Henry and Ribsy Page 2

  The policeman laughed. “No, nothing like that. But he’ll probably get a stomachache from eating too much.”

  Henry was so relieved to know nothing serious would happen to Ribsy that he was able to grin at the officer. “And it’ll serve him right if he does get a stomachache,” he said.

  After Mr. Huggins had insisted on paying for the lunch, the officer drove away and Al lowered the car. “You old dog,” said Henry crossly as Ribsy jumped into the front seat. “Look at the trouble you got me into. And now you’ve got grease on your tail. Mom isn’t going to like that.” But when Ribsy looked up at Henry and wagged his tail as if he wanted to be forgiven, Henry could not help patting him.

  Mr. Huggins looked thoughtful. “It seems to me that dog has been getting into a lot of trouble lately,” he remarked.

  “I know he has, but he’s still a pretty good dog,” said Henry.

  On the way home the sight of the Rose City Sporting Goods Shop reminded Henry of salmon fishing once more. “Say, Dad,” he said, “I was talking to Scooter McCarthy. He went fishing last year and caught a silverside. I bet I land a chinook. I bet—”

  “Wait a minute,” interrupted Mr. Huggins. “I didn’t say for sure I’d take you fishing. I said, ‘We’ll see.’”

  “Aw, Dad,” protested Henry, “that’s just the same as yes.”

  Mr. Huggins was silent a minute before he went on. “You know, Henry, I’ve been thinking it over and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make a bargain with you about the fishing trip.”

  “What kind of a bargain?” Henry asked, wondering what his father had in mind. He hoped it wasn’t anything too hard, because he wanted very much to go on that fishing trip.

  “If you keep Ribsy out of trouble between now and the time I go salmon fishing around the middle of September, I’ll take you along,” said Mr. Huggins. “And that means no complaints from the neighbors about him.”

  “Sure!” exclaimed Henry. “It’s a bargain!” So that was all his father wanted! Why, it would be easy as pie. He didn’t have a thing to worry about. All he had to do was keep his eye on his dog from now until the middle of September, less than two months. He patted Ribsy, who was leaning out the front window of the car. “You’re going to be a good dog from now on, aren’t you?”

  Ribsy wagged his greasy tail in Henry’s face. “Wuf!” he said.

  “That’s a good dog,” said Henry. He was sure he wouldn’t have any trouble keeping his bargain. If he watched Ribsy every minute, he couldn’t get into trouble, could he? Or could he? There was the time Ribsy ran off with the roast the neighbors were going to barbecue in the backyard. And the time he stole the seventeen newspapers Scooter McCarthy had delivered on Klickitat Street. Maybe keeping Ribsy out of trouble until the middle of September wasn’t going to be so easy after all, now that he stopped to think about it. And the more Henry thought about it, the more he wished he hadn’t been in such a hurry to tell Scooter he was going fishing.

  2

  Henry and The Garbage

  Two weeks before school started, Henry Huggins was in the kitchen one evening feeding Ribsy, while Mr. Huggins washed the dinner dishes and Mrs. Huggins wiped them. Henry took some horse meat and half a can of Woofies Dog Food out of the refrigerator. Thump, thump, thump went Ribsy’s tail on the floor as he watched Henry.

  Henry cut up the horse meat and put it on Ribsy’s dish. “Why don’t you chew it?” he asked, when Ribsy began to gulp down the pieces of meat.

  Henry spooned the last of the can of Woofies into the plastic dish with D O G printed on it. Ribsy sniffed at the food. Then he wagged his tail and looked hopefully at Henry, who knew this meant that Ribsy would eat the dog food only when he was sure he was not going to get any more horse meat.

  “That’s all,” said Henry. “Eat your Woofies like a good dog. A Woofies dog is a happy dog. See, it says so right here on the can.”

  “Wuf,” said Ribsy, and went to the refrigerator to show that what he really wanted was another piece of horse meat.

  “All right, just one more piece,” said Henry, opening the refrigerator door. “You’ve stayed out of trouble for nearly two weeks so I guess you deserve it.”

