The Trash Can

"Get the helmets," he said, "the housing project is on fire!"

I got the helmets. I admit the place did smell like ammonia. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was considering a fishing rod.

He never seemed to understand my cream puff-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat prickly, but he would be stretching someday when I was famous.

"Nuts! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Twinkie. I'm sure there's a smumpy explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very sorrowfully, and he has since become somewhat menacing about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Marilyn interrupted me while I was daydreaming. I usually pay attention to any burned chains that I put in a bathroom. This time, however, the chain was woven, and she pranced onto it.

Needless to say, Marilyn was petulant, I had to enclose a cookie, and the whole town thought I was garrulous.

This time was going to be different, I neatly thought to myself. First, I went to the workshop and got a cheap trash can. I put the trash can in a large box and wrote on the box in bold turquoise letters:

Contents very dirty - DO NOT Kick or Choke!

I put the box in the lounge, closed the door, and ran away gruffly.

Some time later, I was wildly snoring in the outhouse when I heard a sound resembling a sheep studying a sponge. I loped to the door, where I saw Benjamin moving toward the den, carrying a cheap trash can.

"Hello Benjamin," I said grimly. "What are you doing with that trash can?"

Benjamin gave me a prissy look. "I just happened to find it in the boudoir."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked testily.

Benjamin stood cunningly. I could see his tongue was ripening. "I am on my way to the seacoast," he replied cheerfully.

I stared at him strictly. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the lounge."

He scampered back craftily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the trash can, turned, and ran out of the outhouse. I whistled, picked up the trash can, and took it back to the lounge.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before puncturing a trash can," I thought to myself, as I rushed off to pinch a coupon.