The Ghosts of Rabbits Past

by John R. Erickson

  “What are you doing?”

  He turned to me with a sad smile. “Oh, I was just tidying up my little nest. I…” A quiver came into his voice. “I guess I won’t be coming back.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I heard everything. You have no choice.” He glanced around and sighed. “I’ll go without a struggle.”

  I was stunned. “What! That’s crazy.”

  “I thought that’s the way you would want it.”

  “You let me decide what I want, and stop butting into my…” My mind was reeling. I staggered a few steps away and gasped for air. “Pete, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

  “I thought I was making it easy.”

  “Yeah? Well, you thought wrong. This ought to be the finest moment of my life, but somehow you’ve…” I stormed back over to him. “Listen, you little pestilence, I’m supposed to deliver you to the coyote brothers. They want to eat you. I want them to eat you. You drive me insane.”

  He shrugged. “Well, let’s get on with it.”

  “We will NOT get on with it! I don’t know how you’ve managed to do it, but you are about to ruin my life!”

  “Poor doggie.”

  “Shut your trap. Those coyotes are on the other side of the fence. They’re watching us. They’re licking their chops and tapping their toes. They’re getting hungry and restless. In ninety seconds, they will jump the fence and be on top of us.”

  “Well, just turn me in and let’s get it over with. I’ve had a good life.”

  “Will you dry up? It would have been SO EASY, SO SIMPLE, if you had just been your usual unbearable self, but now…look what you’ve done! I can’t go through with this!”

  Snort’s voice cut through the gloom of night like a chainsaw. “Hunk hurry up and fetch cat, or brothers get madder and maddest, and beat up whole world!”

  Can you believe this? I couldn’t believe it. I’d been offered the opportunity of a lifetime and I’d muffed it. I’d choked. I’d become a disgrace to the entire Security Division and to dogs all over Texas.

  I stormed over to the rotten little creep who had caused this. “We’ve got about sixty seconds before lightning strikes. What are we going to do?”

  “Well, Hankie, I could climb a tree, but that wouldn’t help you.”

  “That’s correct. They would eat me, and you’d have to watch. Tell the truth, Pete, would you enjoy it?”

  He grinned. “I’ll get back to you on that. Maybe you should bark the alarm and wake up the house.”

  “Won’t work, Pete. Loper’s reaction time at this hour of the night runs about ten minutes.”

  “Darn.”

  “We’ve got thirty seconds. Shall we try to make a run for it?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s no running from coyotes.”

  “Well…I guess we stand and fight. I figure we can hold out for about twelve seconds and then we’re hamburger.”

  Our situation looked hopeless.

  Chapter Five: Drover Is Catnipped

  The cat held me in his gaze and gave me a peculiar smile. “This is odd, isn’t it, Hankie, you and I fighting on the same side.”

  “It’s worse than odd. It’s unnatural. It’s weird. My mother would be so disappointed if she could see me now.”

  “I know. All my cat kinfolks would be crushed.”

  “It’s a lousy way to ring down the curtain of our lives.”

  “It really is.”

  “And it’s all your fault, you little creep!” I stuck my nose in his face and gave him my Train Horns Bark. BWONK!

  You know what he did? He humped his back, hissed, and…BAM…slapped me across the nose with a handful of claws, stung like crazy and brought water to my eyes.

  “That was for old times, Hankie.”

  “Thanks, Pete. You’re a rotten little crook of a cat, but we did have some great moments. Are you ready for the grand finale?”

  “Let the dance begin.”

  We turned toward the west and I sent out a press release to the Coyote Brotherhood, an announcement that would smell our foots. Our fates, that is, an announcement that would seal our fates.

  “Hey Snort! The deal’s off. I’m not your delivery boy, and you can’t eat my cat. Furthermore, your momma’s an ugly toad. Remember the Alamo!”

  Boy, that woke ‘em up. You never heard such an outburst of angry snarls and growls. Rip stood up on his hind legs and began pounding his chest, while Snort banged his head against the gate post. In the midst of all that, they were both screeching about the awful things they were going to do to us. Gulp. It gave me the shivers.