  Mrs. Huggins hung up the dish towel. Henry started to put the empty Woofies can in the step-on garbage can his mother kept under the sink. Mr. Huggins stepped aside to let Henry pull it out. Henry did not have to step on the pedal to raise the lid. The lid was already up, because the can was so full of garbage it would not close.

  Ribsy came over to sniff just in case someone had thrown away a bone by mistake. Henry carefully balanced the Woofies can on top of some potato peelings. He was about to push the garbage can back under the sink when his mother spoke. “I am tired of taking out the garbage,” she announced firmly.

  Henry and his father looked at each other. Then Mr. Huggins said, “Henry, your mother is tired of taking out the garbage.”

  Henry didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to get mixed up with garbage.

  “I have taken out the garbage every day for eleven years,” said Henry’s mother.

  “Eleven years,” said Mr. Huggins. “Think of it!”

  “Day in and day out,” said Mrs. Huggins, and laughed.

  “Year after year,” Mr. Huggins went on.

  Henry did not see why his mother and father thought this was so funny. He couldn’t say he was tired of taking out the garbage, because he had never taken it out. Instead he said, “Well, so long. I’m supposed to go over to Robert’s house to work on his electric train.”

  “Just a minute, Henry,” said his father. “It’s just as much your garbage as ours.”

  Henry didn’t think this was very amusing. “Aw…” he muttered. He didn’t want to have anything to do with smelly old garbage. None of the other kids on Klickitat Street took out garbage, at least not every day.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Mr. Huggins. “I’ll raise your allowance fifteen cents a week if you’ll take out the garbage.”

  “You mean take it out every day?” asked Henry, in case his father might mean every other day. He eyed the heaped-up can. Garbage, ugh! He could understand his mother’s being tired of it, all right.

  “Every day,” said Mr. Huggins firmly.

  “Maybe there’s something else I could do to earn fifteen cents,” Henry suggested hopefully. “Something like…like…”

  “No,” said his father, “just garbage.”

  Henry thought. His allowance was now twenty-five cents a week. That plus ten cents made thirty-five cents, plus another nickel made forty cents. He could find lots of uses for the extra money. Most fathers would just say, “Take out the garbage,” without offering to pay for the job. And there probably were worse things than garbage, although right now Henry couldn’t think what. Besides, if he didn’t say yes, his father might tell him he had to take it out anyway.

  “OK, it’s a deal,” said Henry without any enthusiasm. He held his nose with one hand and lifted the garbage container out of the step-on can with the other.

  “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” said Mrs. Huggins cheerfully. “It’s nice fresh garbage.”

  Ribsy followed Henry out the back door, sniffing as he went, and watched Henry lift the lid off the thirty-gallon galvanized metal can that was just like the can standing by the back door of every other house on Klickitat Street. Henry peered into the can, which was half full of garbage. Ribsy put his paws on the edge of the can and peered in, too. Most of the garbage was wrapped in newspapers so it was not as bad as Henry had expected. However, some of the juicier garbage had soaked through the paper, and the whole thing was pretty smelly, especially a couple of old tuna fish cans. Henry emptied the container and took it back into the kitchen. Then he and Ribsy went over to Robert’s house.

  That week Henry took out the garbage every day. His mother never had to remind him more than twice. By the end of the week the can was full of soggy newspapers, old dog food cans, pea pods, grass clippi
ngs, chicken bones which Ribsy was not allowed to chew, used tea bags, and dabs of this and that, all blended into a tangled smelly mess. Henry could not keep from peering into the can to see how awful it all was. Ugh, thought Henry, and hoped he wouldn’t have to take the garbage out for eleven years. He wondered how much one of those electric garbage chopper-uppers cost that some people had installed in their sinks.

  Henry had never thought much about Monday before, but now it was an important day—the day the garbage man emptied the can and hauled away the garbage. Then Henry could start all over with a new set of smells.

  Monday morning Robert and Scooter came over to Henry’s house to see what they could find to do. Scooter tinkered with the chain on his bicycle, Henry held one end of a rope while Ribsy tugged at the other end, and Robert sat on the front steps and thought. In the distance Henry could hear the rattle and thump of garbage cans as the garbageman emptied them.

