The Ghosts of Rabbits Past

by John R. Erickson

  I didn’t want to look behind me. I’m not kidding, I did not want to look behind me, and a tiny voice in my head whispered, “If you don’t look, you don’t have to know.”

  That made sense, didn’t it? Okay, it made sense for about five seconds, then it began to sound like something a dog might say to himself when he was scared out of his wits.

  I had to look. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and slowly, very slowly, turned my head to see what kind of horrible creatures might be standing behind me.

  You know what I saw? You won’t believe this: nothing! Nobody. In other words, I had creeped myself out with my own wild imagination. Ha ha. Boy, what a relief. That just goes to prove…I’m not sure what it proved, but it proved something very important.

  Ha ha. Well, it was time to get on with the business of tracking cannibals and finding little Drover. I turned back to the east and walked smooth into Rip and Snort, and we’re talking about bammo, in the blink of an eye.

  There they stood, looming over me like a couple of pine trees. I was too shocked to be scared. My jaw dropped about three inches and I stared at them. They wore big toothy grins.

  “Hey, where did you guys come from?”

  “Ha! Guys come from following Hunk for long time.”

  “How could you have been following me? I was following you.”

  They howled with laughter. “Ha! Ranch dog dumber and dumbest for tracking to try coyote brothers.”

  “Yes, but…you can’t do this.” They laughed louder. “Do you know what this reminds me of? It reminds me of cheating. Yes, cheating—cutting corners and taking unfair advantage of a friend. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. In fact, I’m so upset by your behavior, I think I’ll just leave.”

  I didn’t think this would work, and it didn’t. They darted into my path and blocked my escape. I would have to think of something else.

  “Okay, I’ll stay a while, but only if you’ll agree to play by the rules. This cheating has got to stop.”

  That flopped. Snort pounded his chest and roared, “Rip and Snort gooder cheatest in whole world, not give a hoot for play by rules!”

  “All right, let’s go to the bottom line. I’m on an important mission to find my little friend, Drover.” They stared at me. “Drover. Remember him? He’s a dog, a small dog with a stub-tail, and you guys kidnapped him from ranch headquarters, remember?”

  They held a whispering conference. “Kids not take nap, play all day, make noise too much.”

  Patience. I searched for patience. “Let’s try another approach. This morning around four o’clock, you guys invaded ranch headquarters and tried to kidnap a cat.”

  “Guys tried to catnip kid.”

  “Right, that’s what I meant, but instead of catnipping the kid, you kidnapped Drover.”

  “Little white mutt-mutt?”

  “That’s him. Is he…is he okay?”

  The brothers exchanged grins. “Okay till sun goes down, ho ho.”

  Whew! Well, at least they hadn’t eaten him yet. Maybe there was still hope.

  Chapter Ten: I Put My Plan Into Action

  It appeared that Drover was still alive, but I had to figure out a plan for saving him. I continued my conversation with the cannibal brothers. “I’m here to deliver an urgent message from Drover’s mother. She wants him to come home right away. He can’t stay for supper.”

  Snort studied me with his empty yellow eyes. “What mother want with little white mutt-mutt?”

  “Well, he’s been gone all day. She…she’s worried that he forgot to brush his teeth.”

  Snort shook his head. “Coyote not give a hoot for brushy teeth.”

  “All right, then consider this. It’s way past his curfew.”

  Again, Snort shook his head. “Little mutt-mutt got plenty kerchoo, sneeze all time.”

  “Exactly, and that’s my whole point. He has bad allergies.”

  “Kerchoo all over coyote billage, spray spit-water on Rip and Snort.”

  “See? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He gets this way every year in the fall, sneezing his head off and blowing germs in all directions. And I’m sure you don’t want his germs, so here’s the perfect solution.” I moved closer and lowered my voice. “Drover needs to take his pills. I’ll rush him home and make sure he takes his allergy medicine, then bring him right back for supper. What do you think?”

