Faded Love Read online

  This life would be rotten without rotten meat.

  I know a feller, his coat is dark yeller.

  He’s got sinus drainage and sneezes a lot.

  He had no success in the wimmen department

  Until he discovered the perfume of rot.

  Rotten meat, hey, rotten meat!

  The odor’s deliciously subtle and sweet.

  Coyotes love to cheat and we love to eat.

  This life would be rotten without rotten meat.

  At this point, Snort turned to me and said, “Now Hunk do verse.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I guess I could try. Let’s see here.”

  The girl of my dreams is a wonderful lady.

  Miss Beulah’s her name and she makes my heart thump.

  It never occurred to me she might prefer me

  If I showed up smelling of decomposed skunk.

  Roll in rotten meat, bathe in rotten meat!

  The odor’s deliciously subtle and sweet.

  Coyotes love to cheat and we love to eat.

  This life would be rotten without rotten meat.

  Snort took the last verse.

  The secret of courtship in coyote circles

  Depends on the deep manly smell of the guy.

  A woman worth courting wants guys who are sporting,

  Who stink to high heaven and smell to the sky!

  We wear rotten meat, we share rotten meat!

  The aftershave lotion that’s sure hard to beat.

  Coyotes always smell neat, we’ve accomplished the feat

  Of charming our wimmen with rotten meat!

  Well, we harmonized on that last chord and it was just by George beautiful. But to no one’s surprise, old man Wallace had something smart to say.

  “Huh! That’s the worst singing I’ve heard since that last time you hammerheads got together.”

  “Oh yeah?” I called back. “When we need an authority on music and culture, we won’t ask the opinion of a buzzard.”

  “You could do worse, son. In fact, you just did.”

  I ignored him. I mean, any time you try to do something daring in the field of culture, you’re going to have small minds finding fault. Greatness has always been a lonely profession.

  I turned to Snort. “Guys, that was a wonderful job.”

  “Ha! Hunk do good too, make pretty good coyote.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a few talents tucked away. But let me ask you something. You really believe that stuff about women flipping over the smell of rotten meat?”

  He nodded. “Berry strong medicine, work many time, never fail.”

  “Hm. I knew they went wild over the smell of sewer water, but I’ve never tried rolling in rotten meat. You think it might work on this gal of mine?”

  Rip moved over and whispered something in his brother’s ear. Then Snort said, “Brother say rotten smell work on dog woman for sure, but not if coyote brothers decide eat Hunk for breakfast.”

  “Well I . . . yes, I see what you mean, but uh, I thought we had sort of . . . that is, I thought our relationship had, well, become more meaningful than that.”

  They stared at me with drunken yellow eyes and shook their heads. “Maybe so, maybe not. First we roll on skunk, have big coyote feast. Then we talk.”

  I was still in trouble, fellers, and my life was hanging by a thread. You can find a needle in a haystack, but thread comes on a spool.

  Chapter Eight: Not Just One Brilliant Maneuver, but Several

  For all I knew, this would be my last meal on earth—also my first and last roll on a dead skunk. I decided what the heck, I might as well try to enjoy it.

  Rip and Snort went first. I watched and took a few mental notes. First they got down on their bellies and crawled around on the skunk. Then they flipped over on their backs and wiggled around and kicked all four legs in the air. Then they hopped up and gave themselves a big shake.

  Well, that looked easy enough. I dived in, rolled, kicked, did the whole routine. After I had shooked myself, I turned to Snort. “Well, what do you think? Did I do it right?”

  “Pretty good. Now we have big coyote feast, oh boy!”

  I glanced down at the dead skunk. You might recall that on one of my previous adventures, I sat in on a big coyote feast where “aged mutton” was on the menu. It didn’t do much for me. Well, yes it did. It made me sick, and I mean SICK. “Tell you what, fellers, I’m not real hungry right this minute, and maybe I’ll pass on the grub.”

  Snort gave me an unfriendly glare. “You want make coyote angry?”

