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Paper, you ninny. You must attack him with your strength. Cover rock with paper. Attack the large with the small.”

  And then she dropped her voice to a whisper and told me the secret for winning the fight.

  You’d probably like to know the secret, wouldn’t you? Ha, ha. Not yet. Be patient. We have to wait and see if it worked.

  My next problem was getting out of there. Madame wanted to keep me for the rest of the sum­­mer, if you recall, because she was getting bored with her roots and snakes, I suppose. It took me several minutes of hard talking to convince her that I had a steady job and really needed to be going.

  She walked me to the mouth of the cave. “And I suppose this is good-bye, Rabbity Hank. Will you come see me again sometime?”

  “Sure, Madame, especially if your trick works and I survive the fight with Rufus. I’m still a little concerned about that.”

  “Oh piffle. Of course it will work. It’s based upon universal principals. But just in case, I wish you luck.”

  “Thanks, Madame. See you around—I hope.”

  And with that, I left her there, waving her wing. I walked past the tree where . . . yikes, I almost walked into Big Tim. He had worked himself loose and was sulking in a big coil on the ground. I made a wide detour around him, set my course to the east, and headed down the creek.

  I arrived at the appointed hill on time, and with a few minutes to spare. Plato and Beulah had been watching for me, and when they saw me on the hill, they came at a run.

  Plato was the first to speak. “Hank, by golly, we weren’t sure you’d make it, and to be honest, Beulah and I were hoping you wouldn’t. It’s just too risky, Hank. It’s not worth it. We’ve put up with Rufus for a long time and surely we can stand it a while longer.”