  I know this sounded crazy, but I was grasping at strawberries. When you’re trying to do business with cannibals, you never know what kind of nonsense might work. Don’t forget, those guys weren’t normal.

  They held another conference, then turned back to me. “Hunk talk too much.”

  “I know, but we want to get it right. I mean, you really don’t want Drover sneezing on everyone during the big feast. Do we have a deal or not?”

  “Hunk promise not telling big whopper to coyote brothers?”

  Okay, at this crucial point in the drama, you’re probably thinking that I had worked myself into a corner, because everyone knows that the Head of Ranch Security can’t tell a lie, right? I mean, when we take a Solemn Pledge, we have to stick to it, even if we’re making the pledge to a couple of bloodthirsty coyotes.

  Duty demands it. Ordinary mutts can tell whoppers, but Heads of Ranch Security are held to a higher standard.

  It sounds hopeless, doesn’t it? Heh. Not quite. Here’s the clever trick I pulled on the coyote brotherhood—a trick, by the way, I had learned from Drover only hours before.

  I raised my right paw in the air, stood at attention, and took a pledge. “Rip and Snort, ladies and gentlemen, honored guests: on this very solemn occasion, I promise NOT to NOT tell you a big whopperous lie.”

  Do you get it? Hee hee. I had promised to tell them a pack of lies, and they were so dumb, they fell for it, hook, line, and sewer. As I’ve said before, the mind of a dog is an awesome thing.

  After whispering amongst themselves, they faced me again, and Snort said, “Brothers take deal, now lead Hunk to little white mutt-mutt.”

  I couldn’t believe my luck. What a couple of dumbbells! They’d taken my deal and now they were going to deliver me right to Drover, which meant that I wouldn’t have to waste any time looking for him. Hee hee!

  Off we went into the deep dark canyon, Snort in the lead, me in the middle, and Rip bringing up the rear. I must say that it was rather pleasant. I mean, I’d been on a few adventures with these guys when…well, when tension filled the air. I had been under armed guard, in other words, and had been in fear for my life.

  This time? Gee, it was like hanging out with a couple of old buddies. No threats or harsh words, no brute force or intimidation, just three happy guys, hiking through the canyons and enjoying the fellowship.

  “Hey Snort, remember the time the three of us met at the silage pit? It was the middle of the night and you taught me how to eat silage. Then we sang your Coyote National Anthem. Remember?”

  “Natchional Anthemum. Hunk talk right.”

  “Oh right, sorry. We sang your Natchional Anthemum. Remember?”

  Snort grinned, warmed by the memories. “Uh! Snort remember pretty good. Hunk want to hear new coyote song?”

  “Well, yes, sure, you bet. You got one in mind?”

  “Got one in mind. Sing for Hunk and little friend at big supper feast, when sun go down and moon come up.”

  I smiled to myself. No doubt the sun would go down and the moon would come up, but Drover and I wouldn’t be there for the “big supper feast.” By the time Snort and the others figured out my clever trick, Drover and I would be far, far away. Hee hee.

  Allergy medicine. Can you believe they fell for that?

  But in the spirit of good will and friendship, I said, “That sounds great, Snort. I’ll be looking forward to hearing the new song.”

  Hey, I was pla
ying these guys like a couple of cheap fiddles.

  We had now entered the canyon, with steep walls on both sides that rose three hundred feet, and a deep silence that you could only describe as spooky. This was home to the cannibals and a place where ranch dogs seldom ventured.

  The coyote village—or “billage,” as they called it in their native tongue—consisted of a collection of holes and caves, littered with bones, skulls, horns, toenails, scraps of hair, and other refuse left over from dinner parties of the past. I chose not to look too closely at the bones. I really didn’t want to know how many of those bones might have once been part of a stray dog.

  The village was also littered with scowling coyotes who paused from their normal behavior (scratching and fighting) to glare at us as we walked past. I put on a cheerful face and greeted them with a smile. “Hi, how are y’all? Nice afternoon, huh?”

