Moonlight Madness

by John R. Erickson

  On the other hand, it also occurred to me that barking at this particular coon, who had his sharp little claws all over Slim’s face and head, barking at this particular coon might not be such a good idea.

  Oh yes, and Slim aimed a pistol-finger at me and said, “Don’t you dare!”

  Me? Why, what made him think . . . what had I . . .

  He peeled the coon off of his head and set him on his shoulder, picked up his hat, and straightened his glasses.

  “Hank, I’ve got a feeling that Eddy’s got an allergy to dogs. It ain’t going to be love at first sight.”

  No. Or second. Or third.

  “But that’s natural. He’ll get over it.”

  Ha! No he wouldn’t, and even if he did, I wouldn’t get over it. I didn’t like coons, never would, and adopting an orphan coon was just about the dumbest idea I could imagine.

  “Well, let’s take him to the house and see if we can find him something to eat. I’ll bet he’s starved.”

  Fine. But Slim would be sorry. He would regret this, and when he did, I would be right there to say, “I told you so. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  We hiked back to the pickup. You-Hoodie rode on Slim’s shoulder. I guess he thought Slim had become his own personal . . . something. Taxi cab, I suppose.

  Beast of burden.

  Horse.

  I couldn’t have cared less. If Slim wanted to devote his whole life to . . . phooey.

  And let me tell you, the little pest never took his eyes off of me. That was probably a good idea, because I never took my eyes off of him either, and if the opportunity ever arose to . . .

  Well, this was not love at first sight.

  When we reached the pickup, I took up my usual position beside the door. It was a crouch position from which I would spring onto the seat, just as soon as . . .

  “Not this time, pooch. You ride in the back. I don’t think Eddy would enjoy having you up front, and I ain’t in the mood to get my hair torn out. Get in the back.”

  I gave him my most wounded look and switched my tail over to Tragic Wags. He pointed toward the back of the pickup. Fine. I didn’t want to ride up front with them anyway.

  In fact, if he was going to be so hateful about it, I would just walk to the house. I had four legs, good legs, and I hadn’t forgotten how to use them.

  I walked all the way back to headquarters.

  When I got there, the place was abuzz with excitement about Slim’s new pet. Everyone was up at the machine shed where it appeared that Slim and Loper were trying to patch up an old rabbit hutch, and I mean everyone on the ranch: Slim, Loper, Sally May, Little Alfred, Baby Molly, Drover, Pete . . . everyone.

  I didn’t bother to put in an appearance. I found a shady spot beside the water tank and flopped down and proceeded to beam glares toward the assembled multitude.

  I could hear them talking about “how cute” little Eddy was. If I heard that word “cute” one more time, I was going to . . . I didn’t know what, but I was sick of hearing it.

  What was the big deal about being cute? What about a dog who showed up for work every day, did his job, sacrificed his personal comfort for the safety of the ranch, and had put in years of loyal service?

  That didn’t count for much, it appeared. Let a stranger with a cute face show up and . . .

  Phooey.

  Me and Eddy the Rac were not going to get along.

  Chapter Five: Ignoring the Coon

  Slim and Loper fussed over the rabbit hutch for two solid hours.

  These were the same guys who had been “so busy” and “so far behind” in their work that they could “hardly look up,” yet when the orphan coon appeared on the scene, they dropped everything and spent most of the afternoon fooling around and goofing off.

  That was a pretty poor way to run a ranch, seemed to me.

  I stayed away from the crowd and the masses. I had better things to do and I had no interest whatever . . . okay, I’ll admit that around five o’clock, boredom and curiosity got the best of me and I drifted over to the general area of the . . .

  Well, the machine shed, so to speak, but let me hasten to add that I had wanted to check out the machine shed anyway. See, I hadn’t patrolled that area in several days and it needed checking out and I thought, “What the heck, I might as well check it out.”

  And the coon had little or nothing to do with it.

  It was strictly a business decision.

  I kept my distance and didn’t join You-Hoodie’s crowd of admirers. I remained on the edge of the periphery and watched.

  After goofing off most of the afternoon, Slim and Loper finally patched up the cage and put the coon inside. Now, it appeared that they were trying to figure out what His Little Majesty would eat.

  They tried dry dog food. He didn’t want it. They tried a piece of bread. He sniffed it and pushed it away. They tried a piece of sliced apple—and I mean, they cut out the core and peeled it, did everything but chew it for him—but no, he wasn’t interested in apple slices.

  Now, if this had been a dog, they would have said, “You’re too fussy. When you get hungry enough, you’ll eat.” But since he was a “cute and darling little coon,” they kept Little Alfred running back to the house for more food, and the coon refused to eat any of it.

  They were stumped. He was about half-grown, which meant that he was old enough to eat solid food, but they couldn’t find anything that he would eat.

  Then Slim came up with an idea. The wild plums were ripe at that time of year and maybe he’d been eating those in the wild. So Slim and Alfred trotted down to the creek and picked a hatful of wild plums.

  That did the trick. Eddy—that’s what they called him so I might as well use the name—Eddy knew about wild plums and he went right to work on them.

