The Garbage Monster from Outer Space by John R. Erickson

Author:John R. Erickson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cowdog, Hank the Cowdog, John R. Erickson, John Erickson, ranching, Texas, dog, adventure, mystery, Hank, Drover, Pete, Sally May
Publisher: Maverick Books, Inc.
Published: 2015-05-06T19:52:30+00:00

Chapter Seven: I Enroll in Rip and Snort’s Wilderness School

Just for a second there, I thought I had been betrayed by the lovely Missy Coyote.

On the one hand, it was hard to believe she might have resisted my many charms, and we’re talking about, oh, massive shoulders, a pretty nice coat of hair, dashing good looks, great talent, a wonderful charming personality, dashing good looks, nice ears, a heck of a fine nose, and dashing good looks.

On the other hand . . . she was a coyote and I was a dog, and when push came to shovel, she just might choose her own kind over me. And that would not be good.

That would be very bad, and I found myself studying the paths and trails that led back to the ranch, just in case this deal got out of hand.

But then I noticed that Missy was talking to the brothers. They were listening but didn’t ap­pear to be real happy about it. I heard several loud grunts and growls, and then Snort said, “Rip and Snort not want dummy ranch dog for teaching. Want dummy ranch dog for supper!”

The conference went on for several more minutes. I tried not to show a great amount of concern, even though I was getting worried. I mean, Missy was the chief’s daughter and had some influence, but when you’re dealing with cannibals, you never know how things might turn out.

At last the conference broke up. Snort came pounding over to where I was sitting. His face was . . . sour, shall we say. He didn’t look happy at all. He marched up to me and poked me in the chest with his paw.

“Coyote girl say she friend of Hunk.”

“Oh? Well, thanks. Yes, we’ve been . . .”

“Rip and Snort not give a hoot for dummy ranch dog and not want teach dummy ranch dog coyote ways.”

“Yes, well, I can understand . . .”

“Ranch dog shut trap and listen.”

“Yes sir.”

He kept poking me in the chest. “Rip and Snort take dummy ranch dog for big night of hunt and tear-up, but only for coyote girl.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, Snort.”

He poked me again. “Ha! Not kind. Coyote not give a hoot for kind.”

“Do you suppose we could discuss this without you, uh, poking a hole in my rib cage?”

“Snort not give a hoot for ripped cage.”

“Rib cage.”

“Shut trap.”

“Yes sir.”

“Rip and Snort take dog along, but Hunk got to pass test, ha ha.”

I stared into his wicked yellow eyes. “Test? What sort of test did you, uh, have in mind?”

He puffed himself up. “Hunk have to sing Coyote Sacred Hymnal and National Anthemum—all by self.”

“Oh, you mean ‘Me Just a Worthless Coyote’? Let’s see . . . yes, I think I can remember the words. But of course I’ll do my own arrangement and it might not sound as bad . . . that is, it might not sound as good as what you guys do.”

“Ha. Too bad. Hunk sing.”

The brothers plopped themselves down on the ground and stared at me with eyes that ex­pressed .

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