  Not a word of greeting, not a friendly smile, just brooding glares and cruel yellow eyes. Oh, and several of them licked their chops, which made me uneasy, and glad that I had a free ticket out of there. A guy wouldn’t want to be in a place like this when the sun went down.

  Near the center of the village, I looked around and saw a familiar face in the distance: old Chief Gut. He was coming toward us, limping on at least two of his skinny legs. He was easy to pick out of a crowd because of the notches bitten out of his ears and the old scars on his face. Several front teeth were missing, his ribs were showing, and he had a pair of eyes that you would describe as “bloodshot.” They had red streaks.

  That description might sound a little scary, but the truth was that old Gut looked like a joke on four legs. In his prime, he might have been a famous brawler and chicken thief, but now he was just trying to keep the old wreck afloat, as the cowboys would say. And, for a cannibal, he was a pleasant fellow. We’d met before, you know, and I’d always gotten the feeling that he kind of liked me. In another time and place, we might have become friends.

  Here he came, limping and grinning. “Ah ha! Ranch dog come for bisit!” (That’s the coyote word for “visit,” don’t you see). “Long time not see Hunk. Maybe stay for supper, huh?”

  It’s always a little unsettling when a cannibal invites you to supper. Even the nice ones might have hidden motives. I tried to hide my uneasiness and greeted him with a charming smile.

  “Hi, Chief, great to see you again, and thanks for the invite. As a matter of fact, Rip and Snort have already invited me to the big feast and, yes, I’m going to attend…but first I have to run a little errand.” He gave me a puzzled look. “Oh, maybe you haven’t heard. I have to, uh, rush Drover back to the house and get his medicine. Allergies. He sneezes all the time. Kerchoo.” I leaned toward him and whispered, “His mother insists. You know how they are.”

  The chief seemed perplexed by this, and he and Snort held a whispering conference off to the side. I heard them laughing and took that as a positive sign.

  Chief Gut returned to me. “Okie dokie! Hunk take little white mutt-mutt to house and get kerchoo pills, hurry back for big supper feast in moonlight, oh boy.”

  “You bet. I’m really looking forward to it, Chief. We’ll run as fast as we can and be back before dark.”

  He grinned and nodded. “Hunk be here for sure, ho ho.”

  Maybe I should have wondered what he meant by “ho ho,” but at that very moment Snort jerked his head at me, which I interpreted to mean, “Hunk follow Snort and find little mutt-mutt.”

  It’s kind of amazing that I was able to communicate so well with these goons, isn’t it? You bet. But in my line of work, communication is extremely important. Why, if you don’t know what the enemy is saying, you don’t even know what he’s saying, and that can get a guy in deep trouble.

  I followed Snort to a cave in the west side of the canyon wall. This was the infamous coyote dungeon, the place where they held captives until…well, until supper was ready, I guess you might say. As we climbed over rocks to reach the cave, I studied the layout and committed every tiny detail to memory. You never know which one of those tiny details might come in handy later on.

  I noticed one tiny detail that wasn’t so tiny: there was no guard posted at the entrance, and that seemed pretty strange. What kind of dungeon had no guard? And what had prevented Drover from busting out of jail and making his escape?

  It was then that the awful truth struck me. The poor little guy was probably bound and gagged, or maybe they’d chained him to the prison walls. Or maybe…gulp…this possibility hit me like a goose falling out of the sky. Maybe they’d already eaten him and this whole deal was a big hoax!

  Were coyotes capable of this level of deceit? Because if they were, the Head of Ranch Security was walking straight into a death trap. The thought that I might have estumunderated these brutes chilled me to the bone, but then…

  I almost fainted with relief. Ha ha. You’ll never guess what I heard. Drover’s happy little voice, saying, “Okay, it’s my turn.”

  Boy, what a relief! Sorry if I got you worked up over nothing, but when you go out on a dangerous mission with Hank the Cowdog, you have to expect a few chills and thrills, and a few bumps in the road.