  He had his own special way of eating. He’d sit there on his haunches, pick up a plum in his front paws, dip it in his water bowl, and nibble it down to the seed. Then he’d drop the seed and pick up another one.

  He smacked his lips when he chewed, and he looked so solemn about the whole thing that everyone laughed. He did look kind of . . . well, comical. Not cute, but comical.

  All at once I realized that Little Alfred was standing beside me. “What do you think of our new coon, Hankie?”

  Huh? Actually, I’d been . . . I was just passing by, on my way to check out the, uh, machine shed, and I’d hardly even noticed the . . .

  I hurried away. I was a very busy dog and had many things to do.

  I went down to the corrals and did a thorough sweep of that area, checked out the feed barn, the saddle shed, and so forth, and it was strictly by chance that I found myself back at the machine shed.

  Hmmm. It appeared that Eddy . . . that is, the new guy had eaten his way through a fair number of wild plums and now he was holding a piece of banana in his paws. Someone had brought him a banana.

  It was kind of neat, the way he used his paws. They were more like hands than paws, actually. He’d roll that hunk of banana around in his hands, take a bite, smack his lips, roll it around some more, and take another bite.

  Yes, he could do a lot with those little hands.

  He finished the banana, licked his fingers, and began walking around the cage. That brought a big laugh from the audience. What was so funny about a coon walking? Well, his front and back legs on the same side moved together, and he walked all humped over, and he looked like a monkey.

  A guy doesn’t notice those little details when he’s fighting Eddy’s thieving adult relatives on a dark night.

  And it was kind of funny. Even I had to admit that.

  I heard Slim’s voice above the laughter. “You know, he walks just like Groucho Marx.”

  No, he resembled a monkey. Or a bear. Yes, he did resemble a bear, the way he lumbered along . . . alth
ough I was a very busy dog and sure didn’t have time to . . . kind of a fascinating little brute, but I had many things to accomplish before dark and moved on to the chicken house and . . .

  Slim took him out of the cage and put him up on his shoulder. Now, that was pretty amazing. Here was an animal who, just hours before, had been living in the wild, and now he was perched on Slim’s shoulder and seemed perfectly content to be there.

  I couldn’t imagine a badger or coyote or any other wild animal adapting so well or so quickly to total strangers.

  But as I said, I needed to chick out the checken house and didn’t have time to . . . pretty interesting little beast, quite a bit more interesting than chickens. What could a chicken do but cluck and peck? That was about it.

  Anyway, I had many things to attend to before dark, had to get ready for Night Patrol, and . . . by George, it was a total coincidence that at sundown I found myself more or less in front of the machine shed.

  I had virtually forgotten about the coon. I mean, his presence on the ranch had made the tiniest of impressions on me . . . in one ear and out the other as I had busied myself with . . . no kidding, everyone else had made a big deal out of the coon but I had pretty muchly forgotten . . .

  It came as a surprise, a shock, actually, when I looked up from my chores and . . . by George, there was a coon in a cage! Of course, then I remembered, it all came back to me, but . . .

  Everyone had gone. The crowd had left. Nobody was around to . . . uh . . . nobody was around, is the point.

  Hmmmm. I glanced over both shoulders, just to be sure that . . . hmmmm, yes, the adoring throngs had gone back to their homes, leaving the ranch strangely quiet, so to speak.

  I crept toward the cage on silent paws and established an observation post some five feet in front of the alleged cage, from whence I had a clear and unobstructed view of the resident.

  He was staring at me with those beady little eyes. I stared back. He began to make that growling noise, the one that doesn’t sound like something that would come from a shrimpy little coon. And naturally, I growled back.

  He stared, I stared. He growled, I growled. The minutes stretched into an hour. The last colors of sunset faded into darkness. We continued to stare and growl at each other, until at last I decided to break the silence.

  “You, uh, you’ve been growling at me for over an hour, pal. I wonder if there’s some purpose for this.” No answer. “I imagine your throat’s getting sore. You can quit any time.” No answer. “See, I can’t quit until you quit, because you started the whole thing.”

  No answer. He continued to growl.

  “You did start the whole thing, pal. You made the first growl. It wasn’t me. I was just minding my own business.”

  No answer.

  “See, if I quit first, it might be interpreted as a sign of weakness. On the other hand, if you quit first, then . . . well, we can save our throats for more important matters.”

  No change.

  “Of course there’s another way of approaching this deal. I, being older and wiser, could use my maturity . . . you must admit that I’m somewhat more mature than you and . . . look, pal, this isn’t making either one of us richer or wiser. I’ll quit if you’ll quit.”

  I stopped growling, then listened and waited. He growled two more times, then stopped.

  “Okay. That’s all behind us now and we needn’t make a big issue out of who quit first. Just for the record, we both quit at approximately the same time.”

  He said nothing.

  “Now, we need to cover a couple of items of business. You’re new here, and maybe you’re not familiar with how we do things. My name is Hank the Cowdog and I’m Head of Ranch Security.”

  I had thought that he might . . . well, you know, gasp or something, but he didn’t. No sound.

  “It’s a very important position and you might say that newcomers to the ranch check things out with me. I can make your stay pleasant or unpleasant. I swing quite a lot of weight around here, is the point.”

