Chapter Nine: Our Vocabulary Lesson For Today

Before we plunge into the spooky part of this story, maybe we should pause a moment and have Our Vocabulary Lesson For Today. See, most stories are made up of words. In fact, all stories are made up of words. Without words, stories would consist of dozens of empty pages, which would make them hard to read and very boring. Without words, we would all be speechless.

Hencely, it’s important that we stay on top of this business of translating Kid Language into forms of speech that the rest of us can understand. In our previous lesson, we discussed “twucks” and the true meaning of “eggsplore.” After a few false starts, we figured out that “eggsploring” has nothing to do with eggs, no matter how they’re cooked or whether they’re served with bacon, slurp, sausage, or hash browns.

Now we’re ready to translate another of Little Alfred’s vocabulary words: “wet’s.” In Kid Language, “wet’s” means “let’s.” It could also be translated as “let us” or “lettuce,” but not as “cabbage.” Dogs have no interest in cabbage.

Come to think of it, we have no interest in lettuce either. We love MEAT, so let’s just skip the vegetables.

Okay, when the lad said, “Wet’s go eggsploring,” the correct translation comes out as, “Let us go exploring.”

And here are your vocabulary words for today. “Twuck” means “truck,” “Wet” means “let,” “burfessional” means “professional,” and “eggsplore” means “explore.” Write those definitions twenty times before bedtime and don’t forget to brush your teeth.

Is this neat or what? You bet. I get a thrill out of messing around with words. And I’ll tell you something else. I can give you a secret formula that will allow you to spell a word that is almost impossible to remember how to spell the spelling of which.

Check this out:

George

Ate

Three

Blind

Mice

At

Grandma’s

House

Yesterday.

Are you still with me? Here’s the secret part. You take the first letter of each word, put ‘em all together, and you get the correct spelling. Okay, let’s write the word on the blackboard. This is so cool! You’ll love it.

GATBMAGHY.

Wait. That doesn’t look right. I mean, GATBMAGHY is not a word, at least not in this solar system. Hmm. Perhaps we…phooey. Let’s skip the vocabulary lesson and mush on with the story.

If you recall, Little Alfred had just sneaked out of his room, out of the house, and out of the yard, and was fixing to launch himself into a new career as a Famous Explorer. And Drover and I were aware that this was a violation of his mother’s Plan For Little Boys.

Alfred was supposed to take a nap during Naptime.

Alfred was not supposed to sneak out of the house and run wild.

We dogs were fully aware of the risks involved in joining his expedition (we might get blamed), but as the Elite Troops of the Security Division, we had sworn a solemn oath to protect the little children from harm and danger.

And, fellers, when a dog takes an oath, he’s oathed for life.

Bottom Line: We weren’t about to let that kid run loose on the ranch without the supervision of two loyal dogs—or, to put it more accurately, without the supervision of one loyal dog and one little ninny who wanted to hide in the machine shed, only I had put a whoa to that.

GATBMAGHY. It worked just fine for Mister Smartypants. I don’t get it.

Anyway, Little Alfred had escaped from his room and there we were, standing outside the yard. He looked us over and said, “Are y’all ready to go eggsploring?”

Locked and loaded.

“We won’t go far and we’ll get back before my mom wakes up.”

Good.

“Should we take Pete?”

What? Take the cat on an important expedition? Absolutely not! Kitty was too lazy, too fat, too selfish, and too much of a conniving little hickocrip to go exploring with us. The last thing we needed on our adventure was a cat.

Alfred must have come to the same conclusion. “Nah. He’s too much trouble.”

Exactly right. Good boy!

“Come on, doggies! Follow me.”

Onward! We followed him around to the yard gate on the west side of the house. There, he pointed to his red Western Flyer wagon. “Okay, y’all, we’re going Out West in my covered wagon.”

For some reason, Drover happened to be listening and his ears perked up. “Hey, did you hear that? We get to ride in the wagon. Oh goodie.”

“Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve never ridden in a wagon before.”

“Neither have I. This could turn out to be…”

Huh? Wait a second. All three of us couldn’t ride in the wagon. Someone had to pull it, right? Hmmm. My mind began expanding in all directions, and a clever plan began to form.

I leaned toward Drover and whispered, “Remember that little promotion we’ve been talking about? I just had a great idea. How would you like to volunteer to pull the wagon?”

“Oh, I’d rather ride.”

“Drover, anyone can ride in a wagon. It takes a special kind of dog to pull one.”

“Yeah, but you’re bigger than me.”

“That’s my whole point. The bigger we are, the more we need to share the opportunities.”

“Yeah, but I’m just a runt.”

“Drover, that’s exactly what I’m saying. The runter you are, the harder you must work to overcome your runtness.”

“Gosh, you really think I could do it?”

“No question about it. It would build your confidence and give you some valuable experience.”

He thought about that, and, you know, for the first time in months, I detected a spark of ambition in his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can do it.”

“Son, you can do it. You just have to believe in yourself.”

He lifted his head to a proud angle. “I think I can do it.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“But I’d better warm up this old leg.”

“Good thinking, and I’ll give you some coaching tips.”

This was working out better than I had dared to hope. Drover would gain valuable experience, working as a draft horse, and I would gain even more valuable experience, watching him do it—whilst riding in the wagon. Hee hee.

What a deal, huh?