Chapter Six: Attacked by the Couch Monster

Have you ever run into a Couch Monster? Neither had I. They aren’t too common in our country, but it certainly appeared that I had just been grabbed by one.

I’m not sure what causes a couch to turn into a Couch Monster, but I can report what I learned about this one. When I entered that living room, the couch was just a couch. But as I was leaving, it suddenly sprouted an arm that reached out and grabbed me, and acquired a voice, a terrible voice, that rumbled, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE, POOCH?!”

Scared the living daylights out of me. Maybe my guilt feelings about being in Sally May’s living room had something to do with how badly it scared me, because I was indeed feeling a few pricks of guilt and remorse about, well, being in the house and so forth.

And I sure wasn’t expecting to be assaulted by a Couch Monster in a semidarkened living room in the middle of the day. A guy hears about those things happening to other dogs, but he tends to think, “Nah, it’ll never happen to me.”

But it sure as heck did happen to me. When that hand reached out and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, I let out a squeak, lifted the hair on my back, and went to Full Stampede to the left.

It was then that I saw the Ghostly Form rising from the couch. Yes sir, this ghost or evil spirit, call it what you wish, this THING in human form rose out of the cushions of the couch and sat up. It had a long nose, a beard, and hair down in its eyes.

I bristled up like a cornered coyote, bared my fangs, and barked as I’d never barked before.

That should have done the trick, but to my astonishment the THING continued to rise until it left the couch from which it had come like a wisp of smoke rising from a fire.

It planted its feet upon the floor, reared up to its full height, made claws with its hands, and twisted its eyes and mouth into a horrible mask. And then, claws extended into a grabbing-and-killing position, it began lurching toward me—uttering a terrible growl that froze my blood in its vaynes.

Vanes.

Vaines.

Vessels.

Froze my blood in its vessels.

You think I didn’t bark at that thing? I not only gave it the whole book on barking, but I also retreated a few steps to the northwest, just in case it . . .

And it did! IT CAME AFTER ME! Hey, that was all I needed to know about Couch Monsters: They ate dogs. And with that, I said good-bye to barking and went ripping out of the living room and into the kitchen, did a little slipping and sliding on that slick linoleum floor, and vanished into a closet in the back bedroom.

It was there in the darkness of the closet that I heard a thunder of laughter, and then a familiar voice: “What’s wrong, Hankie, did ya think I was going to eat ya?”

Okay, what we had here . . . once again Slim had . . . have we discussed stupid childish cowboy pranks? He had pulled that stupid childish monster trick on me so many times, you’d think I would have . . . you’d think a grown man could find something better to do with his time.

But the bottom line is that a dog can’t afford to take chances. Once in a great while he’ll come out on the short end of the . . . let’s just drop it.

I crept out of the closet and peered around the corner and into the kitchen. I wagged my tail. Sure enough, there was Slim, pulling on his boots. When he saw me, he chuckled to himself and said, “Look at the hair on that dog’s back!”

I barked at him one last time, just to let him know what I thought of his twisted sense of humor.

“Now, now, Hankie, don’t be bitter. We was only having a little fun.” Little Alfred appeared at that moment, whistling a tune and looking up at the ceiling. Slim forked him with his eyes. “Say, Hotrod, who let that dog in the house?”

“Oh, he just swipped in, I guess.”

“Uh-huh. And if your momma was to walk in right now, I might be a-wearin’ her iron skillet around my neck. Let’s try to keep the livestock outside, hear?”

“Okay, Swim. It was an accident.”

“Yalp.”

That was odd. All signs and symptoms of the Ice Cream Experiment had disappeared—the carton and the lid—and somebody had even shut the freezer door. Slim would never know the full extent of what he had missed.

He finished pulling on his boots and stood up. “Well, we’d better saddle me a bronc and see if we can put that old hookin’ bull back where he belongs.”

He started toward the back door but then stopped and sniffed the air. “Boy, I need to warsh my socks. Smells like a sewer in here.”

Funny, I hadn’t noticed the smell of his socks, but then I’d had my mind on other things.

We went trooping out of the house, picked up Mister Look-at-the-Clouds at the yard gate, hooked the stock trailer onto Slim’s pickup, and pulled down to the corrals.

Slim had kept up a young bay horse the night before. He caught him and led him into the saddle lot and threw a saddle on him. While he tightened the cinches, he talked out loud to himself.

