Henry and Ribsy (Henry Huggins #3)(6)
“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.