Monkey Business (5 page)

The procession wound through the Central Plaza and made its way down the hill to the gas tanks. Our feathered subjects, the chickens, lined the streets. As We passed, they bowed and whispered, “'Tis HE, the Great Grand Potentate!”

We had planned to take a short nap upon reaching the Royal Gas Tank Throne Room, but Our nap was delayed because of trouble from an unexpected source: Drover.

Chapter Seven: Monkey See, Monkey Do

I
f you recall, We had assigned Drover a routine patrol job in the eastern quadrant of ranch headquarters. We found him asleep on his gunnysack—in Our Gas Tank Throne Room.

We extended Our paw toward the offender. “Monkey, seize him!”

Monkey chattered with sheer delight, jumped into the middle of the sleeping goldbricker, and pinned him to his bed. Drover re­ceived a rude awakening, and when he saw what was sitting astraddle of him, his eyes became large white plates with little black dots in their centers.

“Hank, oh my gosh, Mayday, Mayday, help, murder!” We floated into the Throne Room and seated Ourself upon the Royal Gunnysack Throne. “Hank, who is this guy? Get him off me!”

“Silence! You disturb Our tranquility.”

“What's going on? Who . . . oh my gosh, Hank, I've got a monkey on me!”

We smiled and fingered the large emerald ring upon Our paw. “Drover, you have disobeyed Us, and as a result you have been seized by Our Captain of the Guard.”

“Who? Hank, where'd you get . . . oh. I bet you opened the box, didn't you, and there was a monkey inside. Oh good! There for a minute, I thought I was having a bad dream. Can you get him off of me?”

“We could, Drover, but We won't.”

“We? Who's we?”

“We. We, the Great Grand Potentate of the Ranch.”

Drover gave me a silly grin. “What are you talking about? You must be . . . I hope you're . . . I think I missed something.”

“Yes, indeed. While you slept, Drover, many things happened. We have been crowned Great Grand Potentate of the Ranch, and Our monkey has been named Captain of the Guard and second in command.”

“Second in . . . what about me?”

“You are now third in command. Or last in command, as it were.”

“You mean . . .”

“Exactly. In the future, you will take orders from Captain Monkey. You will also accept his punishment for sleeping on the job.”

“But Hank, this leg of mine . . .”

“Monkey, pull his whiskers and tweak his nose!”

“Eee eee!” Monkey did as he was told. I could see that he enjoyed his work.

“Oh, ouch, quit that, Hank, get him off of me! He's pulling my whiskers.”

“Exactly. And now you will thank him for im­proving you?”

“Thank him for . . . Hank, are you feeling all right? He just pulled my whiskers and . . .”

We leaped up from Our throne. “
You will
thank Captain Monkey for improving you,
or We will order him to improve you some
more!
”

“Well, you'd better do that, 'cause I'm not going to thank any monkey for pulling my whiskers.”

Our lip curled and we glared down at the little mutt. “Insolent wretch. Very well. As you have spoken it, so shall it be.” We floated over to Captain Monkey and whispered something in his ear.

What I whispered in his ear was Top Secret Procedure for subduing and gaining control of a dog, any dog, regardless of how big or mean or stubborn he might be. I had never revealed this secret to anyone, not even to Drover, and for very good reason. Such a secret, once revealed, can become a double-edged blade in the razor of Life. Not only can it shave closer and faster, but it can . . .

Let's back up and start over. Such a secret, once revealed, can be used by small minds against the revealer, if the revealer happens to be a dog, don't you see. I wouldn't have taught the trick to just anyone, but by this time I had established that the monkey was my loyal and obedient subject. Also not shrewd enough to use it against me.

Do I dare reveal the secret here? No, better not risk it. Or, I'll tell you what, we'll make a deal. I'll reveal the secret if you'll raise your right hand and swear never to tell anyone else or use it against a dog.

Okay. Raise your right hand and repeat after me: “I, your name, do solemnly swear never to repeat this Top Secret Procedure to anyone or to use it against an innocent dog.”

Now we're set. Are you ready to hear the secret? Here it is.
If you want to shut down and humble a dog, grab his tongue and hold on. As long as you have that tongue, he can't talk back, bite, bark, or do ANYTHING.

There it is, the secret I whispered in my monkey's ear. Don't forget that you've sworn an oath never to repeat it.

