By the time someone answered, he was looking very serious.
“Hello? Sally May? Morning, ma’am, this is Ranger Marooney over at the park. Uh, we’ve got a problem over here. We’ve had a lot of trouble with garbage barrels being overturned. It’s been going on for two weeks. Uh-huh, yes ma’am. We thought it was coons, but we’ve caught the culprit. It’s Loper’s dog. Yes ma’am, Hank.”
Whatever she said was loud. Ranger Marooney held the phone away from his ear and grinned. He winked at Floyd and went on.
“Now, Sally May, this is pretty serious. We just can’t allow stray dogs on the park, and I’m authorized to write up a citation that carries a two-hundred-dollar fine.” He flinched and held the phone away from his ear. “Yes ma’am. Now, I’ll let y’all off with a warning this time, but I want Loper to come over here and claim his dog and clean up the mess.”
He gave Floyd another wink. Then his smile faded. “Oh? Gone to New Mexico? Well, send old Slim over. I guess he’s smart enough for this job. He’s gone, too? Took some cows to the Beaver City sale? Well, don’t you worry about it. Me and Floyd can . . . no, there’s no need for you to . . . Sally May, I really didn’t mean for you . . . Yes ma’am. We’ll be here at the office.”
He hung up the phone, stared up at the ceiling, and took three long puffs on the cigar. “Those jugheads. Wouldn’t you know they’d both be gone? Loper’s wife’ll be here in fifteen minutes, and she didn’t sound real happy about it.”
Floyd got a big laugh out of that. Ranger Marooney didn’t, and neither did I.
My heart sank. OH NO, NOT HER! Not Sally May! Anyone but Sally May! Couldn’t they just go ahead and shoot me? All at once the thought of being marched in front of a firing squad seemed pretty appealing.
Gulp. I began rehearsing my story.
“Sally May, I know this looks bad, and I understand that you had other things planned for your day . . . uh, besides picking up trash in the . . . uh . . . park. I know you’re upset. I know this is a humiliating experience. And I understand that our relationship has been a little . . . well, rocky, you might say . . . that is, we’ve had a few mis-understandings . . . several misunderstandings and missed opportunities. But I think I can explain everything.”
It would never sell. She would never believe that I had been lured into a life of crime by a cheating, scheming, crooked little sneak of a coon.
I was sunk.
The waiting began. What was taking her so long? Well, no doubt she had to round up Little Alfred, put some clothes on Baby Molly, and load them all in the car. That would take some time. But still . . . I hate waiting. It drives me nuts. When a guy is sitting around waiting, all he can do is think.
You know what I was thinking about? My good friend Eddy the Rac. What a scrounge! What a louse! Just walked away and left his friend, his business partner to take the whole rap. Again.
A vehicle was approaching from the east. What? Was she here already? Good grief, what was the rush? I mean, what about rounding up the kids and cleaning their faces? Couldn’t we put this off another hour or two? I didn’t mind waiting. No kidding. I love to wait, especially when . . .
Gulp.
The door opened. There she was, with Little Alfred at her side and Molly forked on her hip. Her face was . . . uh . . . red, shall we say, dangerously red. Her gaze came straight to me and I wilted. My legs turned to Jell-O. My head sank to the ground. I drew my tail up between my legs and tried to crawl under a chair. That didn’t work.
There was only one bright spot in all this. Little Alfred was grinning. That provided some small relief. Alfred was still my pal. He knew I was innocent of all the terrible charges that had been brought against me. Surely Sally May wouldn’t strangle me in front of her son.
The Exchange of Prisoners was short and not-so-sweet. Sally May wore a frozen smile throughout the ceremony. She apologized for the actions of her “husband’s dog” and assured the park ranger that it wouldn’t happen again. Oh, and that her husband would hear all about it when he got home.
Ranger Marooney barked a little laugh at that, but it fell dead in the poisonous atmosphere of the room, I mean, like buckshot falling into a tin plate. He gave her directions to the . . . uh . . . overturned barrels, shall we say, and we left.
Ranger Marooney’s parting words were, “Have a good day.” He should have kept his mouth shut. That was the wrong thing to say, even I knew that.
We loaded everyone into the pickup. I was a little surprised that she had come in the pickup instead of her car. I knew she didn’t enjoy driving the ranch pickups because she hated shifting gears. So why had she . . . oh yes, Loper had driven the car to New Mexico.
When both doors were slammed shut, she shot a glare back toward the office. “I’m going to pick up garbage and he tells me to have a good day? That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. If he doesn’t have anything intelligent to say, why doesn’t he just keep his mouth shut?”
She plunged her left foot down on the clutch pedal. I was down there on the floorboard, trying to hide and be inconspicuous and, you know, just minding my own business. But . . . OOF . . . somehow I managed to . . .
“Hank, will you move? I can’t drive this lumber truck with you in the way.” I struggled and managed to crawl several inches to the east. She tried again and . . . ARG . . . “Hank, MOVE! Get out from under my feet! Alfred, get this dog away from me so I can drive.”
