牧羊犬案 英文名著｜第6章

“Hello, boys. What on earth are you doing?”

See? She was wildly in love with me. Those were the words of a woman in love, the honeydipped words of a collie princess who had forgotten about bird dogs and all the mistakes of the past!

At last I regained my footage and managed to speak to her in my smoothest, most charming voice.

“Hello, Beulah.”

“Hello, Hank.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, a long time.”

“Until moments ago, I was a hermit living in the desert, eating cactus and grasshoppers. Now, you’ve brought rain and flowers, green grass and mud puddles.”

“Oh my.”

“Your face is just as lovely as ever, Miss Beulah. To quote the poet, ‘Your face would sink a thousand ships.’”

She stared at me for a moment, then started laughing.

“That’s very kind of you, but I think the poet meant to say launch a thousand ships, not sink them.”

“Whatever. Has anyone ever told you what an awesome nose you have?”

She laughed again. “I don’t think anyone has ever put it that way.”

“Awesome nose, Beulah. If I had a nose like yours, I’d never get any work done. I’d just sit around looking at it, and then I’d be crosseyed.”

“Well, I can’t take any credit for my nose. I hope there are other qualities you like about me.” Her expression darkened. “Is something wrong with Drover?”

He was still rolling around in the dirt.

“Who? Oh, him? No, he acts like this all the time. I think he’s got worms. But back to your nose . . .”

At that very moment, the runt sat up and proceeded to butt into my business. “Beulah, I wrote a poem, just for you: ‘Roses are red, chrysanthemums are violet/My heart’s like an airplane, but the pilot bailed out.’”

Silence filled the air. Beulah blinked her eyes. I rolled mine. I was embarrassed. At last Beulah thought of something to say.

“Well, it’s nice that you wrote a poem for me, Drover. Maybe you could work on it and make it even better.”

I pushed myself in front of Drover. “Hey Beulah, speaking of poetry, it happens that I’ve composed a few verses myself. Get this: ‘Roses are red, that’s perfectly clear/Forget little Drover, he’s a pain in the rear.’”

“Hank, that’s not very nice.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. Here’s another one: ‘Roses are red, your nose is just awesome/My heart’s in a tree like an upside-down possum.’”

She stared at me. “I think I missed something.”

“Well, possums wrap their tails around a tree limb and hang upside-down, don’t you see, and . . . hey, it rhymed. Let’s don’t be too picky. I composed it on the spot. Give me a couple of days and . . .”

Her gaze had moved away from me and turned toward the creek. “Have they started yet? I wanted to watch Plato. He’s worked so hard to get ready for bird season.”

“Birds! Now there’s a subject for a poem. Listen to this one, Beulah: ‘Cardinals are red and bluebirds are blue/A dog who’d chase birds isn’t worthy of you.’”

She didn’t hear it, which was too bad. I thought it was even better than the one about possums. She moved to the front of the pickup bed to get a better view of the bird-chaser . . . uh, Plato, that is.

Down on the ground, I followed her around to the side of the pickup. “Hey Beulah, have I ever showed you my tricks? Watch this one.”

I stood on my back legs and walked forward three steps. She gave me a glance and a quick smile. “That’s nice, Hank.” Then she turned her eyes back to the creek.

“Nice but not nice enough, huh? Okay, check this one out.” This time, I walked on my back legs AND moved my front paws. “What do you think now? Have you ever seen a better trick?”

“That’s a good one,” she said, but she hardly even looked at me.

“Okay, this next one will turn your head, Beulah. Watch this. Before your very eyes, I will stand on my back legs, do a complete back flip, and land on my feet again. You ready?”

Ah ha, at last I had her attention. I pushed up on my hind legs, went into a deep crouch, sprang upward with all my might, negotiated a very difficult backward flip maneuver in midair, and . . .

BONK!

. . . more or less landed on my head, you might say. Remember, it was a very difficult trick. Very few dogs could have pulled it off, or would have even attempted it.

Did it hurt? You bet it did. For a moment there, I saw checkers and stars and red billygoats. As I staggered to my feet, I suddenly realized that (1) my neck was bent and (2) someone was laughing at my misfortune.

With great difficulty, I turned my crooked neck and injured head toward the sound of the laughter. It appeared to be coming from my Collie Princess, who had thrust a paw over her mouth to hide her amusement, only the paw-covering-up deal hadn’t worked.

Her laughter came spilling out. “Oh Hank, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but sometimes you do the most ridiculous things.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed, and they always seem to happen when you’re around.”

“Well, maybe you’re trying too hard. Sometimes it’s better just to relax and let things happen in their own time.”

I thought about that. “So what you’re saying is that if I stop trying to impress you, you might be impressed? That doesn’t make sense, Beulah.”

She smiled and shrugged. “But it happens that way. We can’t control the way we feel.”

“Well, let me try this out on you. Suppose, just suppose for the sake of supposing, that I burst into song at this very moment, and the song happened to speak to this very issue. Would it win me points or lose me points?”

She cast a quick glance toward the south, where her bird dog friend was beginning the hunt. “I can’t say, Hank. You’d just have to try it and see.”

The Punt of Love

How can I begin to tell you, my pet,

The depths of my utter confusion.

You tell me go slow, I tell me go fast,

I think that I need a transfusion

Of daring ideas or something that works,

Explaining a lady dog’s mind.

I tried all my tricks and fell on my head

And now I’m just further behind.

Now, let us be frank, go straight to the point,

I’ve tried and I’ve tried to impress you.

The harder I try, the harder I fall,

It’s finally time to address you,

To ask you, what gives? What’s going on here?

And what in the heck you expect

A feller to think or say or do,

Just short of breaking his neck?

I fervently wish, I fondly desire

That someone would draw me a map

That showed the terrain of a lady dog’s mind,

Every highway and mountain and gap,

And valleys and streams and swamps and plains.

I think such a product would sell.

But I’d probably need a compass or three

And radar devices as well.

So what can I say? We’re back to square one.

The tide has come into the shore.

I’ve squared the circle and circled the square.

I’m just as confused as before.

The answer, I fear, is simple and plain,

There isn’t a tonic or stunt;

There isn’t a map or even a clue.

The only solution is . . . punt.

Well, I belted out my song and waited to see what she would say. She had listened to the whole thing, and now I caught a glimpse of her smiling. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but smiling was probably better than some of the alternatives.

At last she spoke. “Well, Hank, it seems you have a hard time understanding us girls.”

“Yes ma’am, I certainly do.”

“Well,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “sometimes we have trouble understanding us too.”

“Uh-oh. You mean, you don’t have any more answers than I do?” She shook her head. I slapped my forehead with my left paw—and, ouch, jarred my almost-broken neck. “Oh brother, this is even worse than I thought. Where do we go from here?”

She heaved a sigh and looked up at the clouds. “Why don’t you jump up here and we’ll watch the hunt together. We’ll worry about the rest of it later.”

Well . . . watching bird dogs wasn’t my idea of great fun, but sitting in the back of a pickup with the most gorgeous collie gal in all of Texas . . . hmmm, that was no bad deal.

A guy never knew what might happen.

Tall oats from tiny acorns grow.

Heh, heh.