Sneaky Pie for President Page 5

  The little dog barked. “Just wait. You just wait.”

  “That’s enough.” The human sternly stared at the dog.

  “I will get you,” the Jack Russell muttered.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” The gray cat saucily tossed her head. “Back to gnats.” She reached over and pushed at Sneaky slightly. “They do no good. Didn’t you say you couldn’t even think about having insects be part of your campaign because they have six legs and that’s two too many?”

  “Yes. That, and they haven’t much brain.” Sneaky wondered where this was going. Pewter was trying to agitate her.

  “What about earthworms? You’ve been talking about soil. And we’d all be much poorer without earthworms churning it, making it richer.” Pewter was right, Sneaky had to admit.

  “Well, true, but I can’t talk to earthworms, and we haven’t anything to offer them. What’s more, it’s kind of about poop, isn’t it?”

  “Sneaky, the cattle poop in the fields, the fields are dragged, and that enriches the soil. So what’s the difference with worms? They’re not insects with six legs.”

  “Pewter, no.”

  “And there are billions of them! Imagine a gathering of all the world’s worms.”

  “I’d rather not,” Sneaky said and sniffed.

  “Just you wait,” barked Tally. “Pewts’ gonna get worms.” She laughed her dry dog laugh.

  “Look who’s talking, wiggles,” replied the gray cat. “If you didn’t get your worm medicine, you’d be really gross. Actually, you’re really gross now, Tally.”

  The human got up from the desk to go to the kitchen.

  “Can it.” Sneaky reached over to poke the mouse. “Pet food,” she said under her breath.

  “Yeah!” Pewter gazed at the screen rapturously. “Hey, what are you doing? I thought we were getting food.”

  “Trying to find how much money people spend on pet food each year, including bird food.” Sneaky Pie was interested in economic policy.

  “Now’s our chance to order the really good stuff, that expensive canned stuff she never springs for. She won’t know, and she’s left her credit card next to the computer.”

  “Pewter, money motivates humans. It’s a serious defect. Profit is all too often their god. If I’m going to be an effective candidate, I need to prove how much economic value we have. Now, keep your paws off this mouse.”

  The two dogs craned their necks but couldn’t see on top of the desk.

  “Got it!” Sneaky Pie declared, after a Google search. She read the results aloud: “Fifteen billion dollars per year on cat food. About fifty-one billion dollars is spent per year on all kinds of pet stuff.”

  Tee Tucker heard approaching footsteps. “Get away from the computer.”

  The two cats jumped down before the C.O. returned, iced tea in hand, with a sprig of fresh mint twisted in it. Sitting down, she looked at the screen, which Sneaky had cleared.

  “Dammit to hell! What did I do wrong now?”

  Within a minute she was back on OSE’s page.

  Tally gave Pewter the evil eye. “What’s she want with a walk-behind tractor?”

  “Curious, I guess.” Tucker shrugged.

  “She may be curious. We need to be smart.” The cat thought out loud. “How much money is spent each year buying new tractors, new implements, repairing old tractors, and the truly important figure: gas? If you have a walk-behind tractor, you might reduce the gas bill for the whole country.”

  “Hey, simple enough: Hitch up a team again.” Tucker, smart as corgis are, thought how nice it would be not to hear the noise of those big-ass diesel engines, smell the nasty fumes. “Mules, horses, oxen. Worked for centuries. Will work now.”

  “Some perfect twit would complain about more methane gas from the poop from the horses,” Pewter stated. “I mean, really, it would take thousands of animals to replace tractors, which would mean a monumental increase in poop.”

  Sneaky considered this. “Well, maybe someone would complain about methane, but when you have numbers that show the reduction of carbon monoxide, no more dependence on foreign oil, and less outlay of cash to farm, that ought to overcome that argument. And as we said before, the poop dries, you drag over it, and it becomes fertilizer—fertilizer without petroleum in it.”

  “H-m-m.” Tucker pondered this. “But most humans don’t know how to plow with animals anymore.”