Alfred called me over to his side of the pickup. I stared at him with puzzled eyes and whapped my tail. I tried to explain that, since Sally May was so mad at me, I felt some need to stay close to her and, you know, try to convince her that I really felt terrible about all this.
And I did, really bad, and lying at her feet seemed the right thing to do. But that was before she started kicking me, and at that point, I . . . uh . . . moved my business to the other side of the pickup. There I melted into the floormat and beamed Mournful Looks at her.
She stomped the clutch pedal, started the motor, threw the gearshift into first gear, and popped the clutch. Heads snapped back and we lurched away from the parking area. Dust drifted down from the ceiling and two miller moths flew out of the heater vents.
On our way to the, uh, scene of the accident, as you might say, Sally May gripped the wheel with both hands and muttered. It wasn’t clear if she was addressing herself or the kids or . . . well, me. It was all muttered in a low tone of voice, a kind of hiss. I didn’t catch all of it, but I heard enough.
“Tipping over garbage barrels. Eating garbage in the park. They probably think we don’t feed you. It’ll be all over the neighborhood now that we starve our dogs. You nincompoop, you moron! We spend thirty dollars a month on dog food and this is the thanks we get. You’re the . . . sometimes I think . . . oh-h-h!”
Boy, that hurt. But if it made her feel better to say all those things, that was okay. The problem was that it didn’t make her feel better. See, she still had to pick up the garbage. That was an experience to remember.
Molly and I stayed in the pickup whilst Sally May and Alfred chased papers. The wind had come up, see, a damp restless wind out of the southeast, and it sure did move those papers around. Alfred made a game of it and seemed to be enjoying himself. Sally May didn’t and wasn’t.
Boy, was she steamed. Chasing those papers around didn’t improve her attitude one bit. She talked to every one of them. I couldn’t hear what she said, but she wasn’t wishing them happy birthday. Oh, and she had quite a bit to say about the rotting watermelon rinds. They were swarming with flies, don’t you see, and Sally May wasn’t fond of flies.
Anyways, I felt terrible about it, her having to mingle with the flies and all, whilst I was sitting in the pickup and . . . well, watching. Actually, I was doing more than that. I was guarding Baby Molly.
All at once it occurred to me that if Sally May returned to the pickup and found me cleaning up her ba
by’s face, it might . . . well . . . soften her heart, so to speak. I needed to do something to redeem myself, and fast.
See, by then I had begun to worry that she might . . . well . . . send me away. That was my worst fear, and fellers, it turned out to be . . . you’ll see.
Chapter Twelve: Banished from the Ranch? Oh No!
I moved into Molly’s lap and began scrubbing her face. See, it was kind of dirty, especially around her mouth. Now, I’d be the last to criticize Sally May or to suggest that she had brought her child out into public with a dirty face, but . . . well, the face was dirty, what can I say?
Hey, I understood. Sally May had been in a hurry. She hadn’t taken the time to wash the . . . jelly? You bet it was jelly, homemade grape jelly, which just happened to be a favorite of mine, and by George, the little darlin’ had it all around her mouth and even up past her nose. Devotion to duty was tasting better and better and . . . you won’t believe this, but she even had some traces of jelly around her left ear! No kidding.
So I washed and scrubbed and . . .
“Will you stop licking my baby!”
Huh? Sure, but she had . . . that is, I thought . . .
“Alfred, put that dog in the back of the pickup and you ride with him.”
Okay, fine. Maybe she wanted her kids running around in public with jelly and cracker crumbs and mud and dirt all over their faces. Maybe she didn’t care what the neighbors might think, and if she wanted everyone thinking that she raised filthy children, that was okay with me.
Boy, once you get on the wrong side of Sally May, it’s hard to get off the list.
We rode in the back, Alfred and I. Perhaps Sally May had thought this was punishment. It wasn’t. I could hardly disguise my relief at being away from her frigid glares and cutting words. See, Alfred and I were special pals. He seemed to understand the burdens and cares of being a dog. We sat together on the spare tire, he with his arm around my neck.
“Welp,” he said when we got under way, “I guess you got in twouble again, Hankie.”
I nodded and shrugged. What could I say? I studied his face and decided that it was time to, uh, probe for some classified information, so to speak.
“Say, pardner, what do you suppose your ma has in mind for me? I mean, she seems to be pretty sore.” His gaze moved away. “Is it bad? Come on, son, you can tell me. We’ve been through a lot together. We’re special pals, right?”
He nodded and pressed his lips together. “Mom says we have to . . . give you away.”
Give me away! Those words echoed through the inner chambers of my mind. It sent little needles of electricity down my spine.
We stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. So this was the way it would end—not with a bang, not with loud music or drumrolls, but with me and my little pal saying good-bye in the back of the pickup. I swallowed a lump in my throat.
“Well, gee, I don’t know what to say. Just . . . so long, I guess, and thanks for all the good times.”
He nodded and bit his lip. “Maybe you should wun off and hide. I’d find you and we could pway.”
