Chapter Eleven: Missy Coyote Falls Madly in Love with Me

Drover. Little Mister Buttinski. I should have known. He always does this. He’s not smart enough or bold enough to find a girl of his own, so he’s always trying to horn in on my deals.

Well, I was fixing to put a stop to that nonsense. I leaped out of the back of the pickup and went streaking out to greet the lady of my . . .

Have we mentioned that cows will sometimes chase a dog? It’s true, and we need to talk about that. See, when a dog makes an appearance in a herd of cows, there’s always a dummy or two that will chase him around and make threatening gestures with her horns. But here’s the crazy part. See, cows chase dogs because they mistake the dog for a prowling coyote, because cows don’t like coyotes.

Do you see where this is leading? Missy Coyote had come right up to the edge of the herd and the cows hadn’t paid her any mind, but when the Head of Ranch Security entered the scene, they thought I was a coyote, and came hunting ME! That gives you some idea of just how DUMB they are. Incredible. I couldn’t believe it.

Well, I couldn’t believe it until that big Hereford cow scooped me up on her horns and flang me about twenty feet into the air. At that point, I had no choice but to believe it. Glaring down at her from high above the feed ground, I yelled, “Moron, I work here! I’m the guy who protects you from—”

BAM!

The, uh, ground rushed up to meet me, terrible wreck, and no ordinary dog could have . . . COUGH . . . walked away from it. But I’m no quitter. I not only walked away from it, I ran away from it because . . . well, because that same hateful witch came after me again, snorting steam and throwing hooks with her horns.

For a second, I faced her and gave her a savage burst of barking. “Idiot! I’m not a coyote! I’m the Head of . . .”

Anyway, I’ve already admitted that I, uh, retired from the battlefield, so to speak. Okay, I ran for my life, which was no disgrace. It was just a little embarrassing, since I was trying to impress a lady.

Why hadn’t the cows chased Drover? He’d scampered right through the middle of them and they hadn’t even raised a moo. Did that make sense? No. It made no sense at all. I mean, first they’d had a chance to direct their nastiness toward Missy, a genuine wild coyote who was eating their food, and then they’d had a perfect shot at Buttinski.

They’d passed up both chances, but when the Protector of Their Ranch had ventured forth . . . oh well. Cows are dumb, that’s all you can say.

I turned on an amazing burst of speed and left the hateful cow eating my dust. How foolish of her to think she could chase down a top of the line, blue ribbon cowdog! And at that point, with all the distractions out of the way, I altered course and streaked over to the princess of my dreams.

Wow! She was even more beautiful than I remembered: long fluffy tail, silky fur coat, sharp tapered nose, pointed ears. Wow! Unfortunately, she was being distracted by my former friend and assistant (I’d already decided to fire him), so she wasn’t able to appreciate the full effect of my manly swagger.

Ten feet away, I could hear Drover making a fool of himself. “Gosh, I’ve never met a real princess before. I’ve heard about ’em in fairy tales and I’ve always wanted to meet one. I’m so thrilled and excited, I don’t know what to say.”

Missy didn’t know what to say either. She seemed puzzled and slightly amused by his breathless presentation. “Little white dog have name?”

“Oh yeah, sure, I almost forgot.” He grinned and rolled his eyes up at her. “I’m Drover.”

“Drover work on big ranch with Hunk?”

“Oh yeah. Well, he kind of works for me.” He fluttered his stub tail. “I’m a pretty important dog, and I was wondering . . . would you be my girlfriend?”

I got there just in time to save her from this shameless fraud. I shoved my way past Drover. “Out of the way, you little thief, and how dare you try to steal my girl!”

“Well, I just—”

“Go to your room! Immediately.”

“It’s back at the ranch.”

“Then scram. Get lost. Go scratch a flea.” I inserted my enormous body between the runt and the lady, and gave her a sultry smile. “Ah, sweet Missy Coyote! How often hast thou visited me in slumberous sleep, filling the empty cave of my dreams with glorious sunlight and rainbowed visions!”

Drover poked his head into the conversation. “That’s what I was fixing to say.”

I pushed him away. “Missy, my ky-up coat cake . . . my coyote cupcake, I’ve hardly slept a wink since these eyes last feasted upon the prime rib of thy beauty.”

Drover appeared again. “That’s not true, Missy. He slept all night last night, and I heard him talking in his sleep . . . about Beulah the Collie!”