  “They can learn.” Sneaky was adamant. “They’ve done it for thousands of years, not just centuries. They can do it again.”

  “But what about animal abuse? Farming with animals requires years of training. It’s better if humans are born to it. For example, a human really has to know horses. It’s not something they can get out of a book.” Tally joined in the discussion, forgetting to be angry with the gray cat.

  “I expect a group like this OSE can teach people about old-time plowing, too, and in every farming community there has to be someone who remembers the old ways.”

  “Sneaky, you’re talking about someone who is one hundred years old.” Pewter looked up at her human, raptly pushing around the mouse.

  “There are people who learned from their grandparents, their fathers. There are still enough vital people who know how to do it.”

  “What about the equipment? The collars, the traces? Only the Amish can make it now. Rigging a plow team costs about eight hundred dollars. The show harnesses cost a fortune, but we’re talking about work teams.” Tucker liked the sound of jingling when horses were hitched up. She’d heard it when carriage drivers competed.

  “This would open up fantastic opportunities for other people to work with leather,” said Sneaky. “And those businesses also wouldn’t be dependent on oil or electricity. Maybe they’d need some electricity for a sewing machine, but returning to some of the old tried-and-true methods would save a lot of energy. And you’d get to hold what you make,” the tiger cat added.

  “So?” Pewter didn’t quite get that.

  “How can you hold a computer screen? And who wants to hold a bunch of papers? If you make something, that’s real.”

  “Hey, Sneaky, it may be real, but think of all the money that’s traded every day, and no one holds one dollar bill.” Tally wasn’t as unsophisticated as she sometimes appeared.

  “Problem Number One.” Sneaky’s pink tongue stuck out for a second. “If you can’t hold it, smell it, bite it, how do you know it’s real?”

  “You forgot sex. Humans act like money is the same as sex, but can they have sex with it?” The Jack Russell’s eyes brightened.

  “Don’t be vulgar.” Sneaky frowned. “Did you already forget about elevating the discourse?”

  “I thought you were interested in economics,” Pewter countered. “Porn is probably the biggest industry in the world, but I don’t get it.”

  “Why pay to see people carry on?” Pewter was mystified.

  “It’s a human thing,” Tucker said. “We can only carry on when we’re in heat. They’re in heat all the time. No time-out to relax—yet another flaw in their species.”

  “It must be exhausting,” Tally said. “But I’d be willing to try.”

  “You need to be spayed,” Pewter said sharply. “You’re getting mental.”

  “I said I will get you. Now I’ll get you twice.”

  “I’ll live in constant fear, I’m sure.” The cat sniffed.

  “There is no human heat cycle,” Tucker said before asking, “Is that why they bred past their food supply?” Sneaky appreciated the corgi’s acumen.

  Tucker thought aloud. “They have no sense. They haven’t a clue when it will be a good harvest or bad. They can’t monitor their breeding, and they’ll breed beyond the water supply, too. They can’t help it.”

  “What a horrible thought,” Sneaky whispered. “They will consume the earth. I’d never really thought about how they have no breeding time-out.”

  “Takes a long time for a human to be self-sufficient. Six years, I reckon,” the corgi said. “B
ut the way it is now, six years is useless. Few kids perform chores in the field. Young humans aren’t allowed to work when they are nearly adult. So they’re a drag on everyone, and on themselves, too. Even when they’re eighteen, they have trouble. Just fifty-four percent of humans between eighteen and twenty-four have jobs now. What are the other half doing? How can they learn a trade? Just like dogs, humans need to work. I need to herd cattle. You need to catch vermin, all three of you are vermin killers. We have serious jobs. We start early in our lives.”

  “I have to think more about all this,” Sneaky softly said to Tucker.

  “You know those books she reads,” the corgi said, nodding at their human. “There used to be wars and famines, big famines in China, millions starving to death. Terrible diseases. The human population was kept in check. Now, with medicines and technology and industrialized agriculture, millions upon millions survive.” Tucker continued, “As to war, they will always have them, but they’re little ones, strategic bombings rather than worldwide conflicts.”

