Chapter Nine: Garbage Barrels Again

They were standing over me now, both of them grinning. Snort spoke. “Now Hunk show coyote brothers how to work big garbage deal, ho ho.”

“Wait a minute, Snort. You mean this is the next test?” They nodded. “Raiding garbage barrels in a public park?” They nodded. “Are you guys crazy?” They nodded.

I got up and started pacing. “Fellas, listen to your old buddy Hank. You’re the experts on wilderness survival—fighting badgers, beating up skunks, eating grub worms, and so forth—but you don’t know much about people, so let me give you a lesson.

“Number one, people take a very dim view of animals who tip over garbage barrels in public places. Number two, they’re likely to shoot animals who do it. Number three, coons get by with it because they are cute little fellers. Number four, you and I are not cute. And Number five, we could get ourselves shot.” I stopped pacing and paused a moment for dramatic effect. “That’s as plain as I can make it, guys. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s much too dangerous.”

They shook their heads. “Coyote not scared, ’cause coyote got plan.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yeah. Got good plan. Work pretty good too.”

“Snort, somehow . . .” I heaved a sigh. “I’ve known you guys for . . . how many years? And you’ve never planned anything. Okay, let’s hear the plan.”

“Ha! Coyote hide in weeds and let Hunk tip over barrels, then coyote move in for big yummy feast. Pretty good plan, huh?”

My eyes darted from one face to the other. Were they joking? No. Coyotes had no sense of humor and they never joked. They were serious about this.

“Wait a minute. You think I’m going to . . . ha ha, I don’t think so, guys. No way. Listen, I’ve already been to school on this garbage barrel stuff and . . .”

“Hunk take big test. If Hunk do good, maybe become outlaw brother.”

“Yeah, right, or maybe I’ll stop a couple of loads of buckshot.”

They shrugged. “Life pretty tough, all right.”

I began pacing again. “One question, guys. Do I have a choice here?” They shook their heads. “That’s what I thought.” I had reached the east end of my pacing range. “In that case, I think I’ll . . .”

I made a run for it. I didn’t think it would work. It didn’t. Those guys were faster than greased lightning bugs. Before I knew it, they were stacked on top of me, and I found myself not only getting smashed, but also looking into Snort’s face.

“What Hunk say now?”

“I say that your plan stinks. Furthermore, you’re smashing me.”

“Ha. Snort not give a hoot for smush Hunk dog. Coyote get mad and smush whole world.”

“Okay, then let me point out that Missy wouldn’t approve of this.”

“Ha. Missy not here, only Rip and Snort.”

“Okay. Well, what the heck, let’s, uh, crack open a few garbage barrels and see what we can find. I haven’t been shot at in a couple of months. It might be fun.”

They unpiled and let me up. I noticed that they were looking . . . unfriendly. Hostile. Their ears were pinned down, their fangs were showing, and the hair on their backs was standing up. Those were all bad signs.

Snort stuck his nose in my face. “Hunk better not try run off again.”

“Me, run off? No problem. Hey, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Snort glared at me and pointed a paw toward three garbage barrels nearby. “So, uh, just tip ’em over, is that right?” He nodded. “All three?” He nodded. “And what if someone comes out of that camper trailer and starts shooting? Do we have a plan for that?” He shook his head. “Listen, weren’t we supposed to go back and find Missy?” He shook his head. “Well,” I took a deep gulp of air, “here we go.”

While the brothers hid behind some bushes, I marched over to the three barrels, hopped up on my back legs, hooked my paws over the rims, and tipped them over. Each barrel hit the ground with a loud clunk that broke the silence of the night. I cringed on each clunk, and cast worried glances toward the trailer nearby.

If somebody in there woke up and came outside and got a look at me and notified the park ranger . . . I didn’t even want to think about it.

Can you imagine? Loper would get an angry call first thing in the morning. “Hey, your dog’s over here in the park, tipping over trash barrels!” It would look very bad, especially since I had already been blamed for one mess that day.

How did I get myself into these deals? Me, an innocent dog who’d never had the slightest interest in exploring garbage barrels. Okay, maybe I’d toppled a few on my own, but that had been long ago. I’d learned my lessons and had kept a clean record, but now . . .

