Chapter Nine: Help!
It was pretty amazing. All at once I lost all fear and had but one blazing thought in my mind: Pete would pay for this!
I loosened my grip on the limb and planted my feet firmly on the deck. I stood up to my full height of massiveness. Then I raised my lips, revealing two rows of deadly fangs, and a huge rumble of righ-teous growling thundered in the depths of my throat.
The cat stared up at me with terror-stroken eyes. “Now, Hankie, don’t be angry.”
“Ha! It’s too late for that, Kitty. You’ve pushed me over the edge. You didn’t like my first or second deal? Okay, pal, try this one!”
I jumped right into the middle of him. I mean, I had the little snot buried under an avalanche of . . . you know, a guy forgets what cats do when you jump in the middle of ’em. They turn into a buzz saw, is more or less what they do, and before I knew it, the miserable, whiny little creep had . . . well, chainsawed my face, shall we say.
But that was okay, it was a small price to pay for the major victory I was fixing to win, if I could just get my paws on the little . . . through watering eyes, I armed all bombs and made another dive at him.
He ran, of course. Your cowards and your cats always run, but running wouldn’t save Pete this time. He scampered out onto a limb, and you should have seen the fear in his eyes! He was shocked, stunned, astoopered, and do you know why? Because I followed him.
The dumb cat! He thought I was scared of heights, scared of trees, and that I couldn’t follow a rinkydink little cat all the way out to . . .
HUH?
The limb seemed to be . . . uh . . . bending under my enormous . . . and all of a sudden I found myself way out on the end of . . .
I went to Total Lockdown and hugged the limb with all four paws. Unless I was badly mistaken, I had just . . . I saw the ground five hundred feet below me . . . a thousand feet . . . two miles below me. Alfred was staring up at me with wide eyes, and he looked about the size of an ant.
Uh-oh. Fellers, we had big problems here, and all at once pounding the cat seemed quite a bit less important than . . . in desperation, I initiated a program we save for emergencies just like this one. We call it “Moans and Wails.”
Did it hurt my pride to do Moans and Wails in front of the grinning, sniveling cat? Yes, it hurt me deeply, but under the circumstances, I had no choice. I cranked up the heavy-dutiest Moans and Wails I could muster.
Down below, I heard Captain Alfred gasp. “Uh- oh, Hankie’s in twouble. I’d better go get my dad!”
What a fine lad! He took off running to the machine shed as fast as his little legs would carry him, and he even dropped his sword so that he could run faster.
So there I was, clinging for dear life to a shrimpy little tree branch. And by the way, the wind was blowing harder than ever and that shrimpy tree branch was rolling and swaying, making my situation even scarier and more depressing. Do you think Pete cared? Do you think he showed any concern or remorse? No sir. None. Zero.
What he did was . . . you won’t believe this . . . the little wretch walked right over my face and strolled down my backbone. And then he turned and said, “Well, Hankie, if you need any help . . . call the dogcatcher. Bye-bye.”
“Pete, you’re despicable!”
“I know, Hankie, but you make it so easy.”
“You’ll pay for this, Kitty! When I get out of this tree . . .”
He left! The hateful little worm just turned and walked away.
A strong gust of wind came up and the branch began rolling around in the wind like a tiny boat upon a raging sea.
“Help! Help! We’ve got a Code Three situation on the ranch! Send all units to the cottonwood tree at once! This is not a test! Repeat, this is not a test! Alfred, hurry up!”
I barked. I moaned. I howled. And the howler I louded, the more the tree swayed and bent in the wind, the terrible wind. I battled the raging seas and clung to my tiny life raft of a branch, moaning and howling and sending out one distress call after another.
Down on the ground, Drover was squeaking and running in circles. A lot of good that did, but at least the little mutt was sharing my pain.
Then, thank goodness, I heard voices to the north. I turned and saw Slim and Loper—do you suppose they were running down the hill? Oh no. They were walking, as casually as if they were . . . I mean, they were talking and laughing and taking their sweet time, while Captain Alfred (my one true pal in this crowd, it seemed) tugged at his daddy’s arm, trying to get him to hurry.
