The Ghosts of Rabbits Past. John R. Erickson
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Название: The Ghosts of Rabbits Past
Автор: John R. Erickson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Hank the Cowdog
isbn: 9781591887621
isbn:
“No, I said busy. Biz, biz, biz. Bizz-zee. Dizzy is something else.”
“Hunk quit talk like beetle-bum.”
“A what? Oh, you mean a bumblebee?”
“Rip and Snort not friend to beetle-bum, get stung on nose.”
“Right. Those beetle-bums are bad news.”
“Hunk get bad news if keeping talk like beetle-bum.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive. Let’s talk about something else. What brings you to ranch headquarters? I mean, you guys don’t come here very often.”
“Uh. ‘Cause guys not like house and boom-boom.”
“Right. Coyotes are scared of people and guns.”
“Coyotes not scared of nothing.”
“That’s what I meant. You’re not scared of anything, but you’d rather not get peppered with buckshot.”
“Rip and Snort not give a hoot for pepper.”
“I agree. It’ll burn your mouth and make you sneeze, and raise your temperature twenty degrees. Ha ha. A little humor there, a rhyme for the evening, so to speak. Ha ha.”
There was a long, deadly silence. “Hunk try to be funny?”
“Well, yes. I just thought…hey Snort, let’s be honest. Talking with you can be pretty depressing.”
“Ha! Coyote brothers not give a hoot for pretty dressing. Coyote brothers ugly and meaner than whole world.”
“That was my point. You guys are ugly and mean, and sometimes I find that depressing.”
“Hunk talk too much. Rip and Snort come on important mitchen.”
Mitchen? Hmmm. I wasn’t familiar with that word, but it must have been important, because…well, because he’d said so, right? “Important mitchen.” Wait, I had it! In the coyote dialect, mitchen translated into mission.
“Oh, I get it now. You’re here on an important mission?”
“Mitchen. Hunk not know how to talk.”
“Sorry, my fault. You’re here on an important mitchen. Would it be proper for me to ask the nature of your mitchen?”
“Brothers come to catnip kid.”
“You’re calling yourself the Catnip Kid? Gee, that’s nice, Snort, I like it. Every outlaw ought to have a nickname.”
Snort grumbled, “What means ‘nick-nock’?”
At that moment, the moon appeared from behind a layer of clouds and…yipes, I got my first glimpse of the cannibals. They towered over me and were beaming glares that seemed irritated and unfriendly, even hostile.
“I didn’t say nick-nock. I said nickname, and a nickname is…well, it’s a name we give ourselves in a spirit of fun or affection.”
“Snort not have fun with infection, too many germs.”
You know, under different circumstances, I would have been laughing. I mean, this was the craziest conversation I’d had since the last time I’d tried to communicate with these boneheads. But laughing in front of cannibals wasn’t something I wanted to try.
Let’s face it, being incredibly dumb isn’t always funny to those who are.
Hencely, laughing was out of the question, but somehow I had to keep the conversation moving. Don’t forget, when cannibals stop talking, they start thinking about food.
But what could I say?
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