It was all Pete’s fault. He would pay for this . . . if I happened to survive.

I shot another glance at the trailer. No lights came on. Maybe I would get lucky this time, tend to the dirty business, escape from Rip and Snort, return home to the ranch, and get on with my life. And give Pete the pounding he deserved.

The brothers waited until they were sure the coast was clear. Then they came creeping out of the shadows. As Snort walked past me, he tossed me a grin and said, “Uh. Hunk pretty good garbage dog.”

“Thanks. If I’m so good, maybe you could pitch me a bone or a scrap. I’m starved.”

“Ha! Hunk pretty funny too. Rip and Snort take care of bone and scrap stuff. Hunk eat grubber worm, ha ha.”

They both got big chuckles out of that “grubber worm” business. I didn’t think it was so funny myself. My mouth still tasted awful.

The brothers licked their chops and dived into one of the barrels. I watched and listened as they scratched and clawed their way through the papers and cans, searching for morsels of food. As I sat there, it suddenly occurred to me that . . . hmm, they were both inside the barrel, right? And I was sitting outside the barrel, all alone, right? Maybe I could just . . .

Snort’s head popped out of the barrel. He gave me a vicious look. “Hunk not move. Hunk not even think about move.”

“Me? Move? No sir, Snort, I’m right here, standing guard for, uh, you guys. That’s my job, right? Don’t worry about a thing. If I see anything suspicious, I’ll sure give a holler, no kidding.”

“Better.”

“No problem. And in the meantime, Snort, if you guys find more food than you can handle in there . . . well, you know, I could use some cold beans, a piece of brisket, rib bones, potato salad, just anything you could spare.”

Snort laughed. “Hunk talk funnier and funniest. Coyote brothers not leave even one little bite, ho ho.”

“Gee, that seems kind of greedy to me.”

“What Hunk say?”

“I said, I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

He grinned and pointed a paw at me. “And Hunk better not move.” And with that, he darted back into the barrel and resumed his digging.

Papers and cans came flying out. I stared up at the stars and tried to forget that I was starving. The minutes crawled by. Ho-hum. This was no fun.

Then, all at once, they stomped out of the barrel. They didn’t look real happy. In fact, they looked mad. Snort shot me a glare and snarled, “Not find yummy scraps, only paper and cans.”

“I’m sorry, Snort, but is that my fault? I mean, why are you glaring at me? I’m just out here doing my job.”

“If brothers not find yummy scraps in next barrel, Hunk job fixing to change, ho ho.”

They waded into the next barrel, and soon the air was filled with the sounds of their digging. I waited outside, pondering that last comment of Snort’s. It had sounded like a threat to me. “Hunk job fixing to change.” Yes, it was a threat, sure ’nuff, and I could only hope . . .

Suddenly the noise stopped and a deep eerie silence moved over us. What was going on? Only seconds before, the brothers had been digging and growling, muttering and laughing, but now . . . now you could hear the tiniest sounds of the night. And fellers, that was a little spooky.

I cocked my head and listened. I heard Snort’s voice.

“That you, Rip?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Snort see something berry strange in here, like little monster-man with big eyes and long skinny teeth. That not you?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Snort think maybe we find garbage monster in here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Snort not give a hoot for stay in barrel with garbage monster.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Snort thinking pretty serious about scram out of here. How about Rip?”

“Uh-huh.”

“On count of three, brothers make tracks to canyon.”

“Uh!”

“One! Four! Seven!”

I saw two flashes go past and they were out of there. I mean, you’d have thought they’d been shot out of a cannon. All at once they were gone and I’d been saved from whatever nastiness they’d been planning for me.

But what was the deal? What had caused them to leave out in such a hurry? I edged my way over to the barrel and peered inside. At first I saw nothing in the gloomy darkness. Then I heard the rattle of some paper and in the darky gloomness I began to see . . .

You won’t believe this.

I promise you won’t.

It was one of the scariest things I’d seen in my whole career.

It was a Garbage Monster from Outer Space!