The Garbage Monster from Outer Space Read online

  Pretty scary, huh? You bet it was. What a lousy deal, what a sorry turn of events. I had been minding my own business, stalking my next meal, but it appeared that I might become their next meal.

  Oh brother. Could I get out of this?

  It looked pretty hopeless. I mean, there wasn’t a chance that I could hotfoot it back to the ranch. Nobody outruns Rip and Snort. You might as well try to outrun your own shadow. They had eyes that saw everything. Their ears heard every tiny sound. And they had noses that could track an ant in total darkness.

  Gulk.

  It appeared that my best hope, my only hope, was to try a different approach. Hencely, instead of trying to run or hide, I pushed myself up to a standing position and turned to the eyes that had been watching me.

  “Well, by George, it’s Rip and Snort! Where have you been, fellas? I’ve been looking for you all afternoon.”

  Well, prepare yourself for another shock. It wasn’t Rip and Snort.

  Do you suppose it might be the Garbage Monster from Outer Space? You’ll just have to keep reading and find out.

  Chapter Six: Holy Smokes, a Lovely Coyote Princess!

  You’ll never believe who it was. Even I was surprised. Are you ready? Here goes.

  It was Missy Coyote. Do you remember her? The lovely coyote princess, the daughter of Chief Many-Rabbit-Gut-Eat-in-Full-Moon, and the sister of Scraunch the Terrible. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, and fellers, when I did, I just melted.

  I mean, part of the melting deal came from relief that she wasn’t Rip and Snort, but most of it came from the fact that she was . . . WOW! She was so gorgeous and beautiful, I couldn’t believe my eyes or my good fortune.

  See, she had this necklace of soft fluffy hair around her neck, a long bushy tail, an awesome nose, and a pair of eyes that were . . . hmm, hard to describe. I mean, they were yellowish eyes, not one of my favorite colors in women’s eyes, and yes, they had a certain wolfish quality about them, but somehow they were softly wolfish and softly yellow.

  Sorry, that’s the best I can do. You’ll just have to take my word for it. Those were some amazing eyes.

  I must have gawked at her for a whole minute. I hated to gawk and stare, but what’s a guy to do when he’s out tramping in the wilderness and comes face-to-face with a coyote princess? You gawk and stare, that’s what you do.

  After a while she cocked her head to the side and smiled. “That you, Hunk?”

  “I think it’s me. It was me the last time I checked, but that was before I was blinded by the sunlight of your moonbeam.”

  She gave a little laugh. “That not make sense, sunlight of moonbeam.”

  “Right, but it’s the best I can do right now. I think I just fell down the stairwell of love, Missy, and I’m still rolling.”

  “Hunk talk funny.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a miracle that I can talk at all. I mean, have you ever looked at yourself in a pool of water? Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

  “What means ‘gorgeous’?”

  “It means beautiful, lovely, awesome, terrific, splendiferous. The kind of face that causes hearts to stop beating, ice to melt, birds to faint and fall out of trees. The kind of face that causes a dog like me to forget who he is and where he came from, how to walk and talk.”

  “Oh, Hunk make big foolish with talk of gorgeous. Missy’s face just a face, a place for hanging nose and mouth and ears.”

  “Ha! That’s what you think.”

  Her expression darkened. “But what Hunk doing out here in wild place? Not safe for ranch dog, away from people-friends and boom-boom.”

  “Hey, Missy, I’ve left all that stuff behind. I quit my lousy job and ran away to become . . . well, an outlaw or something. What do you think of that?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Missy think Hunk not really care for life of outlaw, belong with people-friends and house. Outlaw life pretty hard for dog, Missy think.”

  “You really think so? What’s so hard about this? I mean, here I am enjoying a nice fall afternoon, looking at the trees, and talking with the most beautiful coyote princess in the world. Nobody’s mad at me or blaming me for crimes I didn’t commit. I’m not listening to Drover’s brainless conversations or taking trash off the cat. Where’s the problem?”