  “Angry? Why, heavens no.”

  “You want insult coyote hospitality? Berry bad manners turning down coyote feast.”

  “Well I . . .”

  “And when coyote get mad, want fresh meat—maybeso dog meat.” The two savages stared at me. I noticed that Rip licked his chops, and I thought I detected a hungry glimmer in his eyes.

  I coughed. “I see what you mean. No, I think you misunderstood. What I meant to say was that I’ll go first, and I wondered if you guys would be upset if I ate the whole skunk myself. After all, I’m your guest.”

  They went into a huddle and discussed it in whispers. Then Snort turned back to me. “That not work. Hunk not eat first.”

  “Now hold on. The guest always eats first and gets first dibs on the grub. That’s only fair and decent.”

  Snort shook his head. “Coyote not give hoot for fair and decent. Coyote tradition say guest eat last.”

  “Well, that’s an outrage! Do you expect me to take that kind of treatment?” Their heads bobbed up and down. “Very well, we’ll eat in the coyote tradition, but I’ll have to demand a fair and equal division of the meat.”

  Snort pushed himself up and swaggered over to me and stuck his sharp nose right in my face. “Coyote not like demand and not give hoot for equal division.”

  “I’m sorry, Snort, but fair is fair and right is right. I want my equal share of the skunk. Otherwise, there’s nothing to keep you guys from hogging the whole thing.”

  Snort started laughing, then Rip joined in. They had a good chuckle. “Ha! At last Hunk understand coyote manners.”

  “What are you saying? Surely you don’t mean . . .”

  He poked me with his paw. “In coyote tradition, coyote eat and guest watch.”

  “Now wait just a minute! If you think I’m going to sit still while you guys . . .” He lifted his lips and displayed his teeth, which were long and sharp. And he also growled. “All right, calf-rope, I surrender. Just this once we’ll eat in the coyote tradition.”

  “Hunk pretty smart dog.”

  “You got that right, Charlie,” I muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “I said, thanks.”

  Snort gave a yip and a howl and dived into the middle of the skunk. Rip did the same, and within seconds they were in the midst of a terrible fight. They snapped and they snarled and they slugged and they gouged. Brotherhood among the cannibals can be a pretty rough affair. Nobody but a coyote could survive it.

  Well, they rolled off the skunk, don’t you see, and all of a sudden Junior’s head appeared around the edge of the cottonwood tree. He looked left and right and hopped over to the skunk. He snatched it up in his beak and hustled back behind the tree.

  Upstairs on his perch, old man Wallace watched the whole thing. When he saw Junior steal the skunk, he brought his right wing to rest over his heart.

  “Oh son, my boy! All these many years I’ve waited for a sign, and there it is, right before my very eyes! Praise the Lord, the boy’s gonna make something of himself, save me a leg, son, I’ll be right down!”

  He stepped off the limb, spread his wings, and crash-landed in a plum thicket.

  Rip and Snort missed the whole thing, didn’t see any of it. They
were still trying to tear each other apart, rolling around and chewing on each other. The air was filled with dust and coyote hair.

  Next thing I knew, I heard a yip-yip-yip off to my left, followed by a big deep roof-roof-roof! I looked around and guess what I saw: Mister Half-Stepper came flying across the creek, and right behind him, in hot and deadly pursuit, was an old enemy of mine, Rufus the Doberman Pinscher.

  And Drover was not half-stepping. He was showing a kind of speed I’d never seen before, never mind his bad leg and allergies.

  He came streaking right up to me. “Oh Hank, help, murder, mayday, mayday, he’s going to kill me, what am I going to do!”

  That was an interesting question, and quite frankly, I didn’t have an answer worked out by the time he slid to a stop and took cover behind me. An even more interesting question was, what was I going to do?

  I had a suspicion that after Rufus tore Drover to shreds, he’d get a kick out of shredding me too. And he, being a ferocious Doberman pinscher, was just the guy who could do it.