I smiled at that. “Nah, that wouldn’t work. I’m just not a runaway kind of dog. Cowdogs don’t run from trouble. We live by the law, and when we break the law, we stick around and take the consequences. I messed up pretty severely and I’ll take what comes.”
“I don’t want to give you away.”
“Well, I’m not too crazy about that myself, kiddo, but you know what? Miracles sometimes happen. It’s never over until the fat lady eats her dessert.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means . . . it means that we’ll take justice as it comes and then hope for the best.”
His little eyes narrowed. “I’ll sneak out tonight and we’ll wun away.”
“Nah. That wouldn’t last two hours. You’d get cold and hungry and you’d be ready to go back to your ma.”
He pooched out his lips. “I’m mad at my mom.”
“Oh, don’t be too hard on her. She’s a fine lady . . . a little strange sometimes, but she’s got a big job, taking care of a house and two kids. And you know what? If I’d been your ma and some guy had called me up . . . well, listen to this.”
See, I had a little song in mind, and I sang it for him.
If I’d Been Your Ma
If I’d been your ma and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
Now, put yourself in your momma’s shoes,
When the telephone rings and she gets the news
That her husband’s dog’s running through the park
On a rip, on a tear, on a midnight lark,
If I’d been your ma, and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
Trash cans crash, making papers fly,
And the park ranger calls . . . you can understand why
It would make her mad and offend her pride.
Picking garbage up is undignified.
If I’d been your ma and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
So let’s don’t judge what your parents do,
They work real hard to provide for you.
I shoulda brought my fun to a screeching halt.
If I get shipped off, it’s my own derned fault.
If I’d been your ma and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
When I’d finished the song, I looked at the boy. “So there it is, son. Don’t get mad at your mother and don’t blame her for whatever happens in this deal. What I did was wrong. I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. A guy has to pay for his bad habits.”
We pulled into headquarters and parked behind the house. Sally May climbed out of the pickup and pulled Molly out. She slammed the door and muttered something about “nasty ranch pickups.” I didn’t catch all of it.
Then her eyes came up and found us in the back of the pickup. There we were, Two Pals for Life, sitting together on the spare tire, with Little Alfred hugging my neck and pressing his face against my ear. I beamed her Most Sincere and Woeful Looks of Remorse, and switched my tail section over to Slow Sweeps.
Her eyes went from one of us to the other. She cocked her head to the side and compressed her lips. “Alfred, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I’ve already made my decision. Hank has to go.”
“But Mom, Hankie and I have a deal.”
Her left eyebrow twitched. “You have . . . a deal?”
“Uh-huh. See, we’ve talked it ovoo and Hankie’s vewy sad for what he did.”
We held our breaths and waited to see what she would say. “You and Hank talked it over?”
“Uh-huh, we did. And Hankie’s vewy sad.”
A smile twitched at her mouth. “What are you two cooking up? Whatever it is, the answer is NO.”
“Hewe’s the deal, Mom. If you’ll wet Hankie stay, we’re boff gonna be good. I’m gonna make my bed evwee day and bwush my teeff and pick up my socks. And Hankie’s gonna give up twash, aren’t you, Hankie?”
I gave my tail five hard whaps on the spare tire and held my head at an angle that showed . . . well, honesty, sincerity, and the very purest of intentions.
A chirp of laughter flew out of her mouth. “That’s the craziest thing I e
ver heard. You two scamps promising to be good?” Her laughter grew louder and wilder. Then it stopped and she forked us with her eyes. “No. A skunk will always be a skunk. A leopard can’t change his spots. Hank loves garbage barrels and he needs to find another home.”
Well, that was the end of it. The boy had tried. But then he threw his arms around my neck and began crying.
“Mom, Hankie’s my best fwind in the whole world. I wuv him. If you send him away, you have to send me away too.”
Her jaw dropped every so slightly. She stared at us. Then her eyes rolled back in her head. “I do not believe this. My son loves . . . oh, brother! This wasn’t covered in Dr. Dobson’s book.” She walked a few steps away and resettled baby Molly on her hip. When she turned back to us, her expression was hard, firm, unforgiving, and cold. It looked bad. “All right, Alfred. I can’t be the wicked witch forever. You two have worn me down.”
“And Hankie can stay?”
She heaved a sigh. “I don’t know who would take him anyway. I sure wouldn’t give him to a friend. I’ll probably regret this, but . . . all right, he can stay this one last time.”
“Yippee!”
By George, we’d done it!
“BUT . . .” She aimed a finger at the two of us, which cut short our little celebration. “But you’d better remember all those things you promised, young man, and you’d better tell your friend Hank to stay home, stay away from the park, stay out of garbage barrels, out of my yard, out of my flower beds—and out of sight for about two weeks.” Her gaze swung around and pierced me. “Mister McNasty, the less we see of each other, the better it’ll be—especially for you.”
Oh yes ma’am, no problem. Right then and there, in front of Sally May and everybody, I took a Solemn Oath to be a perfect and well-behaved dog, and I mean forever and ever.
The Garbage Monster from Outer Space Page 7