  At that moment, my stomach cranked out a loud growl. Missy heard it, cocked her head to the side, and smiled. “Hunk hungry for food?”

  “Okay, food might be a small problem on the outlaw trail, I’ll admit it, but heck, you coyotes live out here all the time and seem to get along fine. Maybe,” I wiggled my left eyebrow at her, “maybe you could teach me how to live off the land, huh? I’ve got all the time in the world and . . . heh, heh . . . I’d just love to be the teacher’s pet.”

  “Hunk might not like what coyote eat.”

  “Hey, Missy, food’s only food, right? Anything a coyote can eat, a dog can eat too. No problem.”

  “But Missy not good teacher on hunt for food. Rip and Snort much better.”

  “Yeah, but Rip and Snort aren’t here—which, by the way, doesn’t exactly break my heart.”

  “Rip and Snort not far away.”

  “Oh? Hmm. Then maybe you and I could sort of fade into the wilderness and ditch them, so to speak. I don’t want to bad-mouth your friends or kinfolks, Missy, but those guys . . . how can I say this? One day we seem to be pals, and the next time they look at me with these hungry eyes, almost as though they’d like to . . . well, eat me.”

  Missy chirped a little laugh. “Rip and Snort just good old boy coyotes.”

  We shared a laugh together. “Right. They’re good old boys, Missy, but my feelings about them would change if they were to eat me.”

  “Not eat Hunk. Missy have talk with brothers, tell brothers be nice to Hunk while Hunk learn outlaw way.”

  “Yes, either that or you and I could slip away and . . .”

  “Shhh!” Her head came up and she swiveled one of her lovely pointed ears toward the west. She listened and sniffed the wind. “Rip and Snort coming now.”

  “Bummer.” She shot a glance at me. “I mean, good. How swell. Now I can learn survival techniques from two of the . . .” She wasn’t listening so I finished the thought under my breath. “. . . two of the meanest cannibals in Texas. Bummer.”

  Missy’s ears were quite a bit keener than mine, and she had picked up the approach of the brothers long before I heard anything. But soon I heard them coming. They sounded like . . . elephants. Buffalo. A herd whole of cattle, whole herd of cattle, snapping brush and tearing limbs from trees. And singing.

  Yes, they were singing. I think that’s what they were doing. It was hard to tell, they were such dreadful singers. But here they came, crashing through the brush and bellering their latest piece of coyote trash. Let’s see if I can remember how it went.

  Oh Boy

  Oh boy, oh boy, our hearts are full of joy.

  We stomp around and play all night,

  Disturb the peace till day’s first light

  And if we’re lucky we’ll pick a fight . . .

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

  Well, me and Rip are cannibal lads, we always have a blast.

  When it comes to fights and wrecking things, we’re surely unsurpassed.

  Some guys might think we’re stupid, just because we act that way.

  It ain’t an act, we really are, and here is what we say:

  Oh boy, oh boy, our hearts are full of joy.

  We stomp around and play all night,

  Disturb the peace till day’s first light

  And if we’re lucky we’ll pick a fight . . .

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

  Perhaps you think we ain’t too proud of being igno-rent.

  Well, we’ve got news for you, and boy, you’d better take the hint.
r />   We’re prouder and proudest of what we are, we work at it every day.

  We burp and scratch and pick our nose, and here is what we say:

  Oh boy, oh boy, our hearts are full of joy.

  We stomp around and play all night,

  Disturb the peace till day’s first light

  And if we’re lucky we’ll pick a fight . . .

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

  The thing that we are proudest of is our talent for fighting skunks.

  They’ve sprayed us several hundred times, and boy, we’ve really stunks.

  But here’s the deal, we love the smell because it actually may

  Attract the coyote gals in droves, and here is what we say:

  Oh boy, oh boy, our hearts are full of joy.

  We stomp around and play all night,

  Disturb the peace till day’s first light,

  And if we’re lucky we’ll pick a fight . . .

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

  Pretty bad, huh? I tried to warn you.

