Chapter Twelve: Banished from the Ranch? Oh No!
I moved into Molly’s lap and began scrubbing her face. See, it was kind of dirty, especially around her mouth. Now, I’d be the last to criticize Sally May or to suggest that she had brought her child out into public with a dirty face, but . . . well, the face was dirty, what can I say?
Hey, I understood. Sally May had been in a hurry. She hadn’t taken the time to wash the . . . jelly? You bet it was jelly, homemade grape jelly, which just happened to be a favorite of mine, and by George, the little darlin’ had it all around her mouth and even up past her nose. Devotion to duty was tasting better and better and . . . you won’t believe this, but she even had some traces of jelly around her left ear! No kidding.
So I washed and scrubbed and . . .
“Will you stop licking my baby!”
Huh? Sure, but she had . . . that is, I thought . . .
“Alfred, put that dog in the back of the pickup and you ride with him.”
Okay, fine. Maybe she wanted her kids running around in public with jelly and cracker crumbs and mud and dirt all over their faces. Maybe she didn’t care what the neighbors might think, and if she wanted everyone thinking that she raised filthy children, that was okay with me.
Boy, once you get on the wrong side of Sally May, it’s hard to get off the list.
We rode in the back, Alfred and I. Perhaps Sally May had thought this was punishment. It wasn’t. I could hardly disguise my relief at being away from her frigid glares and cutting words. See, Alfred and I were special pals. He seemed to understand the burdens and cares of being a dog. We sat together on the spare tire, he with his arm around my neck.
“Welp,” he said when we got under way, “I guess you got in twouble again, Hankie.”
I nodded and shrugged. What could I say? I studied his face and decided that it was time to, uh, probe for some classified information, so to speak.
“Say, pardner, what do you suppose your ma has in mind for me? I mean, she seems to be pretty sore.” His gaze moved away. “Is it bad? Come on, son, you can tell me. We’ve been through a lot together. We’re special pals, right?”
He nodded and pressed his lips together. “Mom says we have to . . . give you away.”
Give me away! Those words echoed through the inner chambers of my mind. It sent little needles of electricity down my spine.
We stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. So this was the way it would end—not with a bang, not with loud music or drumrolls, but with me and my little pal saying good-bye in the back of the pickup. I swallowed a lump in my throat.
“Well, gee, I don’t know what to say. Just . . . so long, I guess, and thanks for all the good times.”
He nodded and bit his lip. “Maybe you should wun off and hide. I’d find you and we could pway.”
I smiled at that. “Nah, that wouldn’t work. I’m just not a runaway kind of dog. Cowdogs don’t run from trouble. We live by the law, and when we break the law, we stick around and take the consequences. I messed up pretty severely and I’ll take what comes.”
“I don’t want to give you away.”
“Well, I’m not too crazy about that myself, kiddo, but you know what? Miracles sometimes happen. It’s never over until the fat lady eats her dessert.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means . . . it means that we’ll take justice as it comes and then hope for the best.”
His little eyes narrowed. “I’ll sneak out tonight and we’ll wun away.”
“Nah. That wouldn’t last two hours. You’d get cold and hungry and you’d be ready to go back to your ma.”
He pooched out his lips. “I’m mad at my mom.”
“Oh, don’t be too hard on her. She’s a fine lady . . . a little strange sometimes, but she’s got a big job, taking care of a house and two kids. And you know what? If I’d been your ma and some guy had called me up . . . well, listen to this.”
See, I had a little song in mind, and I sang it for him.
If I’d Been Your Ma
If I’d been your ma and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
Now, put yourself in your momma’s shoes,
When the telephone rings and she gets the news
That her husband’s dog’s running through the park
On a rip, on a tear, on a midnight lark,
If I’d been your ma, and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
Trash cans crash, making papers fly,
And the park ranger calls . . . you can understand why
It would make her mad and offend her pride.
Picking garbage up is undignified.
If I’d been your ma and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
So let’s don’t judge what your parents do,
They work real hard to provide for you.
I shoulda brought my fun to a screeching halt.
If I get shipped off, it’s my own derned fault.
If I’d been your ma and she’d been me,
I’d put me in jail and throw away the key.
She’s a little bit strange but a fine old gal,
And she takes good care of my favorite pal.
