Chapter Eleven: Out-Singing the Cannibals
I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. Ordinarily, my nerves resemble high-grade steel, but competing in front of cannibals and buzzards has always bothered me.
“All right,” I said to my opponents, “you guys won the first round.” They nodded. “Through sheer luck, if you ask me.” They shook their heads. “But luck won’t save you in this next event. It’s going to be a test of brute skill.”
“Coyote not scared. Got plenty brute and plenty skill.”
“We’ll see about that. This next event will be a contest to see which of us can sing the better song.”
The brothers broke out laughing. “Ha ha! Hunk lose for sure this time. Rip and Snort sing better than whole world!”
“Maybe and maybe not. I happen to have a real crackerjack of a song myself. You guys go first.”
Snort shook his head. “Hunk not give orders. Hunk go first.”
“All right, if that’s the way you want it, you guys go second.”
Snort showed his fangs. “Hunk not give orders! Hunk go second!”
“All right, but I’ll have to file a protest over this. I wanted the first shot.”
“Uh. Coyote always take first shot.”
The brothers went into a huddle and planned their song. While they were whispering their signals, Wallace grumbled about how he wished they would hurry up. At last, the brothers turned around.
I had expected them to sing “Me Just a Worthless Coyote,” the Coyote Sacred Hymn and National Anthem. I’d heard that one before, and in fact, I’d helped them sing it on a few occasions. I knew my song would beat it.
To be real honest about it, I didn’t suppose, they knew another song. But they did. This one was entirely new. It was called, “Daddy Packed His Suitcase ’Cause Momma Was a Mean Old Bag.” In the middle of it, Rip pulled out a trombone and played a solo, kind of surprised me, I didn’t know he had that kind of talent. Here’s how it went.
Daddy Packed His Suitcase ’Cause Momma Was a Mean Old Bag
Daddy had a weakness for wimmen who could spit and cuss.
He liked ’em mean and ragged because he didn’t care to discuss
The finer points of love and eternal bliss,
He had no use for tenderness.
Oh, Daddy was a villain looking for a villainess.
Well, he met our ma at a waterhole, they said that she was having a drink,
She was sitting in a corner and said she didn’t think
There was a man in the world who could tame her down,
She could whup any man in Coyote Town.
Daddy said he wanted a wildcat, and fellers, that’s what he’d found.
He walked up to our momma and slapped her right across the chops.
She kicked him in the brisket and slugged him with a wicked right cross.
He knocked her to the floor but she jumped right up,
Loosened five front teeth and yelled, “Beware, old pup!”
Oh, Daddy screamed and hollered,
He’d found himself the girl of his dreams.
They were married in a junkyard, the honeymoon was spent in a fight.
This was coyote love for certain.
Instead of trading kisses, they’d bite.
Daddy stayed around until he lost a bout
And then he hit the road ’cause Momma threw him out.
Oh, Daddy packed his suitcase ’cause Momma was a mean old,
A not so very clean old,
Our momma was a mean old bag.
When Rip and Snort finished, they whooped and hollered and slapped each other on the back. They were real tickled with their performance, and I had to admit it was impressive.
“Ha! Hunk not have chance against coyote love song!”
“Is that what it was? I guess love gets pretty rough in your neighborhood.”
“Everything rough in coyote neighborhood. Coyote like tough old gals.”
“I see what you mean.”
Up in the tree, old man Wallace had to put in his two cents worth. “Now Junior, that’s what I call music. I don’t know why you can’t sing good wholesome country-western instead of that noisy stuff you do with that dog. And yes, I think we have a winner. My coyote boys have definitely won the contest.”
“Hold on, buzzard,” I called out. “You haven’t heard my song yet.”
“No, but I’ve heard you before, puppy, and I know real talent when I don’t hear it and anyways, I’m bettin’ on the other side, and if you ask me . . .”
“I don’t think anybody asked you, and I have my doubts that anybody ever will. When it comes to music and culture, the opinions of a buzzard don’t carry much weight around here.”
“‘Well, that just tells you what kind of cheap-john outfit you’re runnin’ here, and just for that, I’m gonna sleep through your whole song.”
I gave him a dark and angry look, but the truth of the matter was that I couldn’t have been more pleased. Wallace didn’t know it, but he was walking right into my trap.
I turned back to the coyote brothers. They were staring at me with stupid grins and heavy eyes. They had been up all night and had mentioned that they were tired, right? I couldn’t expect a fair deal in a singing contest with a couple of cannibals, right? And they planned to eat me immediately after my performance, right?
Hencely, my only hope of escape lay in putting the whole bunch to sleep, and it happened that I had chosen a song that just might do it.
“Are you guys ready for this?”
“Ready for Hunk lose contest.” Snort chuckled and then broke into a big, toothy yawn.
“Hold on. I don’t want you guys going to sleep on me. I stayed awake through that dreary thing of yours, and you have to stay awake and listen to mine.”
The grin vanished from Snort’s mouth. “Hunk not give orders to coyote. Coyote not take orders from lunch meat.”
“All right, but I don’t want you going to sleep in the middle of my song.”
“Coyote sleep when coyote want sleep, never mind what Hunk think. Sing!”
“Very well, Snort, if that’s the way you want to be. Here goes. Junior, why don’t you help me on the chorus? I’d like to spiffy it up a little bit, and with your gorgeous voice and my gorgeous voice . . .”
Junior grinned and nodded his head. “Oh bb-boy, that would b-be so m-m-much f-f-f-f-fun!
“All right, here we go.”
I turned to the coyote brothers and began my song—or, to put it another way, my secret weapon for putting them to sleep. If it worked, I would live to see another day and solve another mystery. If it didn’t . . . I would become coyote fodder.
Hank’s Lullaby
Your eyelids are heavy, your eyeballs are aching,
Your tongue is fatigued and your four legs are shaking and quaking.
Your eardrums are ringing, your nostrils are stinging,
It seems to me you should be going to bed.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Surrender yourself to the call of the deep, baby.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Close your eyes and start counting sheep.
The notion of eating or feasting or feeding
At this time of day when the whole body’s pleading and bleeding
For sleep is repulsive, remote, and convulsive.
You really should think about going to bed!
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Surrender yourself to the call of the deep, baby.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Close your eyes and start counting sheep.
A couple of big handsome guys like yourself
Should stop eating so much and consider your health and your waistline
And dog meat, I’ve read, has more calories than bread.
It’s a whole lot more fattening than going to bed.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Surrender yourself to the call of the deep, baby,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Close your eyes and start counting sheep.
One two three four five sheep
One two three four five sheep
One two three four five sheep
One two three, one two three four five sheep
One two three four five sheep
One two three four five sheep
One two three four five, a whole bunch of sheep
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Surrender yourself to the call of the deep, baby,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Close your eyes and start counting sheep.