  “That sounds awful,” yipped Tally.

  “Well, Tucker, I can hardly discuss any of that in my campaign,” said Sneaky. “It will send humans right over the edge.”

  “Perhaps, but your idea about farming the old way makes sense. That would get more humans and animals working on the land. Maybe they could regain their natural balance. They’d be paid labor, but they’d be out in the fields plowing and harvesting. Instead of seeing twenty combines over a field, you’d see hundreds of people and horses. The big firms would alter their technology to save energy. It really wouldn’t be slower if they hired enough people. And people need to work. When they’re out of work, all sorts of terrible things happen.” Tucker kept going. “If they’re working outside, maybe they will respect nature more, including their own natures.”

  “That’s a stretch,” Pewter opined.

  “Is it any further than this OSE thing?” Sneaky considered. “I’ve got a lot to think about and a lot to find out. First I need numbers, and then we have to figure out how to get more support. And then how to get even our human to see this.”

  “She’s not bone stupid,” Tucker replied.

  “Sometimes she’s darn close.” Tally didn’t say this maliciously. “How come you called her Mother? You hardly ever do that,” the dog asked Pewter.

  “She tries. She wants to be loved.” The cat held up one paw, unleashed one sharp claw. “And don’t think you can brownie me.”

  “I said I would get you. That doesn’t mean I can’t be curious.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Sneaky interjected into the agreement, repeating the old saw. “Least you didn’t say that.”

  “Dog eat dog.” Pewter half laughed. “I could amend that. Cat eat dog.”

  “Lame,” said Tally. “If you can’t come up with anything better than that, shut up.” The dog growled, but not loudly.

  Pewter took the bait. “Um-m-m, dog in a manger.”

  “Cat got your tongue,” Tally snapped back. Trading animal clichés as insults.

  “Dog days,” Pewter said.

  “Pussyfooting.”

  “Sick as a dog.”

  “Pussy Galore,” Tally shouted.

  “I like that one,” Pewter said with satisfaction. “That’s a character in an old James Bond movie.”

  “Still used a cat word.” The dog defended her choice.

  Tucker, sleepy now, mumbled, “Imagine the English language without all the contributions of animals. Humans would be so much poorer without us, wouldn’t they? Can any technological phrase, you know, like ‘boot up’—carry the meaning or weight of ‘bell the cat’?”

  The four animals felt much the better for this discussion.

  Fish Tales

  “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.” Tally warbled under the delusion that her singing pleased everyone.

  The waters of the Rockfish River couldn’t drown out canine noise, to the small animal party’s dismay.

  Tucker thought Tally’s voice too thin and high-pitched, but as another dog it sounded semi-okay to her.

  The two cats, however, moved downstream from the clamor.

  “Is there no way to shut her up?” Pewter stared down into a deep, quiet pool surrounded by large rocks, the flow of the stream barely disturbing these placid waters.

  Sneaky leaned over to see her reflection in the water. “Oh, let her have her fun.”

  The tiger cat’s reflection was obliterated as a small-mouthed bass, a rockfish, hence the name of this river, leapt up, splashing her. “Gotcha!” the fish squealed in delight.

  Sneaky, shaking off the fresh water, growled, “What have I done to you?”

  The fish popped his head out of the water again, “Nothing. It’s just that you look so funny. You’re lucky I didn’t bite you.”

  “Ha! I’d have crushed you in my jaws.”

  “That’s what you say.” The rockfish swam in lazy circles on the water’s surface.

  Pewter drew closer to the water herself. “Can you see underwater?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Can you see out of the water?” Pewter’s face was now close to the medium-sized fish.

  “I can but not as well. I suppose it’s kind of the reverse of your eyes.” This fish was the gabby sort.

  After wiping her face, Sneaky asked, “Do you fish know much about humans, Mr. Rockfish?”

  “We know enough to stay away. We know any floating food that looks too good to be true probably is, but still some of us get snagged. There are always dumbbells who take the bait.”

  “Applies on the ground, too.” Pewter knew all about baiting, although for most species this was illegal in Virginia.