  But then…you won’t believe this part, I guarantee that you won’t believe it…just then, guess who came out of the machine shed. Mister Half-Stepper. Mister Run and Hide. He yelled, “Hank, be careful! I thought I heard some coyotes!”

  A deathly silence fell over the ranch. The cannibals froze and turned like battleship guns toward the runt. When he saw their horrid yellow eyes and gleaming fangs, he…this was so Drover…he let out a squeak and FAINTED! I’m not kidding, he went over like a bicycle.

  In an instant, and we’re talking about the blink of an eye (or, to put into the Coyote Dialect, “in winkie of eyeball”)…in the blink of a so-forth, the coyotes were all over him. Rip scooped up the little mutt in his jaws and Snort turned to us.

  In a cackling voice, he yelled, “Ha! Rip and Snort not give a hoot for catnip kid! Make yum-yum out of little white dog, oh boy!”

  And with that, they vanished into the night—carrying the poor, misguided, feather-brained Drover off to a fate we could only imagine.

  I was too stunned to speak or move. It had happened so fast! One second, Pete and I were ready to fight the second battle of the Alamo, and the next second, Drover had been shanghaied by cannibals and carried off to the wilderness.

  Pete was the first to speak. “Well! What shall we do now?”

  I had to sit down. I mean, my legs were shaking like…I don’t know what, like shaking legs, I suppose. “I have no idea. I didn’t expect to live this long.”

  “Should we try to follow them?”

  “Into the wilderness? At night? That would be suicide. No, we’d better wait for…” I narrowed my eyes at the cat. “What do you mean, ‘we’? I don’t work with cats. It’s immoral, indecent, unheard of, and against regulations.”

  “I know, Hankie, it’s very confusing.”

  “It’s not confusing at all. In fact, it’s very simple. I’m a dog, you’re a cat. I don’t like cats, you don’t like dogs. We thought we were going to die together, but that didn’t work out, so now we’ll have to live together…and, Pete, we’ll go right back to the same lousy relationship we’ve enjoyed all these years.”

  “It has been nice.”

  “It’s been a great lousy relationship. We’ve given it the best years of our lives. Let’s don’t mess it up.”

  He licked his paw with long strokes of his tongue. “I hear what you’re saying, Hankie, but I must deliver some bad news.” He stopped licking his paw and gave me a smile. “You did a good deed and saved my life.”

  “I’m sorry. I apologize. It was an accident. I was under stress. I didn’t know what I was…stop staring at me!” I leaped to my feet and began pacing. “No!”

  “Hankie, I owe you a good deed, and there’s not one thing you can do about it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, kitty. I won’t allow it. As long as I’m Head of Ranch Security, we will not tolerate friendly relations between cats and dogs!”

  He shrugged and grinned. “It’s out of your hands, Hankie.”

  I marched back to him and melted him with a glare. “Okay, Pete, let’s talk deal. I hate doing business with you, but this thing has gotten way out of control. What would it take to get us b
ack to square one?”

  He fluttered his eyelids. “Well, Hankie, I’m fond of scraps.”

  “Scraps? Great idea, no problem. Shoot me a number. How much are we talking about?”

  “Oh, three scrap-days would be nice.”

  “You’re covered.”

  “Four days would be even nicer.”

  “That’s too many, but I’ll take it.”

  “And, you know, a week would be ever so nice.”

  “Crook! I’ll take it, and I hope you get indigestion.”

  “Thank you, Hankie.” He twitched the last two inches of his scheming little tail. “But it won’t change anything. You did a good deed and there’s no going back. I have to return the favor, and until I do…we’ll have to be on the same team.”

  My body was quivering with righteous anger. “Are you trying to ruin me?”

  “It’s a matter of honor, Hankie, not choice.”

  “You’re determined to go through with this treachery?” He nodded. “Then do me one favor. Don’t tell anyone, and for crying out loud, don’t behave as though we’re friends.”

