Henry and Ribsy (3 page)

“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 to 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.

“I'm afraid it is, Mr. Grumbie,” answered Henry.

“I heard about Ribsy tearing the seat out of the garbageman's overalls,” said Mr. Grumbie.

Jeepers, thought Henry miserably, the story's not only going around the neighborhood, it's getting worse than it really was. Next thing, people would be saying Ribsy bit the garbageman. He explained what had really happened, and then Mr. Grumbie went in and closed all the windows that faced the Hugginses' house.

Henry grew more and more discouraged. On Thursday, after he had piled the garbage on top of the can and replaced the lid as well as he could, he got an apple box out of the garage, climbed up on it, and stepped carefully onto the lid. He stamped his feet a few times to work the garbage down into the can and then jumped up and down. It helped some but not much.

On Friday Henry suggested to his mother that they buy a second garbage can, but she did not think this was a good idea. Then Henry decided to take the garbage out before dinner when the container was not so full. He distributed the milk cartons and carrot tops as well as he could on the heap and was jumping up and down on the lid when Robert and Scooter came up the driveway looking for him.

“What are you doing up there?” Robert demanded, with one eye on Ribsy. “Look at it, Scooter! Did you ever see so much garbage?”

“Pee-yew,” said Scooter, staying on the driveway well away from Ribsy, who was rolling on the grass to scratch his back.

“Never mind the sound effects.” Henry jumped to the ground. It was all right for him to criticize his own garbage, but he didn't want anyone else to do it. “Come on, let's go out in front.”

“Yes, let's,” agreed Scooter. “Pee-yew.”

Henry was about to suggest they all go over to the park. Then he decided he had better not take a chance on Ribsy's behavior toward strangers. “Come on, let's see who can walk farthest on his hands,” he said, to keep Scooter and Robert from talking about his troubles.

While the three boys were busy trying to walk across the lawn on their hands, they heard a sudden clatter and crash from the backyard and promptly got on their feet.

“Sounds like a garbage can to me,” said Scooter.

Henry, who had known instantly what made the noise, was already on his way around the house with Ribsy at his heels. Scooter and Robert were close behind. Henry found the garbage can tipped on its side. The lid had rolled halfway across the backyard, and garbage was strewn all the way from the steps to the cherry tree. In the midst of the litter stood a collie and another big dog. A crust of bread hung from the collie's mouth.

The dogs started to run when they saw the boys. Ribsy chased them while Henry grabbed an old Woofies can and threw it after them. “You beat it,” he yelled. Then he looked at the mess and groaned. Garbage! He was sick and tired of it. He kicked at an eggshell and groaned again. It wasn't worth fifteen cents a week. It wasn't worth a hundred, or a thousand, or even a million dollars.

Scooter and Robert held their noses. Then Scooter made a gagging noise and Robert copied him.

“Aw, hey, fellows, cut it out.” Henry glared at his friends and pulled the can, still half full, upright. He looked around and sighed.

“Well, I guess I better be going,” said Scooter. “I just remembered I'm supposed to go to the store for my mother.”

“Me, too,” said Robert. “So long, Henry.”

Some friends, thought Henry, and set to work. He was busy scooping up coffee grounds and mildewed pea pods when he heard his father's car turn into the driveway.

Mr. Huggins looked around the back yard. “Dogs?” he asked.

“That collie and that other big dog down the street,” answered Henry.

Mr. Huggins did not say anything. He found a shovel in the garage and went to work.

“Uh…Dad,” began Henry. “The garbageman isn't exactly a
neighbor
. Does his complaining about Ribsy mean I don't get to go fishing with you?”

“We'll see what happens Monday before we decide,” answered his father. “Perhaps we can find out what made him act the way he did.”

On Saturday Henry did not take the garbage out at all. When neither his mother nor his father reminded him, he guessed they must be as tired of garbage as he was.

Sunday afternoon Robert and Scooter came over to see if anything new had happened to the garbage or to Ribsy.

“Aw, fellows, forget it,” said Henry. Then he saw Beezus and her little sister Ramona coming down the street. Beezus's real name was Beatrice, but Ramona called her Beezus and everyone else did, too. “Hi!” Henry was glad to be interrupted.

“Hello, Henry. Did the garbageman ever take away your garbage?” Beezus asked.

“He'll take it tomorrow,” said Henry coldly. The way things got around on Klickitat Street!

“Ramona, look out!” screamed Beezus. She rushed over to her little sister, who had a firm hold on Ribsy's tail and was pulling as hard as she could. “He bites!” said Beezus. “He bit the garbageman.”

“He did
not
bite the garbageman!” yelled Henry. “Don't you dare say he did!”

Ribsy looked around at Ramona. “Wuf,” he said mildly, and waited patiently while Beezus frantically pried Ramona's fingers loose from his tail.

“He didn't bite when Ramona pulled his tail, did he?” Henry asked angrily.

“No.” Beezus looked doubtfully at Ribsy. “But somebody told Mother he bit the garbageman.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake!” Henry was thoroughly disgusted. This was too much.

“Of course, you don't know what Ribsy would have done if he had got at the garbageman,” observed Scooter.

“You keep quiet.” Henry glared at Scooter. “The garbageman must have kicked him or something. Look at him. Does he look the least bit cross?”

Beezus and the boys looked at Ribsy, who lay on the grass with a patient look on his face. Ramona was sitting on him. When she grabbed his ear, Ribsy looked at Henry as if to say, “Get her off me, won't you?”

“No, he doesn't look a bit cross,” admitted Beezus, pulling her little sister away. “He seems to understand she's little and doesn't know any better.”

Thinking secretly that Ramona did know better, Henry turned to Scooter. “Now are you satisfied?” he demanded.

“Well…” Scooter was not easy to satisfy.

Henry tried to think of something, anything, to change the subject. “Say, Scooter,” he said, “I wish you'd take a look at the horn on my bike. It's been sounding funny lately.”

“Sure,” said Scooter eagerly. If there was one thing he enjoyed, it was tinkering with a bicycle. “Where is it?”

“In the garage,” answered Henry, and they all started down the driveway toward the open garage doors.

As Scooter took hold of the handlebars and started to wheel the bicycle out of the garage, Ribsy began to growl deep in his throat. The hair stood up on his neck and he moved toward Scooter.

Everyone stared at Ribsy. Scooter hastily dropped the bicycle on the driveway, and Ribsy stopped growling at once. He went to Henry and wagged his tail, waiting to be praised.

“Hey, did you see that?” Henry shouted.

“I sure did,” said Scooter. “He's a vicious dog!”

“He is not vicious. He was protecting my bike!” Henry was growing more excited. “He isn't cross at all. He was just protecting my bike.”

Scooter did not look convinced. “Don't you see?” Henry went on. “That explains about the garbageman. Ribsy was protecting the garbage from the garbageman because he thought it was mine!”

“He's a watchdog,” agreed Beezus.

“Sure,” said Henry eagerly. “It takes a smart dog to be a watchdog.”

At this Robert and Scooter began to shout with laughter. “What a watchdog!” hooted Scooter.

“Whoever heard of a dog guarding the garbage?” Robert doubled up with laughter.

“Your
valuable
garbage,” shouted Scooter.

“Your
precious
garbage,” howled Robert.

“Aw, cut it out,” said Henry sheepishly and began to laugh, partly because he thought it was funny but mostly from relief at proving that Ribsy was not a vicious dog. His fishing trip was still safe!