Horgan took Lester and Pfizz out for target practice today (he had some extra breath mints for the mini-Beretta and the new Walther-PPK Tic-Tac gun). Cleo whined about being left behind, so I offered to take her on an Adventure.
Well. That is the last time I let her drive the truck.
“I’ve already seen the backyard, Timber,” she said. “Chasing gophers is NOT an Adventure.”
It is if you use a slingshot, but she wouldn’t have any of it.
“Why would I want to whittle a fountain pen?” she said. “I don’t even have thumbs.”
Clearly, she is not a lover of art.
“Teach me how to drive,” she said. “You have your license.”
I got out the remote control Corvette.
“No,” she said, “I want to drive the real truck.”
Then she batted her eyes at me, and offered to give me her share of bacon for the next three days.
Horgan’s worst mistake is that he left the tiny back window open and the keys on the counter. My biggest success as a driving teacher was turning the truck on and getting it into gear. After I released the emergency brake, we rolled backwards out of the driveway, crossed the street, and landed in the ditch. Cleo’s moment of triumph came later. I was really proud of her.
We were asleep in front of the fireplace when Horgan, Lester, and Pfizz came back from target shooting. Horgan looked out the window and said, “Hunh. What happened to my truck?”
Cleo popped her head up and said, “I stole your keys.”
Then she tucked her head back down between her paws and closed her eyes.
She’s come a long way from her double-crossing double agent days.