The Case of the Double Bumblebee Sting by John R. Erickson Page A

place because we don’t have no friends amongst the doggies or anything else that’s fit to eat, and in the second place, he ain’t a doggie. He’s a dead badger.”
    â€œN-n-no, h-he ain’t a b-b-badger, P-pa, and h-h-he ain’t d-d-dead t-t-too.”
    Wallace began jumping up and down on the limb. “Junior, I am your father and I have spoken and you will show some respect to your own flesh and blood, and I’m a-telling you, that right there is a dead badger!”
    Junior gave his head a sad shake. “O-okay, f-f-fine. H-he’s a d-d-dead b-b-b-b-b-b-b . . .”
    â€œBadger.”
    â€œB-b-b-badger.”
    Wallace studied him for a moment. “Junior, do you really believe that with all your heart and soul, or are you just sayin’ it because I said it first, and I want the truth, son?”
    â€œN-n-number T-t-two.”
    The old man’s chin fell down on his feathered chest. “Junior, you just don’t know how much this hurts me. I ask you for the truth, the honest truth, and what do you do? You give it to me!”
    â€œW-w-well? Y-you asked f-f-for it.”
    â€œSon, what I was askin’ for and pleadin’ for from the very bottom of my heart was something dead to eat, and a badger would be just perfect. But no, you’ve told the truth and denied your pore old daddy the simple joy . . . son, do you really, honestly think it’s a dog?”
    â€œY-yep, I d-d-do.”
    â€œAnd do you really and truly believe he blinked his eyes?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œThis hurts me, Junior, more than I can ex­press, but life is full of hurt.”
    â€œY-y-yep, it is. Y-y-you w-want me to ch-check it out?”
    Wallace heaved a sigh. “Check it out, son. If it’s bad news, I’ll try to hold back the tears.”
    Junior leaned his neck in my direction and gave me a big buzzard smile—which, in case you haven’t seen one at close range, is about the ugliest smile you can imagine.
    â€œH-hello d-down there. Y-y-yoo-hoo.”
    I gave my enormous swollen head a nod. “Yoo-hoo to you too.”
    Junior turned to the old man. “S-s-s-see? H-he s-s-said y-y-y-y-yoo-hoo b-back.”
    â€œSo? That don’t mean . . . keep a-checkin’ it out, son, he might be on his last leg.”
    Junior turned back to me. “Is that y-y-you d-d-down there, D-d-d-doggie?”
    â€œYeth, it ith, Dunior.”
    He twisted his head from side to side. “M-my g-g-g-goodness, y-you sure are t-t-talking f-funny this m-m-morning.”
    â€œThankth. Tho would you, if you’d been bitten on the nothe by a rittlethnake.”
    â€œA w-w-w-what?”
    â€œA rittlethnake.”
    Wallace chimed in. “A what? What was that? What did he say, son?”
    â€œW-well, s-s-something about r-r-riddles.”
    â€œRiddles? Tell him we’re busy birds, we ain’t got time for playing riddles.” Wallace glared down at me. “Play riddles on your own time, dog, we’re lookin’ for something to eat.”
    â€œA rittlethnake, you dumbbell buzzood!”
    Junior’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “Oh P-p-pa, I’ve g-g-got it n-now, and y-you’ll b-be s-s-so happy!”
    â€œSon, a squashed badger on the highway would make me happy, but what’s he talkin’ about?”
    â€œA r-r-rattlesnake.”
    â€œOkay, fine, where’s he at? In depression times, I’ll sure take a rattlesnake.”
    â€œN-no. Our d-d-doggie f-friend was b-b-bitten on the n-n-n . . . face by a r-r-rattlesnake.”
    The old man’s greedy little eyes popped open and a smile spread across his beak. “Son, at last you have brought joy to my heart! You have made me a happy buzzard!”
    â€œI t-t-told you.”
    â€œYes, you did and you’re a fine boy, Junior, a fine boy, and you’ll grow up to be a fine buzzard one of these days, a credit to your family and all of