“If I have to rope that old bull, I might wish I’d taken a better horse. I’ve never roped anything big on this owl-headed thang, and there’s not much tellin’ what he might do.” He stopped and thought a moment. “In fact, I believe I’ll just . . . nah, it’s too hot to gather the horse pasture. We’ll do what needs to be done, won’t we, Button?”

Little Alfred smiled. “I’ll wope that bull, if you’ll wet me.”

Slim led the horse out the gate and latched it behind him. “I wish I could, son, ’cause roping bulls is sometimes hard on clothes and old men.”

“I woped me a chicken today.”

“I’ll bet you did. When it comes to slinging that twine, you’re a regular holy terrier.”

Slim loaded his horse into the trailer. Little Alfred watched. “I wike to wope, and I’m pwetty good.”

“That’s fine, Button, just keep a-throwin’ and keep a-learnin’. One of these days you’ll be as good with a rope as I am, and probably just as rich.”

“Are you wich, Swim?”

Slim hitched up his jeans and smiled. “Well now, I’m rich in the things that matter to me. I’m proud of who I am and what I do. To me, that’s rich. There’s a song that says just what I’m a-tryin’ to tell you, Button. Let’s see if I can remember how it goes.”

I didn’t know old Slim could even carry a tune, but by George he did. Here’s how it went.

Just Another Cowboy Day

This morning at five I got out of bed,

Boiled some coffee and toasted some bread.

I pulled on the jeans I’d left throwed on the chair,

And brushed all the roostertails out of my hair.

My eyes was all soggy, I couldn’t see squat.

I tripped on the dog on my way to the pot.

I said to myself as I kicked him away,

“It’s another cowboy day.”

It’s another cowboy day

Diggin’ them postholes and pitchin’ that hay.

It’s another cowboy day,

Just another cowboy day.

I went to the mirror and stood there a while.

The face starin’ back at me looked pretty wild.

If eyes was like teeth, I could take out the red

And soak ’em in Polident next to my bed.

Old Arthur was hurtin’, my shoulder was sore.

Sometimes I think I can’t take any more.

I’ve left many times but always I stayed

For another cowboy day.

It’s another cowboy day

Diggin’ them postholes and pitchin’ that hay.

It’s another cowboy day,

Just another cowboy day.

I went to the barn and fed my old horse,

Me and that rascal have been through the course.

He ain’t all that good but he ain’t all that bad.

Old Dunny’s the best friend that I’ve ever I had.

Old Dunny and me, we cut through the breeze

As morning was paintin’ the tops of the trees.

“Oh Lord, give me more,” that’s all I could say,

“Just another cowboy day.”

It’s another cowboy day

Diggin’ them postholes and pitchin’ that hay.

It’s another cowboy day,

Just another cowboy day.

By the time Slim finished the song, Little Alfred was playing bulldozer in the dirt with a piece of wood. “Well Button, does that make any sense to you?”

“Nope, but it’s a pwetty song.”

Slim smiled. “Sometimes it don’t make much sense to me either. Well, load up. We’ve got things to do and places to go.”

“Can I wide in the back wiff my doggies?”

Slim frowned. “Why don’t you ride up front with me? Your ma would feel better if you did. And you never can tell, I might need some help drivin’.”

“Can Hankie and Dwover wide up fwont too?”

“Now Button, we don’t need to be spoilin’ them dogs. Next thing you know, they’ll think they’ve got a constitutional right . . .”

“Pweeze, Swim, just this once.”

Slim shook his head and moved his lips. “Oh, all right, but just this once.”

“Yippee! Come on, doggies, we get to wide in the fwont!”

The three of us made a dash for the pickup, while Slim came along behind, talking to himself.

“I know better than to start this foolishness. Once you spoil a ranch dog, he ain’t worth shootin’ from then on. Course, them two dogs was born worthless, but we ain’t going to make a habit of this ridin’ in front, you hear what I’m sayin’? Just this once.”

“Okay, Swim.”

Slim opened the door and the three of us climbed up on the seat. At the mailbox, Slim stopped and looked both ways before he pulled onto the caliche road.

He wrinkled up his nose. “Boy, this pickup sure stinks. If that’s my socks again, I’m going to burn them thangs.”

We turned onto the road and off we went to the pasture. If I had known what was waiting for us up there, I might had chosen to stay at home.