The Return of the Charlie Monsters. John R. Erickson

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      Boy, you talk about a killer look! Pete’s glare was as cold as ice. I gave Drover a wink and a grin. He seemed a little confused at first, then a light came on deep inside the coal mine of his eyes. “Oh, I get it now. Hee hee. We’re going to tease the cat?”

      “That’s correct. Running cats up a tree is good, wholesome entertainment, but taunting them is even better.”

      “Yeah, and I’ve heard about taunted houses.”

      “Absolutely.” A silence fell over us. “What did you say?”

      “When?”

      “Just now. Something about…honking houses?”

      “Oh yeah. Well, let me think here.” He furrowed his brow and chewed on his lip. “They’re full of ghosts.”

      “No, that’s incorrect. Haunted houses are full of ghosts. Honking houses are full of geese.”

      “How come?”

      “Because geese honk. Ghosts moan. They don’t honk.”

      “I wonder why.”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Yeah, but how do all those geese get into the house?”

      “If you leave the windows open, geese will fly inside. Once there, they begin honking. Is that clear?”

      “Yeah, that helps.”

      “Good. Quit crossing your eyes.”

      The cat was coming toward us, so we had to bring this nonsense to an end. I had no idea how we had gotten onto the subject of geese and ghosts. It’s the sort of thing that happens when I try to carry on a conversation with Drover. Sometimes I wonder…

      Never mind.

      Okay, let’s get organized. Pete had been out in the pasture trying to chase turkeys, remember? But he was too fat and slow to catch one, and had succeeded in making himself look ridiculous. And I was loving it.

      Here he came, wearing a sour expression and sliding along like the snake he truly was. He greeted me in his usual whiney, annoying tone of voice. “Well, well, it’s Hankie the Wonder Dog, and his comical sidekick. What brings you out into the world at such an early hour of the day?”

      “The hour might be early to a cat, but we’ve already put in half a day’s work. We’re here to investigate a disturbance.”

      “Oh really. How exciting. Anyone I might know?”

      “Yes, as a matter of fact, and let’s go straight to the business. Point One, you’re bothering Sally May’s turkeys. Knock it off. If it happens again, you’ll have to deal with the Security Division.”

      His eyes grew wide. “My goodness! And I guess that means…what? You’ll run me up a tree or something?”

      “Exactly. Not only will we run you up a tree, but we’ll stand at the base of the tree and bark at you for hours and hours.”

      “Mercy! We don’t need that, do we?”

      “I thought you’d see it that way.”

      I shot a wink at Drover. He giggled and whispered, “Boy, you got him on that one. Good shot.”

      “Thanks, pal. I love this job.”

      Back to the kitty. He was gazing up at the sky and said, “Let’s see, that was Point One. Was there a Point Two?”

      “Yes, and I’m glad you asked. Point Two is that you’re too fat and lazy to be chasing turkeys. I can’t think of a nicer way of saying it.” I moved closer and glared into his scheming little eyes. “You looked pathetic, Pete. You got skunked by a bunch of dumb birds. You’re an embarrassment to the whole ranch.”

      “That bad, huh?”

      “That bad. Go back to your iris patch and leave the turkey-chasing to those who know how to do it.”

      He rolled over on his back and began slapping at his tail. “And who might that be, Hankie?”

      “The pros, Kitty, coyotes and bobcats. They’re in top shape, and they know how to do it. You’re not in their league.”

      “And how about…you?”

      “Huh? Me? Well, I…” His question caught me off guard. “I’ve chased a few turkeys in my time, but that was long ago. I’ve chosen not to do it any more.”

      “How noble! Or, could it be,” he fluttered his eyelids, “that you’ve gotten old, fat, and out of shape? That happens, Hankie.”

      “Yeah? It happens to cats, but not to…will you excuse us a moment? Drover and I need to have a word.” I motioned to Drover and we moved a few steps away where we could speak in privacy. “What’s this cat up to?”

      “You don’t reckon he’s trying to pull a trick, do you?”

      “Of course he is, but the question is, which way is he tricking? See, cats never do the obvious. They feint one way and go the other.”

      Drover studied the cat. “Well, he hasn’t fainted yet, so maybe there’s no trick this time.”

      “Drover, there’s always a trick up a cat’s sleeve.”

      “Yeah, but he doesn’t have any sleeves.”

      “That’s the whole point. This could be the old Invisible Trick trick. I’ve seen it before.”

      “If it’s invisible, how can you see it?”

      “What?”

      “I said…what’ll we do now?”

      I threw a glance over to the cat. He was rolling around in the grass and playing with his tail. “Okay, listen up. Our response will come in two stages. In Stage One, we will play dumb.”

      “That rhymes. Stage One, play dumb.”

      “Never mind that it rhymes.”

      “That rhymes too.”

      “Drover, please concentrate. Repeat our orders for Stage One.”

      He wadded up his face and squinted one eye. “Let’s see. We honk?”

      The air hissed out of my lungs. “No, we don’t honk. We play dumb.”

      “Boy, that’ll be hard.”

      “I know, but we have to pull it off. In Stage One, we want Kitty to think we’re just a couple of dumb dogs.”

      “Got it. What about Stage Three?”

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