The Case of the Shipwrecked Tree. John R. Erickson
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Название: The Case of the Shipwrecked Tree
Автор: John R. Erickson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Hank the Cowdog
isbn: 9781591887416
isbn:
It was wonderful! All the weeks and weeks of sleepless nights, all the cares and worries of running the Security Division, all the frayed nerves and knotted muscles melted away like . . . something. Mothballs in a pouring rain, I suppose, or maybe snowballs in a pouring rain.
Sugar cubes in a cup of hot tea.
Graham crackers in a glass of milk.
They all melted away, is the point, and there for a few moments, I felt myself . . . Suddenly a voice cut through the silence.
“Hi Hank, I’m back.”
I jacked myself up to a sitting position and began the backbreaking process of cranking open my eyelids. There stood Drover—grinning, happy, and dumb. And wigwagging his stub tail. “Werewolfs wear rumple buckets—you just left. How could you be back so snooze?”
“Well, I made friends with the turkeys and got ’em to tell me everything.”
“Talkies? What are you turking about?”
“Turkeys, wild turkeys. See, you sent me on an important mission to incinerate the turkeys, and I did and now I’m back.”
“Yes, of course. Be still a minute and let me think. And stop wagging your tail. It hurts my ears.” I walked several steps away and filled my lungs with carbon diego. My private moments were over. I had been pulled back into the world of worry, care, and responsibility. I walked back toward the little runt. “All right, Drover, I’m ready to hear your report.”
“Gosh, did you fall asleep again?”
“No, I did not. I was merely . . . give me your report on the turkey spies. Did you find Murphy?”
He sat down and started scratching his ear. “Oh yeah, I spotted him right away. He was the one who looked just like a turkey.”
“So we were right, weren’t we? He came onto the ranch in that turkey costume and thought we’d never notice. Ha! What a foolish spy. Why are you scratching your ear?”
“Oh, because it itches . . . I guess. And it feels better when I scratch it.”
“I would be grateful if you’d scratch on your own time. Scratching in public is rude and uncouth.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Go on with your report. Did you hear any of their plans? What is Murphy up to? Surely he came here on some kind of devilish mission.”
“Oh yeah, I heard ’em talking, and I think Murphy came here on some kind of . . .” He paused for a moment. “. . . devilish mission.”
Those words sent a shock all the way out to the end of my tail, but I tried to conceal it. “I’m not surprised, Drover. That’s exactly what I had feared and expected. Okay.” I began pacing back and forth in front of him. “Let’s get down to pacifics. Tell me everything you know.”
“Well, let’s see. It’s a big ocean and it’s over by California.”
“Ocean, California. Got it. Go on.”
“It’s full of salt and seaweed and . . . and jellyfish.”
“Jellyfish, huh? This is getting interesting. Jellyfish have poison stingers, you know. Is it possible that Murphy has developed some kind of new high-tech weapon that fires jellyfish instead of bullets? They’re very slippery, you know.”
“Yeah, they’re made of jelly.”
“The spies, Drover. Spies are very slippery characters.”
“Boy, I love jelly.”
“Exactly. Well, this is pretty scary, Drover. You actually heard the turkeys discussing this new jellyfish technology?”
“Well . . . I’m not sure about that.”
I stopped pacing and studied the runt. “Did you or not? If you didn’t, why are we discussing jellyfish?”
He rolled his eyes around. “Well, I was kind of wondering that myself. You wanted me to talk about the ocean and . . . well, I couldn’t think of anything to say, but I figured jellyfish live in the ocean. I guess.”
“Drover, is this some kind of pathetic attempt at humor? If it is, I must warn you that the punishment for making jokes during a briefing is very severe.”
“Maybe I heard you wrong.”
I began pacing again. “In that case, we’ll disregard all references to the bogus jellyfish technology and plunge on with your report. What I’m looking for, Drover, is specific information. Details.”
“I got de-tailed when I was a pup, and I’ve had a stub ever since.”
“I’m not interested in your stub tail.”
“Neither am I, but I have to wear it every day.”
“Drover, does your stub tail relate to this particular Turkey Report? If not, then let’s move along.”
“Well, when I’m out with a bunch of turkeys, I always notice that they’ve got beautiful tails made of feathers, and mine’s just a stub. It makes me feel like I’ve got . . .” A quiver came into his voice. “. . . an inferior tail.”
I stopped pacing and turned slowly to face him. “Drover, you do have an inferior tail. It’s not a feeling or an illusion. It’s a fact. You’ll never have a beautiful feathered turkey tail, and the sooner you accept yourself as you really are, the quicker you’ll be. Now, can we get on with this briefing?”
He hung his head and sniffled. “I guess so, but sometimes it gets me down.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you really?”
“No. Hurry up.” I began pacing again. “Tell me exactly what Murphy said. I want his exact precise words, and omit all references to jellyfish and your tail.”
“Well, okay, let me think here.” He squeezed one eye shut and wadded up the left side of his mouth. It appeared that he was probing the empty depths of his mind, which was encouraging. “Here we go. His exact words were: ‘Gobble gobble gobble-gobble gobble gobble-gobble-gobble.’”
“That’s what he said? Are you sure about that?”
“Yep, I heard it with my own ears. What does it mean?”
“It means . . .” I cut my eyes from side to side. “It means, Drover, that we will now sing ‘The Turkey Song.’”
“‘The Turkey Song’? I never heard of it.”
“Then listen and take notes.”
And with that, before Drover’s very ears, I sang this song.
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