The Mopwater Files by John R. Erickson Page B

watch a chicken chase a grasshopper?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt’s kind of neat, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI mean, they’re pretty good at it.”
    â€œIt’s their busi­ness, Drover. If you’re a chicken, that’s what you do. Good night.”
    â€œGood night . . . only it’s the middle of the day.”
    â€œI’m aware of that.”
    â€œBoy, it sure is hot.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m shaded up, Drover. It’s too hot to do any work, so snorkle the mirking piffle.”
    â€œYeah, but I can’t sleep and I get bored. You ever get bored?”
    â€œSnork.”
    â€œI do. You ever try to catch a grasshopper?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMe neither, but I bet I could. Want me to try?”
    â€œSure. Go catch a pifflehopper.”
    â€œOkay, Hank, here I go.”
    At last! Peace and quiet. I sank into the warm embrace of a delicious dream and . . . Beulah? My goodness, there she was in all her splintering glory: the deep brown eyes, the flaxen hair, the perfect collie nose, the smile that said . . .

Chapter Two: Drover Eats a Grasshopper

    â€œI caught one, Hank!”
    I lifted my head and opened both eyes and looked at the front in face of me. “Beulah?”
    â€œNo, a grasshopper.”
    â€œWho are you and what are you doing here?”
    â€œWell, let’s see. My name’s Drover and I’m your best friend and I just caught a grasshopper.”
    â€œJust because you’re a grasshopper doesn’t mean you’re a friend of mine. Where am I?” I blinked my eyes. “Okay, it’s coming back now. You’re Drover.”
    â€œThat’s what I said.”
    â€œThere for a second, I thought you were Beulah.”
    â€œNo, it must have been me, ’cause I’m all I’ve ever been.”
    I stared at the runt. “What?”
    â€œI said, I’m all I’ve ever been but I caught a grass­hopper.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make a lick of sense.” All at once, he licked his chops. “Will you stop that?”
    â€œStop what?”
    â€œI’ve told you over and over not to do that.”
    â€œWhat did I do?”
    â€œI said that you’re not making a lick of sense and . . .” He licked his chops again! “There, you see? You keep doing it. What’s wrong with you?”
    â€œWell, I can’t help it.”
    I hoisted myself up to a sitting position and turned a withering glare on my . . . whatever he was. My nitwit assistant, I guess.
    â€œOf course you can help it. It’s a totally absurd and meaningless gesture.”
    â€œNot really. See, I ate a grasshopper and that’s why I was licking my chops.”
    â€œYou ATE a grasshopper?”
    â€œYep, I sure did. Caught him with my own two paws and ate him with my own mouth.”
    I gave my head a shake. “Drover, that’s disgusting. Eating a grasshopper? Son, chickens eat grass­hoppers, but dogs don’t.”
    â€œYeah, but I did.”
    â€œThat’s appalling.”
    â€œNo, it was appealing.”
    â€œDon’t correct my spelling and don’t try to put words into my mouth. I said it was appalling and that’s exactly what I meant.”
    â€œYeah, but I ate the grasshopper and you didn’t, so maybe you don’t know how it tasted.”
    I narrowed my eyes at him. “I can’t believe you said that. Have you no respect for your elders, your betters, your superiors? Just because I’ve never eaten a grasshopper, you think I don’t know how they taste?”
    â€œWell, that makes sense to me.”
    â€œI’m shocked, Drover, shocked and dismayed and disappointed that you would . . . okay, just for the sake of argument, how did it taste?”
    He grinned. “Well . . . it was pretty good.”
    â€œSee? I gave you a chance to express yourself and what did you do?”
    â€œWell . . . I told the