  “Well, some never learn.” The fish sank down, then came back up again.

  “Are there many of you in this pool?” Sneaky wondered.

  “Depends on the time of day. Right now, no. I’m just here because I like this spot. It’s under the shade of the sycamore and is nice and cool. Going to heat up today.”

  “Yes, it is,” the tiger cat agreed. “A midspring warm day.”

  “So how do you stay cool?” The fish was becoming curious about these two cats.

  “Air-conditioning,” Pewter quickly said. “Our human has air-conditioning.”

  Sneaky laughed. “We sit under shade trees just like you swim under them.”

  “What’s it like to be close to a human?” the fish asked. “Do they smell terrible?”

  “Some do,” replied Pewter, drawing even closer to the water’s surface. “Oh, you just ignore them. Purr every now and then, rub against their legs. But you can’t believe a word they say.”

  “Your human is the lady, the farmer lady?” The fish thought for a moment. “They can’t help being what they are. They move so ungracefully, not like us, with our fins and tails.”

  “Never thought of that.” Sneaky lifted her eyebrows.

  “Land creatures don’t. At least four feet is better than two. Two feet is ungainly, don’t you agree?” The fish dove down, then came up again.

  “Mr. Rockfish, you probably don’t care much about human politics, but I want to run for president.” Sneaky smiled. “I’m sure you have concerns about pollution in the water.”

  “Hell, yes. I think about the poor oysters in the Chesapeake Bay. The humans have created so much damage they have to reseed the Bay with sprats and pray they grow to be oysters. It’s working, some. In 2011, Chesapeake Bay oysters just for Virginia brought in well over eight million dollars—something, but a pittance compared to the past.”

  “The humans are making a real effort to save the Bay,” said Sneaky. “Our human reads aloud to us about this because she cares about ‘Save the Bay.’ She says that the 2011 oyster catch was two hundred thirty-six thousand bushels, but in the nineteen sixties sometimes it was three million bushels a year!” Sneaky informed the small-mouthed bass.

 
“Good for the Bay. What about rivers?” The fish continued, “Listen, Pussycat, every drug a human gobbles up, for whatever reason, eventually finds its way into our waters.”

  “What?” This surprised Sneaky.

  “Drugs. They take prescription drugs, then pee them out. I mean, have you any idea how many chemicals are in the water? Probably no one does, really, but us fish can tell you it sure is different nowadays. We know some of the plants we eat aren’t flourishing, stuff like that.”

  Pewter said, “But they have water treatment plants.”

  “For humans—as if they gave a fig about us. Some of these drugs are so new, no one knows the long-term effects—not for them, certainly not for us. Not all those chemicals break down. It’s like radioactivity; these humans love mixing up chemicals. Some stuff lasts a long, long time. If the hopped-up humans don’t eliminate the drugs from their bodies, sometimes they just flush the pills down the toilet, you know, what they don’t use. The drug has a date, they don’t need it anymore or the date is passed. Whoosh, comes down to us and it’s like an LSD trip,” the rockfish told them. “You never know what those humans are ingesting—sometimes when it ends up in our water, it’s like the sixties all over again. I’ll swim to a spot and I can taste it. I figure whatever that is, it came right out of the bottle. Believe you me, I swim the other way. Sometimes it’s poison. I just say no.”

  “I never ever thought of that.” Sneaky was aghast.

  “Not too many creatures have.” The rockfish then said in a happier tone, “We adjust, but you never know what’s just past that next bend in the river. Now that there are so many people, there’s more and more pollution. Don’t they taste it in the water? Are they really so ignorant?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Sneaky, “but I thank you for pointing me in the right direction. I need to learn more about this, though I’m not quite sure how. The two of us”—Sneaky indicated Pewter—“sit by that lady you mentioned when she gets on the computer or reads. We learn a lot then, but she totally hogs the Internet, so much so that on this fact-finding mission I’ve instead decided to talk to every creature I can. I believe it’s still possible to prevent humans from more and more self-destructive behavior.”