When I’d finished the song, I looked at the boy. “So there it is, son. Don’t get mad at your mother and don’t blame her for whatever happens in this deal. What I did was wrong. I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. A guy has to pay for his bad habits.”
We pulled into headquarters and parked behind the house. Sally May climbed out of the pickup and pulled Molly out. She slammed the door and muttered something about “nasty ranch pickups.” I didn’t catch all of it.
Then her eyes came up and found us in the back of the pickup. There we were, Two Pals for Life, sitting together on the spare tire, with Little Alfred hugging my neck and pressing his face against my ear. I beamed her Most Sincere and Woeful Looks of Remorse, and switched my tail section over to Slow Sweeps.
Her eyes went from one of us to the other. She cocked her head to the side and compressed her lips. “Alfred, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I’ve already made my decision. Hank has to go.”
“But Mom, Hankie and I have a deal.”
Her left eyebrow twitched. “You have . . . a deal?”
“Uh-huh. See, we’ve talked it ovoo and Hankie’s vewy sad for what he did.”
We held our breaths and waited to see what she would say. “You and Hank talked it over?”
“Uh-huh, we did. And Hankie’s vewy sad.”
A smile twitched at her mouth. “What are you two cooking up? Whatever it is, the answer is NO.”
“Hewe’s the deal, Mom. If you’ll wet Hankie stay, we’re boff gonna be good. I’m gonna make my bed evwee day and bwush my teeff and pick up my socks. And Hankie’s gonna give up twash, aren’t you, Hankie?”
I gave my tail five hard whaps on the spare tire and held my head at an angle that showed . . . well, honesty, sincerity, and the very purest of intentions.
A chirp of laughter flew out of her mouth. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. You two scamps promising to be good?” Her laughter grew louder and wilder. Then it stopped and she forked us with her eyes. “No. A skunk will always be a skunk. A leopard can’t change his spots. Hank loves garbage barrels and he needs to find another home.”
Well, that was the end of it. The boy had tried. But then he threw his arms around my neck and began crying.
“Mom, Hankie’s my best fwind in the whole world. I wuv him. If you send him away, you have to send me away too.”
Her jaw dropped every so slightly. She stared at us. Then her eyes rolled back in her head. “I do not believe this. My son loves . . . oh, brother! This wasn’t covered in Dr. Dobson’s book.” She walked a few steps away and resettled baby Molly on her hip. When she turned back to us, her expression was hard, firm, unforgiving, and cold. It looked bad. “All right, Alfred. I can’t be the wicked witch forever. You two have worn me down.”
“And Hankie can stay?”
She heaved a sigh. “I don’t know who would take him anyway. I sure wouldn’t give him to a friend. I’ll probably regret this, but . . . all right, he can stay this one last time.”
“Yippee!”
By George, we’d done it!
“BUT . . .” She aimed a finger at the two of us, which cut short our little celebration. “But you’d better remember all those things you promised, young man, and you’d better tell your friend Hank to stay home, stay away from the park, stay out of garbage barrels, out of my yard, out of my flower beds—and out of sight for about two weeks.” Her gaze swung around and pierced me. “Mister McNasty, the less we see of each other, the better it’ll be—especially for you.”
Oh yes ma’am, no problem. Right then and there, in front of Sally May and everybody, I took a Solemn Oath to be a perfect and well-behaved dog, and I mean forever and ever.
She wouldn’t even know I was on the ranch. No more barking at night for me, no more beating up her stupid . . . uh . . . no more bickering with her Precious Kitty . . . Pete, that is. And above all, no more garbage picking in the park with Eddy the Rac.
No sir, that was all behind me. I was a new dog. Honest.
Alfred gave me one last hug and jumped down to the ground. “Come on, Hankie, wet’s go pway.”
We fled the scene, so to speak, and left Sally May . . . well, still muttering and shaking her head—although I did notice that she cracked one little smile.
And that’s about it. Little Alfred had saved me from being shipped off and I was back on my ranch again, only now I was a much wiser dog, a reformed dog, a dog who would be forever dedicated to being a Model of Good Behavior.
Maybe you’re suprised. Maybe you thought I went straight to Pete and chased him up a tree and gave him the thrashing he so richly deserved. Nope. That stuff was all behind me. I waited two whole days to beat the snot out of him and run him up a tree, and Sally May never even suspected it.
Heh, heh.
Case closed.
