The Mopwater Files Read Online Free PDF Page B

heat? I haven’t worked out all week.”
    That was Plato, of course, Plato the stick-tailed spotted bird dog. He spent his time pointing tennis shoes and retrieving sticks and thinking about birds. And what really ripped me was that Beulah seemed to like him.
    I gave him a nod. “Yes, the heat has been ter­rible.” I knocked off three back flips in a row, did a forward flip with a half-twist, and landed on my feet. “I’ve had to cut back on my work sched­ule too.”
    You should have seen his eyes! They almost bugged out of his head. “Good gravy, Hank, that’s very impressive, very impressive. Beulah, did you see that?”
    She did. I knew she did because I could see and almost feel her adoring gaze on me. So, just for the heck of it, I knocked off three forwardses, two back­wardses, landed on my front legs, did five push­ups, and ended with five carbuncles. Cartwheels.
    Plato almost fell out of the pickup. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Wow. By golly. Hank, I’m really impressed. No kidding. I mean, in this heat the rest of us just drag around and try to survive, but you . . . did you see that, Honey Bun?”
    â€œ Quit calling her Honey Bun. ”
    I froze and cocked my ear. Was I hearing voices? Unless I was badly mistaken, I had just heard someone say, “Quit calling her Honey Bun.”
    I shot a glance at Plato. His expression had changed. His eyes showed . . . fear. I shifted my gaze toward Beulah. She was looking away, as though . . . hmmm. Very strange.
    Plato cut his eyes from side to side and motioned for me to come over. When I did, he glanced over his shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper.
    â€œHank, there’s something I must tell you. Remember Rufus, Billy’s Doberman pinscher? He’s sitting up there on the spare tire.”
    â€œOh. So that was his voice I heard?”
    â€œRight. Yes. Exactly. He forced me and Beulah to sit in opposite corners. He doesn’t want us to be friendly, if you know what I mean, because he thinks Beulah likes him.”
    â€œHmmm. Does she?” I turned to Beulah.
    â€œI can’t stand him,” she whispered. “He’s an ugly toad, and he’s a bully and a brute, and he’s so mean to poor Plato . . . oh, I hate him!”
    â€œI’ll be derned. Well, maybe I need to have a talk with old Rufie.”
    Plato’s eyes grew wide, and he shook his head. “No, don’t get involved, Hank. I know you mean well, but this is just something we have to live with. We can stand it another day, can’t we, Honey . . . ’er, can’t we, Beulah?”
    â€œStay on your side, birdbrain, and quit talking to my sweetie pie.” It was The Voice again.
    â€œOkay, Rufus, sorry. It won’t happen again.” Plato turned back to me. “You see what I mean? He’s the meanest, most overbearing dog I’ve ever known. And I’ll be honest, Hank. He scares me.”
    â€œI wonder what he’d do if I yelled . . . honey bun.”
    Plato flinched at the words. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Hank, really. No kidding. To you it might be a joke, but Rufus has no sense of humor at all. And let me remind you, Hank, this guy has hurt a lot of dogs. He’s vicious.”
    â€œI’ll swan.” I threw back my head and called, “Honey bun, here, honey bun. Oh honey bun. Here a honey, there a bun, everywhere a honey bun.”
    Plato gasped. “No, Hank, please . . .”
    â€œHoney bun, honey bun, honey bun!”
    Plato’s eyes rolled back in his head. Beulah’s eyelids sank. The pickup lurched and bounced, and Rufus’s ugly head appeared above the tailgate.
    I gave him a lazy grin. “Hi. How y’all today?”
    He spoke in a deep booming voice. “Who said ‘honey bun’?”
    â€œWell, let’s see. It wasn’t Plato. It wasn’t Beulah, so perhaps ’twas I.”
    â€œWho