I whirled around and showed him a mouthful of fangs. “Will you shut your trap! What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, when I saw her, I just fell in love. I can’t help myself.”

“Drover, you’re not in love, you’re in-sane. Go away.” I pushed him into the background and turned to the lovely lady. “I don’t know who this guy is, Missy. I’ve never seen him before. He’s an impostor.”

She seemed puzzled. “Not Hunk’s friend?”

“He’s . . . okay, we used to be friends, but that’s all gone by the hayside. He’s fired, history. He’ll never work on this ranch again. The important thing right now is”—I wiggled my left eyebrow— “I’m here. And you’re here. And we’re both here. And, well, here we are.”

She chirped a little laugh. “Hunk talk funny all the time, make Missy laugh.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, I’m trying to be very sincere, even romantic.”

“What means . . . ‘rumantic’?”

“I’m glad you asked, Missy. It means . . .

Somehow Drover managed to worm his way between my legs and suddenly he popped up, between us. “It means I’m in love!”

Okay, that did it. I was one second away from giving the little tuna the thrashing he so richly deserved, when suddenly the blare of the pickup horn sounded in the distance. Then Slim called out, “Come on, dogs, the train’s fixing to leave! Load up or walk.”

Load up or walk? Ha. That was the easiest decision of the year. For his information, I had much better things to do than ride around with him in a booby-trapped pickup. I turned my adoring gaze back on . . .

Huh?

She was gone! The horn must have scared her away. And you know who else was gone? I whirled around and went charging off to the north. “Drover, come back here! If I ever get my paws on you . . .”

I topped a little hill and saw them in the distance, walking toward the canyon country off to the north. Drover was beside her, the little . . . he would pay for this! I turned on an amazing burst of speed and caught up with them. As I approached, I could hear Drover spouting poetry, if you can believe that.

“Oh gosh, Missy Coyote, your face is delicious,

I wish I could make it a sandwich

With mayonnaise and pickles and mustard and bread.

I think that the taste would be grandwich.”

I knifed in between them and gave Drover Full Fangs. “That poem was pathetic, Drover. It was the worst garbage I ever heard.”

“Well, it rhymed. I thought it was pretty good.”

“Comparing the face of a lovely princess to a sandwich? That’s sick, Drover. I’m shocked and dismayed. Furthermore, your rhyme was awful—sandwich and grandwich.”

“Well, I couldn’t think of anything else that would rhyme with ‘sandwich.’”

“Never mind. I’ll deal with you later.” I turned back to Missy. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we’ve had this trouble before. Just ignore him. He’s a lunatic.”

“What means, ‘lunatic’?”

‘It means he’s unbalanced. Unhinged. Immature. Much too childish to be . . . where are we going?”

“Missy must go back to coyote billage.”

“Ah, great. So I’ll walk you home. That sounds romantic, doesn’t it?”

“Not so rumantic if Scraunch come along and find Hunk.”

“Who? Oh, him. Your big ugly brother? Ha ha. Don’t give it a thought, my prairie wildflower. The way I’m feeling right now, old Scraunch wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Scraunch pretty bad fellow.”

“He smells bad, Missy, but I can always hold my nose. Ha ha.” She didn’t appreciate the humor. “Okay, we’ll keep an eye out for Scraunch. Drover, I’m assigning you to guard duty.”

“Me? Yeah, but—”

“That’s a direct order. Make yourself scarce and keep an eye out for a big ugly coyote.”

He hung his head. “Oh darn. I wanted to—”

“Hush. We don’t want to hear about your problems.” I turned back to Missy. “So you like poetry, huh? Well, you’ll be thrilled to know that my poems are ten times better than Drover’s wilted rhymes. Here, give a listen to this one.

“Oh Missy, my princess, your face is just awesome.

It’s not like a sandwich, I say.

See, Drover writes worse than a dim-witted possum.

His poems are sure to dismay.

“I, on the other hand, write from the heart,

My verses are pure and sincere.

I say that your face is more lovely than art,

And Drover’s a pain in the rear.”

I shot a glance to see if she had been swept away on a tidal wave of emotion. Apparently not. She gave me a puzzled look. “Missy not understand about sandwich and possum. Sound berry strange.”

“I see. Well, I’m sorry you missed the deep emotional message in my poem, so let’s move along to something else. Would you be thrilled to know that I write songs? And would you be completely blown away if I sang a love song, just for you? Of course you would. Here, listen to this.”

And with that, I belted out a terrific love song.