Now, back to the story. When We had revealed this Utmost Dark Secret to the monkey, he grinned from ear to ear, and once again We saw that wicked gleam shining in his eyes.

We returned to Our throne and seated Our­selves. “Now, Drover, you will thank Captain Monkey for aiding you in your quest for self-improvement.”

“Well, I really don't think I want to lum wum wug lum wum.”

We smiled. “Drover, We're afraid We missed the last part of your statement. Could you say it again, a little louder this time?”

“Lum wum wug lum wum lum lum.”

“Mercy! It seems Captain Monkey has seized you by the tongue and rendered you helpless. Could this be a message of sorts, hmmm?”

“Lum wum wug.”

“So it seems. When your little rebellion has passed and you're ready to follow orders, give Us a sign and We will issue the command for Captain Monkey to release your tongue.”

Several minutes passed, while Drover lummed and wummed and mummed in protest, but his protests didn't do a lick of good, so to speak, be­cause my monkey kept a good grip on his tongue. At last, Drover crossed his eyes, which I figgered was the sign that he was ready to give up.

“Monkey, release the scoundrel's tongue.” That was odd. The monkey shook his head and scowled, almost as though he didn't understand the order—or didn't want to understand the order.

We pushed Ourself up from the Royal Gunny­sack Throne and marched over to him. “Your master has spoken: Release the tongue, chop-chop, boola-boola, right now!”

This time he did as he was told, but with a certain air of resentment that I didn't . . . I salted this clue away for future reference. Unless I was badly mistaken, my loyal monkey showed signs of having thoughts of his own.

There are several things you look for in a good monkey, and thoughts of his own ain't one of them.

We would deal with the monkey later, but at the moment Our most pressing problem was curbing Drover's little outburst of rebellion.

“Are you ready now to repent, O Lowly One?”

“I guess, but I didn't like . . .”

“What you like or dislike is of no concern to us. Thank Captain Monkey.”

Drover scowled and pressed his lips together in a pout. “Thank you, Captain Monkey, for your help in making me a better dog.”

“Excellent! Let him up, Monkey. We have guided him through the dark night of rebellion and around the sharp rocks of . . . I said, LET HIM UP, MONKEY.”

That same grudging look. I didn't like it. Obviously, I needed to do some more work on this monkey, and I made a mental note to attend to it first thing after my nap.

Drover scrambled to his feet and began backing away from Us. “I said it, Hank, but I don't like it, and I don't like your monkey either, and I'm sorry you let him out of the box and I think you're going to be sorry too.”

Captain Monkey snarled and made a move toward Little Mister Talk-Back-When-He-Ought-to-Keep-His-Trap-Shut. We had to step between them to keep Captain Monkey from teaching him another painful lesson.

“You may leave, Drover. Go contemplate your naughty behavior. Next time, We won't let you off so easy. Off with you! Be gone!”

“All right, I'll go, but I still don't like that monkey.”

I made a move toward him and he made a lightning dash for the machine shed. I yawned, feeling tired all at once from the strains of governing my unruly kingdom, and returned to my . . .

The monkey was sitting on my throne. And grinning.

“Get off my throne, you flea-bitten circus clown, and don't go near it again! For that, We command you to slap yourself three times and stand in the corner until We have taken our royal nap.”

That was more like it. He slapped himself three times on the face and placed his nose in the corner of the northeast angle-iron leg of the gas tanks.

We fluffed up Our gunnysack, walked around it in a tight circle, and flopped down. Oh, wonderful gunnysack! Oh, delicious sleep!

I stretched out, wiggled around until I found a comfortable spot and had all four paws sticking up in the air, closed my eyes, and began drifting off . . .

Ah, sweet Beulah, of the flaxen hair and soft brown eyes! Collie girl of my dreams, love of my life, giver of all good things, source of inspiration and happiness!

I glimpsed her in the distance, in the fog, in the foggy distance. I could see the longing in her eyes. I called her name and she called mine. We ran toward each other, our hearts aflame, but the fog rolled between us.

“Beulah!”

“Hank!”

“Oh, Beulah!”

“Oh, Hank!”

“Oh, Beulah, oh!”

“Oh, Hank, oh!”

And just then, I heard music. A song, in fact. It went like this.

I Can See You Now

I can see you now, just the way you were when daylight found you.

I can see you now, with the morning's golden glory all around you.

I can see the wind's soft fingers running through your hair,

The amber light reflected in your eyes.