I must admit that I felt a mixture of emotions about accepting help from those two jugheads. On the one hand, I sure needed help, but on the other hand, I knew that I would pay a heavy price for it. They were jokers, right? They never missed an opportunity to scoff and mock at the misfortunes of others, right?
I mean, those two could take a normal situation and make it look silly, and . . . okay, my present situation was a long way from normal and already looked pretty silly, so I had every reason to fear that they would . . .
Sure enough, they approached the tree, wearing wide grins on their faces. See? I knew it. All at once I wished that Alfred hadn’t bothered—the limb swayed and rocked in a blast of wind, and I hung on for dear life.
Okay, I was ready to take whatever came my way. I just wished they would hurry up!
They were still talking, and I could hear their voices now. They were talking about . . . some guy who’d made a great bareback ride at the Pampa rodeo.
Can you believe that? What a couple of birdbrains! Hey, I was trapped and macarooned in the topmost branches of a tree, in the middle of a terrible wind storm that was tossing me around like a . . .
I cranked up a fresh round of Moans and Groans. Slim looked up. “Hank, just relax. We’re in a deep intellectual discussion.”
Oh, sure. Right. Deep intellectual . . . I moaned and howled. Help!
Slim shook his head. “Alfred, how did that bozo get up in a tree? I mean, the last time I checked, normal dogs don’t climb trees.”
Alfred did his best to explain. We’d been playing pirates and . . . so forth. Slim and Loper got several good chuckles out of that, but then Loper scratched the back of his head and said, “Well, I’m glad you’re using your imagination, son, but—Slim, how are we going to get him down?”
Their smiles vanished and their laughter died, as suddenly they were thrust back into the world of normal people—the world where emergencies aren’t funny and tragedies aren’t a joke, the world where dogs don’t climb trees for sport and cowboys have to grow up.
And all at once they were scratching their heads and scuffing up dirt with their boots and struggling to use their tiny brains for something constructive. I could see the pain it brought them, and I must admit that it caused my wicked heart to sing. No kidding, it really did, and here’s the very song my wicked heart was singing.
You Have to Grow Up, Boys
Well, what did you expect, you clowns in cowboy clothes?
Did you think that life’s a comedy, a never-ending show?
It’s not. I know that shocks you, from your heads down to your toes,
And now you have to face the facts that everybody knows (but you).
I’m really very patient, I’m trying to ignore
The thousand pranks you’ve pulled on me that hurt me to the core,
But I’ll be frank, your jokes are stale and you’ve become a bore,
And your ridicule and mockery have made me rather sore.
You have to grow up, boys, you have to mature.
Your humor’s as funny as chicken manure.
I know that you’ll fight it as long as you can.
You have to grow up, boys, it’s part of the plan.
I guess you think it’s funny that a dog has climbed a tree.
When you looked up here and saw me, what you said was, “Tee hee hee!
Old Hank is really working hard on ranch security!”
And then began the laughing and the slapping of the knee.
I really am astonished at how childish you can sound.
Making mockeries and silly jokes while standing on the ground.
I wish that I could charge you for your laughter by the pound,
But here’s the joke, you hammerheads—you have to get me down! (Ho ho!)
You have to grow up, boys, you have to mature.
Your humor’s as funny as chicken manure.
I know that you’ll fight it as long as you can.
You have to grow up, boys, it’s part of the plan.
Pretty amazing song, don’t you think? You bet it was, and don’t forget that I composed it under the very harshest of conditions. No ordinary dog could have done such a thing. It was just too bad the jokers couldn’t hear it.
It wouldn’t have changed them or done any good, but I wish they could have heard it.
Where were we? Oh yes. I was up in the tree, riding out a very dangerous Code Three Situation, and the cowboys stood down below, facing the shocking prospect that they might have to grow up and do something constructive.
Even at a distance, I could see that it was hard on them. At last Loper said, “I think I’ve got a plan. Alfred, go get your mother, and tell her to bring a blanket.”
Alfred took off running to the house, and notice that he ran. He didn’t walk or loiter or lollygag around like some people I could name.
By now, you’re probably sitting on the edge of your chair, worried sick and wondering if they succeeded in getting me out of the tree. You’ll just have to wait and see.