The Case of the Bone-Stalking Monster (7 page)

Chapter Twelve: I Unmask the Bone Monster

W
e fought our way up the hill. Boy, what a scary deal it was. See, our intelligence reports had spoken of only one Bone Monster out there, but by the time we reached the yard gate, I was pretty sure that we had encountered more than one.

Several.

Dozens of Bone Monsters, each one bigger and meaner and uglier than the first one.

Pretty scary, huh? You bet it was.

Well, our squad had been encircled and en­trapped by a whole bustallion of Bone Monsters. They were everywhere! I mean, in the darkness up ahead, we could see their yellow neon eyes flickering on and off.

And you probably think they were fireflies, but they weren't. I know a firefly when I see one.

These were the murderous yellow eyes of a whole bunch of Bone Monsters.

Ten feet out, I knew we were in big trouble. We would have to fight for every step, every inch of ground.

“Okay, men, I had hoped that we could make this a silent run, but they've got us surrounded and outnumbered. When I give the word, we'll go into Heavy Duty Barking.”

“What's the word?”

“The word, Drover, is ‘bark.' What else would it be?”

“Well, I don't know. Blue Cheese or Ham­burger Bun or Lettuce Leaf. You use all these codes and sometimes I don't know what's going on.”

“Yes, but what's more important is that THEY don't know what's going on. It's all part of a grand strategy and you don't need to worry about it. Just bark.” He barked. “Not yet, you moron, you'll give away our location.”

“They can have it! I want to go home, and this leg is killing me!”

“Okay, men, ready on the left? Ready on the right? Commence Heavy Duty Barking! Give 'em the full load and don't hold anything back!”

We cut loose with a withering barrage of barking. Boy, you should have heard us! I was especially impressed with Ralph's work. He was a hound dog, you know, and hounds have always been good barkers.

His was a deep “Roof, roof” which added some force to Drover's yips and squeaks. And then, of course, I weighed in with my deepest and most threatening bark, which is probably what saved us.

We ran a few steps, stopped and barked back the waves of attacking Bone Monsters, then ran a few steps more. It was brutal.

At last we made it to the yard gate. We had fought and clawed our way through the Enemy lines, through wave after wave of suicidal Bone Monster attacks, and somehow we had made it.

I was proud of my guys. You never really know what a dog is made of until he's . . .

The door? The back door was opening? Thank goodness, we had awakened the house and someone was coming to our rescue!

I heard a voice in the darkness. It was Loper's.

“If you idiots wake me up one more time, you're going to be eating buckshot.” Gulp. “Do you hear me, Hank?” Yes sir. “Now shut up your barking!”

Yes sir. I knew from past experience that Loper wasn't a totally rational person in the middle of the night. There were many things he didn't understand about Security Work, and I could only hope that, come morning, he would see the arrow of his ways.

And yes, I understood the message about “buck­shot” and knew that he wasn't kidding.

The door slammed shut and the lights went out in the house. I turned to my companions. “Nice work, men, but we're not quite finished. Our final objective is to capture and defend the back porch. Any questions?”

Ralph raised his paw. “I can't climb this fence, legs are too short.”

“In that case, Ralph, go down fighting, and take a few monsters with you. It's been a real pleasure knowing you.”

His ears jumped. “Last one to the porch is a rotten egg.”

And then, before our very eyes, he climbed over the fence. It wasn't very graceful, but he got 'er done. Drover went over next, while I covered the rear, and then I went soaring over the fence like a deer.

That rhymes, doesn't it? Rear and deer. And it also reminded me of the lovely Miss Scamper and the many perfumed hours we had spent together—reciting poetry, singing songs, staring into each other's eyes. What a gal, and she was madly in love with me.

By the time I reached the porch, Drover and Ralph had already set up in the Back Door Se­curity Formation, and they had done it on their own, with­out any prompting from me. I was proud of them. My guys were really coming through in the crutch.

Oh, in case you're not familiar with BDSF, here's a quick outline of the procedure. It calls for the dogs to sit down on the porch and press their backs as tightly against the door as possible. This not only stops all traffic in and out the door, but it keeps the house from moving around.

It also makes us feel that we're almost inside the house, which is pretty important on scary nights.

I took my place in the BDSF pattern. “Well, guys, we made it. Nice going. We won't get any sleep tonight but at least . . .” My ears picked up the sounds of their snoring. “Ralph? Drover?”

