Chapter Eleven: My Wicked Plan for Plato’s Future
You probably think it was cruel of me to take advantage of the birdbrain, and maybe it was, but I didn’t care. The jerk had caused me misery for years, having stolen my woman and broken my heart into sixty-two pieces, and if I had to cheat to win back Miss Beulah, so be it.
He squinted at his face in the mirror . . . and you should have been there! Ho, it was the funniest thing I’d seen in years. His eyes flew open and his jaw went all the way to the floor. When he finally was able to speak, he gasped, “Good grief, you’re right. It looks awful!”
I laid a paw upon his trembling shoulder—a true friend in his moment of greatest darkness, heh heh. “There, there. I’m sure it will heal.”
“You think so?”
“Oh sure. Give it a couple of years, and it’ll be fine.”
“A couple of years! Hank, bird season starts in two months! What if I can’t hunt?”
“One thing at a time, old buddy. Right now, we need to get you away from here.” I began easing him along. “I know you don’t want to embarrass Beulah.”
“Right. No, Hank, I’d rather be flogged.”
“That can be arranged.”
“Excuse me?”
“Let’s hurry, before she comes back.”
“Right.” I steered him south, toward the creek. We had gone several steps when he stopped, cocked his head to the side, and blinked his eyes. “Wait a second. I just had an interesting thought.”
“Uh, Plato, we’d better . . .”
“Just one second, Hank, I need to check something.” He rushed back to the hubcap and looked at himself again. He threw back his head and started laughing. “Hank, great news! I just figured it out. The surface of the hubcap distorts the image!”
“That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s true. What we’re seeing isn’t real. Here, come look for yourself.” I didn’t need to “look for myself,” but I did, just to keep up appearances. Plato laughed and whopped me on the back. “By golly, Hank, you really had me scared there for a minute . . .”
He froze. His foppish grin melted, and he lifted his famous bird-dog nose. He sniffed the air several times, and slowly his gaze drifted around to . . . well, to me, it seemed.
His face turned serious. “Hank, we’re friends, right? I mean, we can talk, man to man, dog to dog?”
“What’s your point?”
He glanced over both shoulders and lowered his voice. “Hank, only a friend would tell you this. You . . . you have an odor problem.”
For a moment of heartbeats, I couldn’t decide whether I should laugh in his face or beat him up, so I said, “I got sprayed by a skunk. So what?”
He scowled and pursed his lips. “Hank, I know Beulah pretty well and . . . Hank, let me be candid. She doesn’t like the smell of skunk.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “A bath might be good, Hank, and I say that in all sincerity.”
I pushed him away. “Dunce! If you’re such an expert on women, how come you keep running off to chase quail?”
His eyes went blank. “Hank, I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Good, because I’m tired of hearing you blabber. Here she comes, and we’ll see what she says. I’ll bet she doesn’t even notice the smell.”
Beulah came toward us in a trot, carrying a piece of hamburger bun in her mouth. She laid it at Plato’s feet and gave him such a sugary smile, it almost made me sick. “There, you poor thing. That will keep you alive until . . .” Her words hung in the air. She lifted her nose and sniffed. Her gaze turned like . . . well, it kind of reminded me of a gun turret of one of those battleships, turning toward a target. She stabbed me with her gaze. “Skunk?”
“Beulah, my dumpling, I think I can explain everything.”
Her eyes burst into flames. “You smell HORRIBLE!”
“Yes, well . . .”
“How dare you come to a picnic . . . oh-h-h-h!” She whirled around to Plato. “Tell your friend to take a bath before he goes out in public!”
Plato nodded. “Right. I already told him.”
She stuck her nose in the air and stalked away with short angry steps.
Maybe I should have left it there, but . . . well, I didn’t. I raised my voice and yelled, “So that’s the kind of woman you are, huh? Appearances and superficial stuff? Fine, Beulah, and you know what? I think it’s finished between us!”
Over her shoulder, she snapped, “Get a date with a skunk!”
Plato gave his head a sad shake. “You know, Hank, she’s right. You really should . . .”
“Will you please shut your trap?”
