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Patrick McManus, “Never Sniff a Gift Fish”

Attired in our muskrat-skin hats, which we had sewn up ourselves, we mounted our
bicycles and, with cannon in tow, wet off for the local golf course, where a fairway would
serve as a firing range, a putting green as a target.
As we had hoped, the golf course turned out to be deserted. We quickly wheeled the
cannon into firing position and began the loading procedure.
“Think that’s enough powder?” Retch asked.
“Better dump in some more,” I advised. “That croquet ball is pretty heavy.”
“And there’s some for good measure,” Retch said.
The croquet ball fit a little too tightly, but we managed to ram it down the barrel.
Then we both took up positions alongside the cannon to witness the rare and wonderful
spectacle of a sewer pipe firing a croquet ball down a golf-course fairway.
“Ready, aim, fire!” I commanded.
Retch tripped the firing mechanism.
Eventually, the thunder was replaced by clanging bells inside our heads, the shattered
pieces of earth and sky fell back into place, and the wobbly world righted itself. Retch and I
limped over to the side of a utility shed and sat down to relax a bit and collect our senses.
Presently, a deputy sheriff drove up. He stood for a moment gazing at the haze of smoke
wafting gently over the golf course, the patch of smoldering turf ringed by fragments of
sewer pipe, baby carriage wheels, and pieces of two-by-four. Then hoisting up his gun belt,
he sauntered over to us.
“You boys know anything about an explosion out this way?” he asked.
“What kind of explosion?” Retch asked.
“A big explosion.”
I was still so stunned I couldn’t even think up a good lie. Anyway, I knew the deputy had
us cold.
“Now, what I want to know,” the deputy went on, “Is why are you two boys sitting out
here behind this shed smoking?”
“Shucks,” I said, “if you’d been a little earlier, you’d have seen us while we were still on
fire!”
I though for sure he was going to haul us off to jail, but instead he just smiled, took one
last look at the smoldering debris, and started to saunter back to his car. “Well, if you fellas
turn up any information about the explosion,” he said over his shoulder, “I’d appreciate it if
you’d let me know. I don’t reckon there’ll be another one, do you?”
“Nope,” Retch and I said in unison.
Then the deputy stopped and kicked gingerly at something on the ground in front of him.
It was Retch’s muskrat hat! The deputy turned and gave us a sympathetic look. “Too bad
about your dog,” he said.