  They came tromping into camp and marched in a circle around me and Missy, singing at the top of their lungs. I was tempted to cover my ears to keep them from being damaged by the noise, but of course I didn’t do that. I mean, when you’re with cannibals, you don’t wish to seem disrespectful of their . . . uh . . . cultural heritage, so to speak.

  There were probably a couple of coyote mothers in the world who could have listened to such trash . . . uh, singing . . . expressions of cultural so-forth . . . and might have actually beamed with pride. Motherhood is blind, they say, and might also be deaf, and it’s just possible that the mothers of Rip and Snort might have appreciated their singing.

  Not me. I turned to Missy and was about to whisper something about the noise . . . but was shocked to see her hanging on every note and word. Her eyes were sparkling and she was mouthing the words and her paws were clasped in front of her, as though she thought this was something wonderful.

  Hmmm. It appeared that Missy and I had a few . . . uh . . . differences.

  Well, the guys finished the song and began whooping and hollering. Missy rushed out and gave each of them a hug. I was sure it meant nothing, almost nothing at all, just a little token gesture to make them feel better about . . . okay, maybe she actually liked their song and, yes, this did give further proof that there might be a few differences between coyotes and . . . well, dogs, you might say.

  But they were small differences, tiny differences, nothing that couldn’t be solved and overcome.

  Whilst they celebrated their noisy song, I more or less sat off to myself. I checked the claws on my right paw, studied the clouds, and went after a flea that was crawling around on my hind leg. Then, suddenly, I realized that the shouting and laughing had died out and a deep silence had moved in.

  I stopped biting at the flea and turned my gaze toward the brothers. They seemed to be . . . well, staring at me. I thought nothing of it and went back to chasing the flea.

  But then I heard Snort’s booming voice, and it got my full undivided attention. In his booming voice, Snort said—and this is a direct quote—he said:

  “Uh! Coyote girl do good, catch ranch dog out in weirderness. Rip and Snort play and sing all day, ready now for big yummy coyote feast, oh boy!”

  HUH?

  Coyote feast? Surely they weren’t thinking of . . .

  Holy smokes, this wasn’t what I’d had in mind, not at all.

  Chapter Seven: I Enroll in Rip and Snort’s Wilderness School

  Just for a second there, I thought I had been betrayed by the lovely Missy Coyote.

  On the one hand, it was hard to believe she might have resisted my many charms, and we’re talking about, oh, massive shoulders, a pretty nice coat of hair, dashing good looks, great talent, a wonderful charming personality, dashing good looks, nice ears, a heck of a fine nose, and dashing good looks.

  On the other hand . . . she was a coyote and I was a dog, and when push came to shovel, she just might choose her own kind over me. And that would not be good.

  That would be very bad, and I found myself studying the paths and trails that led back to the ranch, just in case this deal got out of hand.

  But then I noticed that Missy was talking to the brothers. They were listening but didn’t ap­pear to be real happy about it. I heard several loud grunts and growls, and then Snort said, “Rip and Snort not want dummy ranch dog for teaching. Want dummy ranch dog for supper!”

  The conference went on for several more minutes. I tried not to show a great amount of concern, even though I was getting worried. I mean, Missy was the chief’s daughter and had some influence, but when you’re dealing with cannibals, you never know how things might turn out.

  At last the conference broke up. Snort came pounding over to where I was sitting. His face was . . . sour, shall we say. He didn’t look happy at all. He marched up to me and poked me in the chest with his paw.

  “Coyote girl say she friend of Hunk.”

  “Oh? Well, thanks. Yes, we’ve been . . .”

  “Rip and Snort not give a hoot for dummy ranch dog and not want teach dummy ranch dog coyote ways.”

  “Yes, well, I can understand . . .”

  “Ranch dog shut trap and listen.”

  “Yes sir.”

  He kept poking me in the chest. “Rip and Snort take dummy ranch dog for big night of hunt and tear-up, but only for coyote girl.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of you, Snort.”

  He poked me again. “Ha! Not kind. Coyote not give a hoot for kind.”