“Well, sure, Hank, if that’s how you feel. I was just . . .”
“I have a ranch to run, and you’re wasting my time. I hope you enjoy your cactus.” I wheeled around and marched away.
Behind me, I heard him call out, “Great seeing you again, Hank. And don’t forget, dove season starts September the first! Take care!”
Dove season. What a loser!
But you know what really ripped me? If Plato was such a loser, how come he always ended up with my girlfriend? It was one of the great mysteries of my life and a source of irremuckable sadness.
Oh well, I had important work to do. Had you forgotten that we were in the midst of a major investigation? Not me. Okay, maybe it had slipped my mind for a few minutes, but I was back on the case and ready to take charge.
See, I still had to get the message to Slim that his house had been burgled. I had assigned that job to Drover, but of course he’d made a mess of it. I should have known.
And speaking of Mister Squeakbox, guess who appeared out of nowhere and fell in step beside me. Drover. He gave me his patented silly grin. “Oh, hi. How’d it go with Beulah?” I didn’t answer or even look at him. “She told you to get a date with a skunk, so maybe it didn’t go too well.”
“I’m ignoring you.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“And you will be court-martialed.”
“Gosh, what did I do?”
“Everything. The list of charges is a mile long, but the trial will last only thirty seconds. You will spend the next fifty years with your nose in the corner.”
“I hate standing with my nose in the corner.”
“Good. I’ll enjoy every second of your misery.”
“Are you looking for Slim?”
“No.” I stopped and ran my gaze over the crowd at the picnic. “Yes. Where is he?”
“If I tell, will you shorten my sentence?”
“Drover, bribery is a serious crime.”
“Yeah, but will it work?”
I gave that a moment’s thought. “Okay, twenty-five years. Where is he?”
He pointed his paw toward a group of people sitting in lawn chairs. “He’s over there with Miss Viola. I think they’re fixing to play a song.”
The very mention of Miss Viola caused my spirits to rise. You might remember that she was very fond of me. There were rumors that she and Slim were sweet on each other, but I knew the truth. She adored ME and tolerated Slim because . . . well, because he was my friend, I suppose.
Yes, Viola and I had always been able to communicate our deepest thoughts and feelings. If Slim wasn’t able to understand my message about the burglar, I was pretty sure that I could get it across to Viola. And, hey, she might even give me a bite of her homemade ice cream. Heh heh.
I turned back to Drover. “Get your affairs in order, you’ll be spending the next twenty-five years in prison.”
“Could we shorten it to ten minutes?”
I wrestled with this heavy moral delemon. “Will you promise never to lock me out of the house again?”
“Well, I didn’t actually lock you out. You just couldn’t open the door.”
I stuck my nose in his face. “All right, then promise to stop learning tricks that I can’t do. Promise or rot in jail!”
“Okay, I promise.”
“Good. We’ll skip the court-martial. Go to your room and stick your nose in the corner.”
“Five minutes?”
“That’s correct, and don’t try to cheat. I’ll be watching.”
He trotted down to the gas tanks to begin serving his time. I hated to be so stern with the little mutt, but there were lessons he needed to learn.
I turned myself toward the north and marched straight over to the shady spot where Slim and Viola were sitting in a circle with several other people. Slim had brought out his banjo and was tuning it up. Viola picked up her mandolin and started playing a little bluegrass number called “Wild Plum Jelly.” I sat down and listened.
My goodness, she was pretty good on that thing, and Slim didn’t sound too bad on the banjo either. They made nice music together.
When it was over, she smiled and nodded to the crowd of people who broke into applause. I found myself thinking, “Hey, a lady with that kind of talent needs a loyal dog who will lie at her feet and gaze up at her with adorning eyes and guard her mandolin.”
That’s exactly what she needed, and I just happened to have a particular dog in mind for the job. ME.
With that thought blazing in my mind, I pretty muchly forgot that I was in the middle of an important investigation and was supposed to be warning Slim about the crook who’d broken into his house.
Sliding through the crowd, I went straight to Miss Viola, laid my head upon her lap, and gave her a look that said, “Hi. I hear you’ve been looking all over for me.”