  I shouldn’t have said anything about my deepest fears. I mean, it was crazy of me to think that I might have been out-smarted by a bunch of flea-bag coyotes. Those mugs could be dangerous if you got in their way, but at the level of heavy-duty thinking, they were no match for…well, for ME, you might say.

  Everything was going according to my plan.

  Chapter Eleven: Treachery On a Grand Scale

  When I heard Drover’s voice inside the cave, I felt a huge sense of relief. With Snort pointing the way, I rushed into the prison cell, expecting…well, I had every reason to suppose that the little mutt would be so glad to see me, he would spin in circles or something.

  You know what he did? He looked up and said, “Oh, hi. What are you doing here?” And then he went back to playing Tug The Stick with a half-grown hoodlum coyote with sneaky little eyes and spiky teeth.

  I was dumbfounded. I’d come to rescue the dunce, and he was playing games with the enemy? I stormed over to him and jerked the stick out of his mouth. “Give me that! On your feet.”

  “Gosh, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Hush and pay attention. Your mother is worried sick about you.”

  “My mom? Gee, I haven’t seen her in years.”

  I used facial gestures, in hopes of alerting him to the fact that this was a top-secret communication. “We have to rush you back to the ranch so you can take your pills.”

  “What pills?”

  “Your allergy medicine. You’ve been sneezing all over these coyotes and they’re tired of it.”

  “Yeah, but we’re having fun.”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “And I don’t have any pills.”

  My eyes were about to bulge out of my head. “Will you hush? Follow me, we’re leaving.”

  He turned to the little thug he’d been playing with. “Sorry, Rowdy, I’ve got to go.” I headed for the exit in a fast walk, but Snort was blocking the way. “Excuse me, Snort. If we’re going to make it back for supper, we need to hurry.”

  I didn’t like the way he grinned at me. I mean, we’re talking about gleaming teeth and eyes that seemed to be dancing with cunning yellow light. He shook his head. “Uh uh. Hunk not go nowhere.”

  “What? Now wait just a second, Snort, we made a deal.”

  When Snort and the little hoodlum burst out in roars of mocking laughter, I began to suspect that I had been duped. Tricked. Sandbagged.

  Snort looked down at me with cruel eyes and growled, “Ha! Hunk-dog dumber than dumb. Coyote not believe nothing about kerchoo pills. Hunk and little mutt-mutt friend stay for coyote supper, oh boy!”

  I pulled myself up to a dignified pose and looked him straight in the eyes. “Snort,
this is an outrage! I’m shocked beyond measure. Unless you release us this very moment, I will have to report this to the proper authorities.”

  This brought another explosion of rude laughter.

  The kid, Rowdy, that smirking little hoodlum, left the cave. Staggering with laughter, he joined the mob outside and told them all about the incident. The mob roared and hooted.

  Pretty depressing, huh? You bet, but it got worse. Snort stayed to guard the entrance. That was bad news. He turned his back on me and refused to talk, so I whirled around and roasted my pea-brained assistant with a flaming glare.

  “Don’t you see what’s going on here? They’re going to eat you for supper!”

  He gave me a dreamy grin. “Oh, they wouldn’t do that, ‘cause I’m their mascot.”

  “You’re what?”

  “They made me their official mascot.”

  I walked a few steps away to get control of my temper. I didn’t want to scream in his face, not with Snort listening to the conversation. “Okay, Drover, let’s try to calm down and take this one step at a time. Number one, you’re not their official mascot.”

  “Well, they said I was. They had a contest and I won. They said I was the most popular doggie they’d ever met.”

  “Drover, you’re sicker than I thought.” I stormed over to him and stuck my nose in his face. “Listen, you little squeakbox, the guys who voted you Most Popular are cannibals. They lie and cheat and steal. They don’t do it for a hobby. They’re professionals, it’s what they do for a living.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “If they ever had a mascot, do you know what they’d do with him?”

  “Well, they said they’d take me on a nature hike.”

  “A nature hike! Oh brother. They’re going to eat you for supper, and the really sad part is, they plan to eat me too!”