  He was laughing again. “I’ll see what I can do, Hankie, but I have to tell you something. The madder you get, the better I like you.”

  “I should have let the coyotes eat you.”

  “We’re bonding, Hankie.”

  “You’re sick. Do you hear me? Sick! I’ve got to get out of here before I’m as nutty as you are. Goodbye.”

  I rushed away from the little reptile, but his voice followed me. “When you need a favor, Hankie, I’ll be there.”

  I whirled around and stomped back to him. “You know what breaks my heart about this fiasco? We had it made, Pete, we had everything going our way, and now you’ve let one good deed ruin it all. Goodbye…and don’t ever speak to me again!”

  I heard him laughing. “Hankie, you’re a piece of work.”

  “And you can forget about the scrap rights!”

  Do you find this confusing? I did. My brains were scrambled. What a mess! My assistant had been kidnapped by coyotes, the cat was threatening me with friendship, and I was exhausted from lack of sleep.

  What more could go wrong?

  Well, I could have run into a feather-brained rooster, and that’s exactly what happened. Nobody expects to encounter a rooster in the middle of the night. Nobody wants to encounter J.T. Cluck in the middle of the night, but here he came, charging out of the chicken house, clucking and flapping his wings. “The British are coming, the British are coming!”

  I ducked my head and made an abrupt turn to the south, hoping he might…I don’t know, think I was someone else, I suppose. That flopped, of course, and he came at a run.

  “Oh, there you are! It’s about time you showed up. I need to turn in a 911.”

  “My shift was over three hours ago.”

  “Well, too bad.” He caught his breath and glanced around. “Listen, pooch, Elsa woke up in the night and thought she heard strange noises.”

  “Yeah? So did I.”

  “Sometimes she hears good, but sometimes she gets confused. A guy never knows for sure. Remember the time she woke up and said she had a bull snake in her bed?”

  “No. I missed that.”

  “Well, in the middle of the night, she flew out of bed and come over to me, clucking up a storm. Sometimes she gets hysterical, you know.”

  “Hurry up.”

  “About half the time, her clucking don’t mean anything, but this time, she was mighty stirred up. She said, ‘Oh, my goodness! Oh, my gracious! Oh, J.T, oh my!’”

  “Look, pal, I’m busy. Could we talk about this another time?”

  “I’m a-getting there, I’m a-getting there. So I said, ‘Honey, settle down. What is it?’ And that’s when she told me about the snake. She said there was a great, big, huge, eight-foot bull snake in her nest.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “Huh?”

  “Get…to…the…point!”

  “Oh. All right, here we go.” He stood on one leg and leaned closer. “Well sir, I had my doubts, figured she’d just woke up from a bad dream, but I went over and checked. And you wouldn’t believe what I seen.”

  “You saw a great big huge eight-foot bull snake in her bed.”

  “No, he was only a six-footer…but how’d you know it was a snake?”

  “You just told me.”

  “I did? Huh. Well, sometimes I repeat myself.”

  “I’ve noticed. Hurry up.”

  “Well, she had a snake in her bed, sure ‘nuff, and that snake had swallowed three eggs whole. They can do that, you know, them bull snakes. Somehow they can unhinge their jaws.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I gave that snake a whipping, is what I done. Heh. Yes sir, I worked that old general over with wings and pecks. Spurred him too, and he couldn’t wait to get out of there. But we never got the eggs back.”

  I heaved a weary sigh. “J.T., if you came to tell me that Elsa heard coyotes, you wasted your time. I heard them too. They were real, I saw them, but they’re gone. Go back to bed.”

  He stared at me. “Huh. Well, she’s got pretty good ears, for an old gal. I’ll have to remember that the next time she sounds the alarm.”

  “Good night.” I started walking away.

  “Hold on, mister. What happens if them coyotes come back? You’re the guard dog around here, and every chicken on this place has a right to know what you’re going to do.”

  I walked back to him. “You want to know my plan?”

  “That’s right, pooch.”

  “All right, pay attention.”

  “I always pay attention. I’m the head rooster.”