  Robert spoke first. “There was a girl in my room at school last year who was double-jointed.”

  “That’s nothing. So am I,” boasted Scooter. “See how far back I can pull my thumb.”

  “I can pull my thumb back farther than that,” said Henry, jerking the rope to make the game of tug-of-war more interesting for Ribsy. The rattles and thumps of the garbage cans were growing louder, Henry thought, and the garbagemen must be almost at his house.

  “Aw, you guys aren’t really double-jointed,” said Robert. “This girl in my room could bend her fingers backward without pushing them with her other hand.”

  The garbage truck had stopped between the Hugginses’ and the Grumbies’ houses. The boys watched two big men get out of the truck and balance their barrels on their shoulders. One went across the street to pick up the garbage. The other walked up the driveway between Henry’s house and the house next door.

  The boys forgot about double joints. “Gee, I hope I have muscles like that someday,” said Robert.

  Henry did not answer. He noticed that Ribsy had dropped his end of the rope and was looking anxiously toward the back of the house. He heard the thump of the Grumbies’ garbage can. The man came down the driveway with his barrel full of the Grumbies’ garbage, emptied it into the truck, and walked up the driveway with the barrel once more. Ribsy watched every move he made. Then Henry heard the man take the lid off the Hugginses’ can.

  Ribsy growled deep in his throat. Henry looked at him anxiously. It was the first time he had ever heard him growl anything but a pretend growl. Suddenly Ribsy flew into a frenzy of barking and tore down the driveway toward the back of the house. Henry was too shocked to move. He sat listening to Ribsy snarl and bark. Ribsy! He couldn’t believe it—not good old Ribsy. Now he really was in trouble.

  Scooter was the first to move. “Boy, is he mad about something!” he exclaimed, and ran over to the driveway.

  Then Henry got into action. He started down the driveway, but what he saw made him stop. Ribsy was growling and jumping at the garbageman, who was using his empty barrel to protect himself.

  “Ribsy!” wailed Henry. “Cut that out!”

  Ribsy continued to snarl and advance while the garbageman retreated down the driveway behind his barrel. When Henry tried to grab Ribsy, the garbageman picked up his barrel and ran toward the truck. He threw the barrel up onto the garbage in the back of his truck and jumped inside the cab. Ribsy had his front paws on the running board before Henry could grab him by the collar.

  “You keep that dog shut up or you keep your garbage. Understand?” The garbageman glared at Ribsy, who was still growling deep in his throat.

  “But he’s not really a fierce dog,” protested Henry, while Ribsy strained so hard at his collar that he choked and coughed.

  “Not much he isn’t,” said the garbageman. “You keep him shut up when I come around. See?”

  “Yes, sir.” Henry knew he couldn’t explain that Ribsy wasn’t a fierce dog—not after the way he had just behaved.

  As soon as the garbagemen drove on, Ribsy stopped growling. He looked at Henry and wagged his tail as if he expected to be praised for what he had done. Henry was too stunned to say anything for a minute. Then he said crossly, “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve got us both in trouble, that’s what.” Henry scowled at his dog. His father had told him he must keep Ribsy out of trouble if he wanted to go salmon fishing and now, for no reason he could see, Ribsy had attacked the garbageman. And if he had bitten the garbageman…Well, Henry could not bring himself to think about it, because he knew that biting dogs were sent to the pound.

  Scooter was careful to stay a few feet away from Ribsy. “I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you,” he said. “He looks pretty ferocious.”

  Henry looked sadly at Ribsy, who rolled over on his back with his four feet in the air to show that he wanted his stomach scratched. “See, he isn’t a bit ferocious.” Henry was anxious to defend his dog, even though he knew he couldn’t convince Scooter.

  “You just saw him, didn’t you?” asked Scooter.

  “But that wasn’t like Ribsy,” protested Robert. “He’s a good dog.” Henry noticed that even though Robert defended Ribsy he was careful to stay away from him, too.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Scooter. “You never can tell about dogs. Sometimes they get mean.”

