Lost in the Blinded Blizzard Read Free Page A

very proud of himself for making all that childish noise and violating the privacy of Slim’s home, and there for a second or two, I thought he might get a hernia from laughing so hard at . . . well, at me and Drover, but mainly Drover, who had tried his best to crawl under Slim’s easy chair.
    Remember that I had crawled under the coffee table, not under an easy chair, and it’s common knowledge that in serious and disastrous situations, such as earthquakes and tornadoes, citizens should take refuge under the nearest coffee table.
    So there you are. I had done nothing to be ashamed of. Drover, on the other hand, had walked right into their foolish trick and had become the butt of their laughingstock.
    Okay. Billy went down to his knees, he was laughing so hard, and Slim was getting more than a few chuckles out of it too.
    You might recall that this was the same Slim who, only moments before, had been running around his house, half-naked, and chasing a poor little mouse with a pool cue.
    Right. And the same guy who had destroyed the light fixture on the ceiling.
    You’ll notice that Slim hadn’t been nearly as amused by HIS foolish display as he now was by mine . . . ours . . . Drover’s, actually, which just goes to prove that small minds take delight in the misfortunes of others.
    It really hurt me to see him laughing at Drover that way.
    â€œCall off your dogs, Slim, before they hurt somebody!”
    That was Billy. Very funny. Ho, ho, ho.
    â€œWhatever you do, Billy,” said Slim between spasms of infantile laughter, “whatever you do, don’t try to crawl under that coffee table with Hank! He’s a trained killer, and I ain’t sure I can hold him back.”
    Oh, they got a big chuckle out of that! I glared daggers at them. Also snarled at Billy, just to let him know that sticks and stones might break my bones, but his words might get him bitten on the leg, if he ever turned his back on me.
    By this time, Drover had poked his head out from under Slim’s chair. “Hi, Hank, what you doing under the coffee table?”
    â€œDon’t speak to me, you little weasel.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œYou know very well what’s wrong. Under combat conditions, you ran and left me to defend the house by myself.”
    â€œWell, I thought I saw a mouse and I chased him under the chair.”
    I gave him a withering glare. “Drover, that is a lie, and you know it.”
    He hung his head. “I know, but it sounds a lot better than the truth. I don’t think I can face the truth.”
    â€œGo ahead and face it. You’ll feel much better.”
    â€œNo I won’t. I’ll feel ten times worse.”
    â€œTelling the truth is good for the soul.”
    â€œYeah, but telling a lie is good for everything else.”
    â€œTry it, Drover, you might be surprised.”
    â€œWell . . . all right.” He squinted one eye and appeared to be in deep concentration. “Let’s see. I ran away and hid under the chair because . . .”
    â€œYes, yes?”
    â€œI can’t say it, Hank, it just hurts too much.”
    â€œTake the plunge and say it.”
    â€œOh rats. I ran away and hid under the chair because . . . I was scared. There! Now everybody knows.”
    â€œBut that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
    â€œI guess not.”
    â€œAnd don’t you feel better now?”
    He thought about it for a moment, then gave me his patented silly grin. “You know, I do feel better.”
    â€œSee what I mean? I’ll bet you feel ten times better.”
    â€œOh yeah, ten or maybe even eleven. All at once I feel like a terrible burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I feel wonderful!”
    I crawled out from under the table, pushed myself up on all fours, and glared down at the runt.
    â€œWell, you have absolutely no right to feel wonderful. Not only did you behave in a cowardly and chickenhearted manner in a