  No sound.

  “You’re not talking? That’s okay. As a matter of fact, we kind of like it when the new guys keep their traps shut. I can get along with a guy who watches and listens and learns the ropes. It’s the mouthy ones I have trouble with, so if you’re not a big talker, that’s probably going to work in your favor.

  “Now, let’s move along to the next item of business, and I’ll be blunt. Being blunt is my nature so don’t get your feelings hurt. You’re a raccoon, pal, and we’ve never had what you would call a positive experience with raccoons, and I’ll be perfectly . . .”

  Huh?

  Snoring?

  “Hey, you in there, wake up. It never impresses the Head of Ranch Security when a new guy falls asleep in the middle of an Orientation Session. I think you’d better . . .”

  By George, once a coon falls asleep, he’s really knocked out. Well, that was okay. I could wait. He couldn’t sleep forever, and when he . . . zzzzzzzzzzz.

  Snork mork skonk.

  Chapter Six: The Phony Elevator

  I heard something.

  Noise. A rattling noise. Someone or something was . . .

  Skonk snork.

  Hmmm, perhaps I had . . . where was I? Okay, the machine shed, and perhaps I had closed my eyes just for a . . . rested my eyes just for a second or two . . .

  And there was a coon in a cage, only a matter of feet in front of me, and I leaped to my feet and prepared to unleash a very loud . . . better not bark or we’d have everyone on the ranch up there.

  Okay, it was all coming back to me. I had been conducting an Orientation Session with Eddy . . . You-Hoodie . . . the coon, and he’d fallen asleep in the middle of it. Not so good. Then I had fallen . . . rested my eyes for a moment or two, and now the coon was wide awake and . . . what was he doing?

  Well, let’s deal with the facts as they presented themselves. He was pacing around the cage. Every so often he would stop, stand up on his back legs, and run his hands over the wire.

  And did I mention that he was talking to himself? Yes, although “muttering” might be a better description. He was muttering to himself and he didn’t seem particularly bothered by my presence. He didn’t even seem to notice that I was there.

  That was odd. Only hours before, he had bristled up and made those weird sounds, but now he seemed totally preoccupied with . . . whatever it was that he was doing—pacing and feeling out the cage.

  I lifted my ears to Max-G (Maximum Gather­ing Mode, if you’re keeping up with the technical language) and tried to pick up what he was saying. Here’s what I heard:

  “There’s a hole in this wire. I know there’s a hole. There’s always a hole. Where’s the hole? Here? No. Here? No. Keep looking. Over here? Nope. Up here? Nope. Okay, keep looking. I know there’s a hole. Got to be a hole.”

  Aha, so that was it! The little rascal was trying to get out of the cage. I took this opportunity to clear my throat and, you might say, declare my presence on the scenery.

  “Ah-hum!”

  He stopped what he was doing and stared at me. “Oh. How’s it going? Thought you were asleep.” And he resumed his business.

  “No, I wasn’t asleep. I never sleep on the job, never.”

  “I hear that. Me too. Can’t sleep at night. Moon comes up, I got to go. Moonlight Madness.”

  I watched him for a moment or two. He had located the door of the cage and now he ran his eyes over its outline. “You’re a busy little fellow, aren’t you?”

  “Huh?”

  “I say, you’re very busy in there, aren’t you?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Busy,”

  “Excuse me for asking, but do you know who I am?”

  “You? Let’s see. The dog. The ranch dog. Can’t remember the name. Starts with an H. Harry? No. Harvey? No. Tell me.”

  “
Hank. Hank the Cowdog.”

  He grabbed the cage door with both hands and rattled it. “Sure. Hank. Can’t remember names.”

  “And did I mention that I am Head of Ranch Security?”

  “Uh . . . maybe so. We growled. Earlier. Right?”

  “That’s correct. We spent quite some time growling at each other. We were just, well, getting acquainted, I guess you’d say.”

  “Yeah. Right. You’re okay.”

  “Thanks, but I get the feeling that you’re not as impressed with my title as you ought to be.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s correct. See, one of the major points of the Orientation Session, which you slept through, was that this ranch has a Security Division.”

  “Yeah. Couldn’t stay awake. Nine o’clock and I’m zonked. Midnight? Wide awake. Can’t sleep.”

  “We have a Security Division and I happen to be in charge of it, thus the title Head of Ranch Security.”

  “Right. Guard dog. Bark, stuff like that.”

  “Well, guarding and barking are only two of the many things we do. I guess the point I’m trying to impress on you is that . . . hmm, how shall I say this? I run this ranch.”

  “Nice ranch.”

  “Thanks. And very little happens here without my knowledge and consent.”

  “Nice trees.”

  “Yes. I, uh, grew most of those myself. Anyway, I just wanted you to know, from the very beginning, who does what around here and how things operate.”

  “Got you.”

  “You’ll be much happier if you start off on the right foot.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And don’t rock the boat, if you know what I mean.”

  “Got it.”

  During this conversation, he had continued to run his busy little hands over the cage door. It left me with the feeling that he wasn’t paying as much attention to me as he should.

  “Ah-hum. Excuse me?”