I can see the fields of flowers like a rainbow

Splashed across the earth and stretching to the skies.

I can see you now, just the way you were when evening found you.

I can see you now, with the purple shadows falling all around you.

I can see the wind's cool fingers running through your hair,

And evening stars reflected in your eyes.

I can see bright colors fading all around you,

As night's blue velvet veil is drawn across the skies.

I can see you now, just the way you were when darkness found you.

I can see you now, but the memory starts to fade as night surrounds you.

I can hear you calling to me in the darkness,

I hear the words but don't know what they mean.

I can see stars in your eyes like burning embers,

But just before the dawn, I wake and it's a dream.

I see you now.

I see you now.

I see you now.

Chapter Eight: The Pasha of Shizzam

I
t was, to say the least, a bittersweet dream, which sort of describes the way things have gone with Beulah from the very beginning. If that bird dog would just go away . . . oh well. I don't want to get started on Plato.

Except to say that any dog who chases birds can't be very smart, and any woman who chases bird dogs, when she could have a brave, magnificent Great Grand Potentate cowdog for the same price, is walking the fine line between poor taste and terrible judgment.

But I don't want to get started on that. There's no rational explanation for it, that's what torques me about the whole thing. I mean, is there anything dumber or less significant than pointing birds? Who cares about birds? If you're going to point something, point something that matters. That's what I always say.

But never mind. I can't be bothered . . . what is it about that stupid, spotted, stick-tailed bird dog that holds her interest day after day, week after week, and month after month? It's outrageous.

But the important point to remember in all this is that
I really don't care
. There are other women in the world, hundreds of them, thousands of them, and if she wants to go chasing after a stupid . . . phooey!

Nevertheless, it was a wonderful dream, in a painful sort of way, and I wouldn't have minded running it over and over through the entire afternoon and into the evening hours. But that wasn't to be. Drover, the little dunce, began pulling my ears.

When I felt the first tug at my left ear, I growled, pretty muchly on instinct, and told him, “Drover, you're dlvkskdi bchslek vksl.”

“That wasn't me, Hank. You'd better wake up and see . . .”

“And you'd better zvlsckelf b'aldke mfkd ake zzzzzz.”

“Hank, get up. Somebody's here.”

“Of course somebody'zzzzzz snort wheeze here, otherwise we wouldn't be talking to each other.”

“No, I mean somebody else.”

“Tell 'em I'm busy. Tell 'em I died three weeks ago. Tell 'em . . .” He pulled my ear again. “Tell 'em that if you pull my ear again, you nincompoop, I'm going to build a mudhole in the middle of your face!”

He pulled it again. That did it. My eyelids sprang open, and once my eyeballs quit rolling around and locked in on the target, I saw . . .

HUH?

. . . this face, see: Two big eyes, short nose, a broad grinning mouth, jug ears, red jacket, and a red fez on top of its head. Drover didn't wear a red fez. Or have jug ears. Or a short nose.

“Drover, I don't want to alarm you, but something has happened to your face. All at once it has begun to resemble a . . .”

“A monkey, Hank?”

“Exactly. All these years you've acted like a monkey, and now the chickens have come home . . . Drover, is there something we need to discuss?”

“Yeah. I think your monkey's got some business on his mind.”

“Which could be called monkey business, is that what you're saying?”

“Yeah. He's sitting on your chest. I told him to get off but he only made teeth at me and stuck out his tongue.”

“I see. Yes, it's all coming clear now. I gave him strict orders to stand with his nose in the corner. He has disobeyed, and now we have the Case of the Disobedient Monkey.”

“I guess so. What are you going to do?”

“Very simple, Drover. Obviously the little whelp has forgotten his place in the overall scheme of things and must be taught a lesson. I'll simply order him to get off my chest.”

“That sounds like a good idea—if he'll do it.”

“He'll do it. I'll speak to him in his own dialect. Watch this and study your lessons.” I beamed a steely gaze into the eyes of the monkey. “Monkey get off dog at once, hurry-scurry, boola-boola, chop-chop!”

He didn't seem to understand. Instead of following my order, he flicked the end of my nose with his finger. And grinned down at me. That flicking business hurt.

I tried another tack. “Monkey not understand. Monkey get off and . . .” He flicked my nose again. “Monkey BAD monkey to flick master's nose with finger. Monkey be good monkey, get off and . . .” He did it again.