  “Hush. I plan to hike down to the gas tanks and fall into my bed. If the coyotes come back, I will be sound asleep.”

  His eyes popped open. “Well, that don’t sound good.”

  “If they raid the chicken house, I will still be asleep. In other words, J.T., you’re on your own. Have a nice day.”

  “Now hold on just a second, mister. What am I supposed to tell Elsa? She’s all stirred up and can’t sleep.”

  “Tell her, ‘Honey, shut your big yap and go back to bed.’”

  He let out a gasp, and his eyes almost popped out of his head. “I ain’t about to tell her that! You tell her.”

  “My shift is over, pal, and I’m gone. Good night.”

  I turned and walked away. Behind me, J.T. let out a squawk. “Some guard dog you turned out to be!” He continued to squawk and complain, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was exhausted and haunted by the thought that my little pal had been kidnapped by cannibals.

  Chapter Six: I Try To Communicate With Slim

  In spite of the best efforts of Pete and J.T. Cluck to disrupt my life, I made my way through the darkness and arrived at the Security Division’s Vast Office Complex around 4:00 a.m. I rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor and went striding into my office.

  OUR office, I should say, because for years, I had shared this space with Drover. Now, in the wee hours of the morning, I noticed the silence and emptiness of the place—his absence.

  I scratched up my gunny sack bed and collapsed. My body cried out for sleep, but my mind refused to shut down. I lay there for what seemed hours, torturing myself with half-forgotten mummeries of the little geef who had swerved as my Assistant Snork of Rumple Stillskin.

  I marimbaed the door…I remembered the day we first murked…first met. Barking wheezer figgie pudding funny little mutt who was a-skeetered of his own shallow…scared of his own shadow, let us say, and purple carrot feathers in the astonishing turnip tops...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  Wait. I must have drifted off to sleep. Yes, I’m almost sure I did. Perhaps you notice that my narration…those paragraphs you just r
ead…did you notice anything unusual about them? Viewed from a certain angle, they might appear to be…well, rambling and incoherent. In other words, the evidence suggests…

  Okay, I was so worried about Drover that I couldn’t sleep a wink, only I’m beginning to suspect that I did sleep a wink…several winks, in fact, and a lot winker than I ever thought possible.

  That doesn’t mean I wasn’t frantic with worry about Drover. I was, but a dog is only a dog. Even the Head of Ranch Security is made of mere flesh and bones, and when our weary bones get deposited upon a gunny sack bed, by George, we fall asleep.

  It’s no disgrace, and history is filled with examples of great heroes who fell asleep every once in a while. George Washington slept at Valley Fudge. Abraham Lincoln slept at Gurglesburg. Lassie and Old Yeller spent half their lives sleeping on the porch, and nobody ever called them slackers.

  Sleep is a natural result of being awake too long, and the asleeper you get, the awaker you’re not. I refuse to feel shame or to apologize for falling asleep.

  Now, where were we before we got onto the subject of sleep? I have no idea.

  It’s a well-known fact that sleep knits up the rumpled sleeve of care, but sleep also rumples the knitting of your…whatever, and we were discussing something very, very important. It burns me up when I can’t remember…wait! I’ve got it now.

  Drover. My little pal had been kidnapped and hauled off to the wilderness by cannibals. I hardly slept a wink and didn’t wake up until the crack of noon.

  Now we’re cooking. I came roaring out of a troubled sleep, leaped to my feet, and shouted, “Drover, wake up, we’ve got to rescue Drover from the coyotes!” I blinked my eyes against the glare of the sun and glanced around the office…and suddenly felt the huge emptiness of the place.

  Drover was gone. I had to find him before the coyotes ate him for supper.

  You think coyotes won’t eat a dog? Ha. They eat poodles like candy. Ask anyone who lives on the edge of town. If your poodle leaves the yard and goes prancing off into the pasture, he’s liable to end up as a coyote sandwich. Drover wasn’t a poodle, but I had every reason to suppose that…well, we had Snort’s own words as proof. Remember his parting words? “Coyote make yum-yum out of little white dog, oh boy!”