  “Do you suppose we could discuss this without you, uh, poking a hole in my rib cage?”

  “Snort not give a hoot for ripped cage.”

  “Rib cage.”

  “Shut trap.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Rip and Snort take dog along, but Hunk got to pass test, ha ha.”

  I stared into his wicked yellow eyes. “Test? What sort of test did you, uh, have in mind?”

  He puffed himself up. “Hunk have to sing Coyote Sacred Hymnal and National Anthemum—all by self.”

  “Oh, you mean ‘Me Just a Worthless Coyote’? Let’s see . . . yes, I think I can remember the words. But of course I’ll do my own arrangement and it might not sound as bad . . . that is, it might not sound as good as what you guys do.”

  “Ha. Too bad. Hunk sing.”

  The brothers plopped themselves down on the ground and stared at me with eyes that ex­pressed . . . well, a small amount of anger but mostly boredom. Yes, large amounts of boredom, almost as though they were doing this strictly as a favor to Missy—which they were.

  Well, this wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, I’d heard Rip and Snort do the song many times, and I’d even sung it with them a few times. As a test of my skills and abilities, this promised to be no big deal. I tuned my tonsils and banged out a great new arrangement of their shabby little National Anthem.

  Coyote Sacred Hymn and National Anthem

  Me just a worthless coyote, me howling at the moon.

  Me like to sing and holler, me crazy as a loon.

  Me not want job or duties, no church or Sunday school,

  Me just a worthless coyote, but me ain’t nobody’s fool.

  I did in it waltz time, see, gave it a snappy little rhythm, added some harmony parts, and generally spiffed it up. It turned out to be a huge improvement over the dreary thing they usually sang.

  When I was finished, I turned to the audience and bowed. Missy gave a squeal of delight and clapped her paws. The brothers continued staring at me, I mean, their expressions hadn’t changed one bit.

  “Thanks, Missy. Well, what do you think, guys? Not bad, huh?”

  Snort swiped his paw through the air. “Trash.”

  “Oh, well . . . sorry. I thought you might appreciat
e the new arrangement. I’m sure you’ll agree that—”

  “Snort not agree for nothing. Snort madder and maddest for being nice to dummy ranch dog. And Snort hungry too, wanting to eat and burp and fight and tear up whole world.” The brothers stood up and shook the grass off their coats. “Hunk follow.”

  “Well, sure, but I want you to know that—”

  “And Hunk shut stupid mouth too. Talk too much.” He headed west, down a cow path, and I could hear him grumbling to himself. “Not want to listening dummy ranch dog talk all night. Coyote not give hoot for . . . mumble, grumble, mutter.”

  I fell in behind Snort, and noticed that Missy wasn’t following. In fact, she was waving her paw good-bye. “Hey, you’re not going with us?”

  “No. Coyote boys go for big hunt and fun. Missy wait.”

  I stopped. “Uh, listen, is there a chance I could stay with you? I mean, Rip and Snort are charming guys and all, but I wouldn’t mind . . .”

  She shook her head. “Hunk go with brothers, learn outlaw ways with outlaws.”

  “Yes, of course. And you’re pretty sure they won’t try to eat me, right?” She nodded. “Great. Well, this is what I wanted . . . I guess. See you around, Missy.”

  Darkness was falling and I plunged into the growing shadows and caught up with my . . . whatever they were. My teachers in outlawry and survival methods.

  I wondered what Drover was doing. And Pete. And Little Alfred. Not that I missed them, understand. It was just that . . . okay, maybe I missed them, but not much. Surely the adventure and excitement of becoming an outlaw dog would . . .

  I followed Rip and Snort into the uncharted wilderness. This was going to be fun, great fun. I just knew it would be.

  We followed the trail for, oh, half a mile, I’d say, and then we left the trail and began marching through some tall grass near the creek. This was the fall of the year, don’t you know, and the country had raised a big crop of sandburs that summer. All at once I found myself limping and hopping. Those sandburs were tearing me up.