  “Drover, I’d rather you didn’t take cover behind me. Rufus is liable to think we’re friends.”

  “But Hank, I think he wants to fight!”

  “What ever gave you that idea? Just because his little green eyes are flaming and he’s got slobber dripping off his fangs?”

  “Yeah, and he said so too.”

  “Well, this is your fight, son. I’m just a neutral party.”

  “But Hank!”

  Rufus came stalking up, the muscles rippling up his long thin legs and into his shoulders. He had his pointed ears down in fighting position, and his evil eyes were blazing.

  Kind of scared me, if you want to know the truth.

  “Morning, Rufus. What brings you out on a . . .”

  “Shaddap, cowdog. Let me have him. I’m gonna tear him apart.”

  “Don’t let him, Hank! Remember, I’m just a chicken-hearted little mutt, and my leg hurts.”

  “Hey look, Rufus, he didn’t mean any harm.”

  “He was trespassing on my ranch. Get out of my way or I’ll trespass you.”

  “Would you actually do a thing like that?”

  He gave me a snarling grin. “In a New York minute. Just give me a reason.”

  “Will this be a fair fight between you and Drover?”

  “As fair as it needs to be, cowdog.”

  Drover started moaning. “No Hank, don’t let him hurt me!”

  “Drover, you got into this mess by yourself and you’ll have to get out of it by yourself. It ain’t my fight.”

  “Now you’re talking sense,” said Rufus. “You just run along and keep out of my way and you won’t get hurt.”

  “Thanks, Rufus, I worry about getting hurt.”

  “Oh Hank,” Drover cried, “I never thought I’d hear you say that! I thought you were fearless and brave.”

  “Most of the time I am, Drover, but I try to stay out of the way of Doberman pinschers.”

  Rufus liked that. “You may be smarter than you look, cowdog. Let’s get the fight started. I got things to do.”

  “Oh Hank!”

  “All right, let’s get it started,” I said. “But first, I’d like for you to meet a couple of pals of mine.”

  “I ain’t interested in your pals.”

  “I understand that, but you’re going to be fighting on their property and I think it would be a good idea . . . I’m sure you understand.”

  “All right,” he growled, “but make it quick.”

  “It won’t take but a minute. Come on.” The three of us walked over to the spot where Rip and Snort were tearing up the grass and gouging holes in the earth. “Hey, Snort, hold up a second.” They kept fighting. “Hey! Back off and shut up, I’ve got an important message for you.”

  The snarling stopped. Rip and Snort looked at me with puzzled expressions. “Not good you butt into family discussion.”

  “I know, Snort, but this is important. Rufus here has something he wants to tell you.” All eyes swung to Rufus. “Go ahead and tell ’em what you told me, Rufus.”

  His little eyes went from me to the coyotes and back to me. “Say, what is this!”

  “All right, I’ll tell ’em. Snort, Rufus just ate your whole skunk and he wanted you to know that it was real good.” Two pairs of coyote eyes swept the spot where the skunk had been. “And he also wondered if that was grounds for a fight, because if it is, he said you boys better go get four or five of your coyote pals to make it a fair fight.”

  The brothers stood up, and so did the hair on their backs. “Not like smart-mouth dog! Not like skunk all gone!”

  “Hey listen . . .”

  “And Rufus said if you boys know what’s good for you, you’ll tuck your tails and head for the house.”

  Low rumbling sounds started coming from the throats of the coyote brothers. Snort stepped toward Rufus. “Rip and Snort not need help for fight!”

  “You dope, can’t you see what he’s doing?” said Rufus.

  “Snort, he called you a dope.”

  Rufus turned to me. “Why you low-down, sewer-dipping, pot-licking, double-crossing . . .”

  “Are you going to take that, Snort? Just give me the word and we’ll teach him a lesson.”

  Snort didn’t give any word. But what he lacked in language skills he made up for in sheer meanness. He and his brother pinned back their ears and moved in for battle.