They were both sound asleep—sitting up, mind you. Well, that was okay. They had fought a brave fight, and as their commanding officer, I didn't mind taking the entire nightwatch mysnork. I was wide awoink by then and snicklefritz porkchop murgle . . .

Perhaps I dozed, but not for long. The next thing I knew, it was daily broadlight. A crazy person was standing on the other side of the screen door, whomping on us with the door and screaming incoherent messages about . . . something.

“Will you get off my porch and let me out of my house? And what are you doing in my yard!”

HUH?

My eyelids lifted. My eyeballs rolled around three times in their sprockets, then focused on a certain cat-like figure sitting in the iris patch. It was a cat. It was Pete.

He appeared to be bathing his left hind leg with a pink tongue, and he was grinning. “Hi, Hankie. Walk in your sleep last night, hmmm?”

I beamed him a look of coldest steel. “No, I didn't walk in my sleep last night. For your information, Kitty, my men and I . . .”

Where were they? Ralph and Drover had vanished. I was alone on the porch, and that same crazy person was still whamming me with the . . .

Okay, it was Sally May. I whapped my tail on the porch and gave her my warmest, most sincere good-morning . . . oof! . . . smile, and if I moved off the porch, maybe she would stop . . . oof! . . . hammering me with the screen door.

I moved. She came out, placed her hands on her hips, and leaned over until her nose and my nose were only inches apart. I wondered if a nice juicy lick on the nose would, uh, heal this latest wound in our relationship, so to speak.

I decided to save the lick for another time.

Our eyes met. “You barked all night long.”

Yes, but I could explain . . .

“You woke up everyone in the house.”

There were these Bone Monsters, see, these dreadful, horrible Bone Monsters, and Drover and Ralph and I were just minding our own business and . . . where were those two jugheads anyway?

“And here you are,” she continued, “in my yard. Dogs are not allowed in my yard, ever. And do you know why?”

I, uh . . . no. It seemed a very strange law to me.

“Because I saw what you did to my tomato plants, you oaf, and if I ever catch you in my garden again . . .”

I didn't hang around for the threats. I shot one last glare at Precious Kitty and ran for my life.

Sally May just didn't understand. If she had only known about the attack of the Bone Monsters and the Sausage Death Threat . . . oh well.

Part of being a dog is learning to forgive.

I was not shocked on finding Drover and Ralph asleep under the gas tanks. I gave them a rude awakening.

“A fine bunch of comrades you are, slipping away in the night and leaving me to be scorched by Sally May! What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Ralph staggered to his feet and gave his head a shake. “What I have to say is that I'm leavin'. I never knew what a nice place the dog pound was 'til I came out here.” He started walking west, toward the lake. “Bye, y'all, I'm going fishin'.”

“Hey Ralph, is that it? No thank-yous or good-byes?”

“Thanks and good-bye. Blue Cheese, buckshot, Bone Monsters, baloney. A guy could get killed trying to sleep on this outfit.”

“Well, good-bye, old pal, old prison buddy. Come back again some time.”

He disappeared from sight and I turned an angry glare on Mister Vanish. “Drover, I hardly know what to say.”

“Oh good.”

“After all our years of service together . . .”

At that very moment, Drover was saved from a blistering lecture because Slim had just pulled up to the gas tanks in his pickup. He stuck the gas nozzle into his tank and gave us a big lazy grin.

“Morning, dogs. My pickup was down to fumes, and I reckon I'd better finish my breakfast before Loper starts shoutin' orders.” He reached in the window and pulled out an open can of . . .

I stared at the can. Drover stared at the can. We exchanged long thoughtful glances.

He was eating VIENNA SAUSAGE. From a CAN.

My mind raced back to the previous day. I was burying bones in the garden, right? Slim was there, watching me and making cute remarks about . . . something about a backhoe, right? And he was a big joker, right?

The pieces of the puzzle began . . .

He popped a weenie into his mouth and grinned. “Have you checked on your bones, Hankie?”

HUH?

Okay, maybe we had . . . he thinks he's so funny, and sometimes I wish . . .

Never mind. The important thing is that I had solved the Mystery of the . . . phooey.

Case closed.

And he didn't fool me with that business of the Vienna sausage can, not for a minute. And don't forget who came up with the first report of the Phony Bone Monster.

It was Drover.

I'd never believed that Phony Bone Monster stuff. No kidding.

Case closed, forever this time, and don't go blab­bing this around either.