  “Not my dog,” said Henry, trying frantically to think of an explanation for Ribsy’s behavior. “Maybe he just doesn’t like garbagemen.” That gave him a better idea. “Say, maybe the garbageman reminds Ribsy of the vet,” he said excitedly. “Once when Ribsy got foxtails in his ears from running through some tall grass, we had to take him to the vet to have them taken out. The vet had to hurt Ribsy to get the foxtails out of his ears, and for a long time afterward every time I got a haircut Ribsy would sit outside the barbershop and bark at the barber because he wore a white coat like the vet.”

  “I suppose Ribsy thought you went to the barber to have foxtails taken out of your ears,” jeered Scooter. “Besides, the garbageman doesn’t wear a white coat. He wears blue overalls.”

  Leave it to old Scooter to spoil an explanation. “Yeah, I guess that’s right,” Henry answered dejectedly. How did he get mixed up in these things, anyway? He had been sitting on the front steps, just minding his own business, and now all of a sudden he was in trouble. And the worst of it was, Scooter had seen the whole thing. Now everyone on Klickitat Street would know about Ribsy.

  And then Henry realized he had another problem—the garbage. A whole week’s collection was still in the can in the backyard. What was worse, it was going to stay there for seven days until the garbageman came around again. What was he going to do with the garbage he had to take out until then?

  That evening Henry put off telling his mother and father what had happened until they were washing dishes and he was cutting up horse meat for Ribsy.

  They both looked serious. “I can’t understand it,” said Mrs. Huggins. “He’s always been such a good-natured animal. If he really is getting to be ferocious, maybe we should keep him tied up.”

  “Oh, Mom, no,” protested Henry. “He hates to be tied up, and anyway he always chews through the rope.” Henry hoped his mother wouldn’t mention buying a chain. Why, he wouldn’t have any fun with Ribsy chained in the yard—not even riding his bike. It wouldn’t be the same without Ribsy riding in the box tied to the back fender or loping along beside him.

  “There must be some reason for his not liking the garbageman,” said Mr. Huggins. “I wonder if the garbageman ever kicked him.”

  “Gee, Dad, do you think so?” Henry asked eagerly.

  “Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that,” said Mrs. Huggins.

  Henry was anxious to change the subject before anything more was said about tying Ribsy in the backyard. He lifted the container out of the step-on garbage can and started to go out. Then, with a groan, he remembered that the can outside was already full. “Jeepers, Mom, what’ll I do with the garbage?” he asked.

  “You’ll just have t
o manage the best you can. Push it down in the can somehow.” Mrs. Huggins wiped a cup and sighed. “Henry, I don’t know how you get mixed up in things the way you do.”

  Henry emptied the container on top of the garbage in the big can and tried to put the lid on again. He pushed it down as hard as he could, but it would not close. The can was extra full because Mr. Huggins had mowed the lawn again and emptied the grass clippings into it. “You old dog, you,” Henry said crossly to Ribsy, who was sniffing the can. “It’ll be all your fault if I don’t get to go fishing.”

  Ribsy sat down and scratched a flea while Henry stared gloomily at the garbage can. There was one thing he was sure of. When he grew up and had a boy of his own, he would never ask him to take out the garbage.

  Unfortunately, that week turned out to be unusually warm. Tuesday evening when Henry and his mother and father were eating dinner, a breeze moved the curtains at the dining-room window. “Pee-yew,” said Henry, catching a whiff of overripe garbage from the can below.

  “Never mind the sound effects,” said Mr. Huggins, as he got up from the table to close the window. This made it very warm in the dining room.

  It was even warmer in the kitchen when Henry’s mother and father were washing and wiping dishes. Mrs. Huggins had to put down the dish towel several times to swat flies.

  Henry fed Ribsy in silence. He dreaded the trip to the garbage can. When he could put it off no longer, he picked up the container and started out, followed closely by Ribsy. This time he arranged the day’s refuse a handful at a time around the pile. Then he balanced the lid on top. The whole thing looked and smelled terrible.

  On Wednesday, when Henry walked reluctantly down the back steps with the garbage, he saw Mr. Grumbie standing on his back porch.

  As Henry took the lid off the can, Mr. Grumbie looked across the driveway. “So that’s where the smell is coming from,” he said.