schplog

If there was one thing Freddy’s pony Cy couldn’t understand, it was how the pig could maintain such a high level of interest for such a range of things and yet still neglect his riding practice. Once the cowboy obsession ebbed and faded, and the Bean farm animals no longer armed themselves with false pistols and accosted travelers with a menacing “put ‘em up, stranger”, riding was somehow no longer as enthralling as it had been before.

It seemed to Cy that Freddy was always finding one excuse or another. The truth is that it wasn’t excuses at all, Freddy was just in one of his poetic periods where he felt more like writing poetry than he did solving crimes with Mrs Wiggins the cow or having dinner with Mr. Weezer in Centerboro or riding with Cy or catching grasshoppers while all the other animals laughed at him.

But Cy couldn’t know that. And ponies, being somewhat sensitive creatures, can be jealous. It seemed to Cy that there was only one way to get Freddy’s attention. As he remarked one afternoon to Peter the bear, “there’s nothing to get the notice of a pig like good old-fashioned guilt, wrapped in bad verse”. “I don’t know about that, but why don’t we try it out?” Peter suggested. So they put their heads together and had a go at it.

Cy said with a sigh
Oh come out of your sty
You’ve better fish to fry
Come play with old Cy

It’s a sign of the times
Which are surely a’changin’
That you’d rather read books
Than return to your rangin’

It’s a sign of the times
It’s the time of the sigh
Time to sigh when old Freddy
walks instead of riding with Cy

Oh he is a stubborn one
and it’s a conundrum
how he lets the time fly
without flying with Cy

Golly, said Cy with a sigh (with a sigh)
How he passes me by, oh my (oh my)
He may have lots of fish to fry (to fry)
But what about me, old Cy (old Cy)

Which is silly, Freddy pointed out later to Jinx the cat, though he applauded quite politely after the recital. “I wouldn’t eat a fish if you paid me. Why some of my friends are fish, and I wouldn’t even know how to go about catching one even if I did have a hankering to stop befriending them and start eating them.”

Once the larger animals at the Bean farm and even the Horribles had had their chance at poetry, the mice were quite determined to try their paws at such a venture as well. Eeny was of the opinion that a war-like song was the most fitting vehicle, after their success in invading the Winch house and discovering all the stolen goods. He wrote many verses on the subject but Cousin Augustus accused him of being boastful. Mice don’t get mad very often but once they are mad, they stay mad for a while. And Eeny composed this verse right when he was getting over being mad at Cousin Augustus and in the end couldn’t decide if it was best to cheer him or taunt him.

The ballad of the heroes Quik, Eeny and Eek
cannot be complete without the one who can’t disgust us
we are referring of course to Cousin Augustus

If while eating marinara sauce he gives off a squeak
this is only because he forgets about the fuss of us
yes, this is the way of Cousin Augustus

Three cheers for the mouse who is brave, who is fine
Three cheers for the mouse who is covered in wine
He is quicker than Quik
He is leaner than lean
He is skilled in the ways of the plate and the toureen

Three cheers for the mouse who licks every plate
Three cheers for the mouse who conquers each fig and each date
He takes every serving
And while more than he’s deserving
He’s none the worse for the wear — though a little unnerving

The ballad of the mice who are braver than men
Braver than some detectives who hail from a pig pen
And yet it is clear that no one can trust us
For which there is no one to blame but dear Cousin Augustus

The problem with Charles the rooster, Freddy remarked, is that when he gets to speechifying, all the other animals get all riled up and lose their heads.

That Charles, he’s such a demacock.

It seemed the group of rabbits from the Bean farm otherwise known as the Horrible Ten had gotten hold of a car. Naturally Rabbit No. 23 was inclined to write a bit of verse to celebrate the occasion and the Horribles put on a celebratory performance, stamping and whooping and flourishing their little tin knives. Mrs. Wogus and Mrs. Wurzburger were most impressed, though Mrs. Peppercorn was rather put out. “Land sakes”, she said. “That ‘taint verse … it just gets worse and worse”.

It’s the Horrible automobile
And scarcely missing a wheel
It roars and it thumps
As it goes over the bumps
We’ll run you down so you squeal

The Horribles have their own car
You won’t get very far
Why it hums and it flies
And knocks gravel in your eyes
As it rumbles over the tar

O’ the Horrible Automobile
You’ll never be able to steal
It thumps and it roars
And rattles at the doors
You’ll be roadkill souffle at our next meal

When Charles the rooster gets home from his visit to the bordello he’s really going to be in the soup!

That’s why they call it the chicken brothel.