  Rufus started backing up. “Stupid, that’s what you are, a couple of stupid stinking coyotes! Can’t you see what he’s doing? Hey listen, we can get together on this . . .”

  They got together, all right, Rufus on the bottom, Snort in the middle, and Rip up on top. The wreck was on, fellers, and me and Drover had to step back to keep from getting maimed.

  It wasn’t a bad match, let me tell you. Rufe put up a good tussle and got in some pretty good licks. But of course the terrible thing about fighting those coyote brothers was that the harder the fight and the longer it lasted, the more they loved it.

  After a bit Rufe managed to kick them away. That gave him just enough time to gather up those long Doberman legs and head for the back side of the pasture. He lit a shuck and headed north, with Rip and Snort right on his sawed-off tail.

  “Well, Drover, we’ve solved another case and it’s time to move along. I believe my true love is waiting.”

  Chapter Nine: The Case of the Mysterious Dead Horse

  We went padding down the creek, enjoying the scenery and the freshness of morning. It was a beautiful day, but what made it even more beautiful was that my thoughts had turned to the lovely maiden, Miss Beulah of the long collie nose and the fair flaxen hair.

  I wondered if she’d been thinking about me. I had little doubt that she had been, for she was a smart lady and had excellent taste.

  Yet it was hard to explain her strange attachment to Plato the Bird Dog. In some ways Plato was a likeable mutt. He had no glaring flaws but also no glaring virtues. He was the kind of guy you might choose as a casual friend, but certainly not worthy of the love of a refined collie.

  I mean, just consider what kind of dog would go around chasing birds. Compare that to, well, me for instance. I chased monsters, not birds. I fought coons and badgers and coyotes, and poison­ous snakes.

  I had a glamorous job, enormous responsibility, and the dashing good looks you expect in a blue-ribbon, top-of-the-line cowdog. I also had better than average gifts as a poet, philosopher, and singer.

  When you add that all up, what you get is by George overwhelming evidence that Beulah never should have given a second glance to Plato. But she had. Why? It just didn’t make any sense.

  But I knew one thing for sure: Plato was in for some hard times. I had nothing personal against the mutt, but he was fixing to lose himself a girlfriend.

  “Boy, you
sure fixed old Rufus.”

  “Huh?” It was Drover speaking. “Oh. You liked that?”

  “Gosh yes! There for a minute, I thought you’d forgotten our friendship.”

  “I’ve tried to forget it, Drover, but somehow it just hasn’t worked out.”

  “Thanks, Hank. It means a lot to hear you say that. I guess you saved my life.”

  “Yup.”

  “I don’t know what I can do to pay you back.”

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure Hank, anything at all.”

  “When we get over on the next ranch, I’m going to be doing some serious courting. It would please me enormously if you would try not to embarrass me with childish remarks and stupid behavior.”

  “Sure, Hank. That’ll be easy, ’cause I’m going to be courting too.”

  Oh? And whom will you be courting, if I may ask?”

  “Why, Beulah, of course.”

  “Halt! Hold it right here.” I put my nose right down in the runt’s face. “No you won’t be courting Beulah, because I’m going to be courting Beulah.”

  His simple smile wilted. “Oh gosh. You mean we’re in love with the same girl?”

  “No. I’m in love with the same girl and you’re having wild delusions. What you must remember, Drover, is that your emotions are shallow, immature, and based on false expectations. I hate to put it this way, but you’re just not in Beulah’s class.”

  “But Hank, the last time I was around her, I kind of got the feeling that maybe she was a little bit sweet on me.”

  “No. She was being nice to you. She didn’t want to hurt your feelings. She didn’t want to come right out and club you over the head with the truth—that she was madly, hopelessly in love with me.”

  “Oh.”

  “And possibly with Plato, to a small degree.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Drat.”

  “There’s no easy way to say it.”

  “Well, it may hurt for a while, but it sure doesn’t feel good.”

  “Exactly, but you see, what you’re feeling is mere puppy love, not the deeper, more refined emotions described throughout the ages by poets and troubadours.”