“I don't think he speaks that language, Hank. He keeps flicking your nose.”

“So it seems, Drover, and now I have no choice but to translate my message into the universal language—brute force.”

“Oh gosh, don't hurt him.”

“I'll try to be gentle, but I can't make any pro­mises.”

I took a deep breath and concentrated all the muscles in my highly conditioned body into an up­ward surge. Within a period of only a few seconds, I struck him in the chest with my front paws, kicked him in the back with my hind paws, and arched my back like a bucking horse.

Pretty impressive, huh? But you know, these monkeys are used to living in trees and it's a little hard to shake one loose. I struggled and thrashed until I could struggle and thrash no more. The fool monkey was still sitting on my chest.

And you might say that he had, well, pinned my front legs to the ground, so to speak.

“Oops,” said Drover. “That didn't work too well.”

“It's just a simple language problem, Drover, nothing to be alarmed about. The little brute thinks I want to play with him. I'll have to use a sterner tone of voice, that's all.” I narrowed my eyes and made teeth at him and snarled. “Monkey unpin legs right now, chop-chop, or face disastrous consequence!”

He unpinned my legs. I winked at Drover and gave him a smile. “There, you see? You can't monkey around with a monkey. You've got to be firm.” I turned back to the monkey. “Now, monkey get off and wugg lum wum lum . . .”

The little snot had reached into my mouth, taken hold of my tongue, pulled it out a full six inches, and was . . .

Did I mention that one of the dangers of revealing Top Secret . . . yes, I did, and just as I had feared . . .

“Oh, my gosh, Hank, he's got your tongue!”

“Wugg lumwum lum wugg!”

“I can't understand what you're saying.”

“Wugg lum wugg wum lum wugg!”

“Do you want the monkey to turn loose of your tongue?”

“Uhhh!”

At that moment, the monkey spoke for the first time. “My name is not Minkey. I am Pasha of Shizzam, Lord Temporal and Spiritual, and heir to the throne of Raj Kumari.”

Drover's eyes widened and he took two steps backward. “Oh my gosh, he's talking, Hank! And did you hear what he said?”

“Uhhh lum wugg wum.”

The monkey looked at Drover. “Tell your friend that he weel not geet his tongue back until he recognizes that he ees a lowly subject of the Pasha of Shizzam. You weel tell him that.”

“I will?”

“Indeed, you weel.”

“What if I go hide in the machine shed?”

“If you go hide in thees machine shed place, I weel follow you and pool
your
tongue.”

“I just thought I'd ask.” He came creeping over and whispered in my ear. “Hank, did you hear?”

“Uhhh.”

“I guess we'd better do what he says.”

“Uhhh.”

Just then, the monkey released my tongue and said, “Are you ready now to be a loyal subject of the Pasha?”

“Funny that you should ask,” I said in a bold tone of voice. “Number One, you're not a Pasha; you're a monkey. Number Two, I'm in charge of the ranch and wugg lum wugg wum lum wugg . . .”

He sat there on my chest, grinning down at me and holding on to my tongue. “Perhaps you would like to try eet again?”

“Uhhh.” He gave my tongue back. I rolled it around in my mouth and licked my chops. “As I was saying, we could probably work out some kind of compromise.”

The monkey—eh, the Pasha—wagged one hairy little finger in front of my nose. “No com­promise. I am Pasha, you are lowly, stinking, unwashed subjects.”

“Yes, well . . . that sounds like the kind of compromise we could go for, so to speak. Now, if you'll get off my . . .”

“You must obey Pasha or bad things weel come.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You promise obey Pasha? Or shall Pasha seize tongue again?”

“Well, no, let's not get . . . I think we could probably . . .”

“Promise or not promise!”

“Oh. I, uh, guess that we could take that under . . . all right, you win. We promise.”

And with that, he crawled off my chest and let me up. That was his first mistake, letting me up, because I had already devised a clever plan for tabing the turnals on this upstart monkey. Turning the tables, I should say. For you see, I had begun drawing on my reserves of Ancient Cowdog Wisdom:

If at first you don't succeed, bark.

If at second you don't succeed, run for the house.

And that's just what we did, fellers, ran for the house. My monkey had gotten out of control and had decided that he was hot stuff. But he had never gone up against my favorite ranch wife, Sally May.

And I had a feeling that when Sally May got through with him, he'd have enough broom tracks on him that he'd forget about being the Pasha of Shizzam.