Adventures of Ranger Rick: Boomer tries to make music but finds he can't beat a flock of experts - short story

Ranger Rick, Feb, 1997 by Nora Steiner Mealy

Ranger Rick Raccoon and a tired Scarlett Fox trudged through some bushes in the late afternoon. Boomer Badger, fiddling with some kind of stick, trotted along behind.

"Let's camp . . ." Scarlett began saying.

Pfffft! came the sound of Boomer blowing on his stick.

". . . in the next clearing that . . ." she added.

Pffftf! Pffftf!

". . . we find," the fox finished saying.

Pffft! Pfffffft! Pffffffftt! BLAAAT!

"Boomer! Cut it OUT!" Scarlett shouted. "You're driving me crazy!"

The animals had come to southern Idaho to enjoy the quiet stillness of a winter wilderness. But Boomer seemed to be doing his best to disturb the peace. He had found a hollow reed and had been blowing on it all afternoon.

"Why don't we camp at this spot?" suggested Rick. "Those big rocks will help block the cold night wind."

It was getting dark as the gang ate supper. Afterward, they lay down on a patch of dried grass and gazed up at the sky full of stars.

"Wow!" breathed Scarlett.

"You know," Rick said, "Native Americans who lived here made up stories about the stars."

PFFFFFFT! BLAAT!

"Boomer!" Rick yelled.

"Can't you lose that thing?" Scarlett said.

"Humph," Boomer grumbled. "You guys don't know good music." And with that, he marched behind a rock and lay down on a grassy bed.

Rick and Scarlett continued studying the sky. "See those?" Rick said, pointing to a row of three bright stars. "One Indian legend says they were three big-horned sheep . . ."

KO-HO! came an unexpected blast from Boomer's direction. This time it really did sound musical, like the brassy notes of a trumpet.

"Why, Boomer!" said Scarlett. "That actually sounded good. All your practice is paying off. But we should be quiet now. It's late."

Boomer sat bolt upright. He was even more surprised than Rick and Scarlett. He wasn't about to admit it, but he hadn't made the noise. So who had? The badger lay back down with his mind full of questions. Did some kind of enemy make that noise? Was it a friendly animal? Maybe tomorrow he could find the musician and get a few good lessons on blowing his reed. . . .

The next morning was clear and crisp, perfect for exploring the nearby hills. The animals played hide-and-seek in the sagebrush and made snowballs from the few patches of snow. While he played with the others, Boomer kept an eye out for any clues of the mystery musician from the night before. But all he saw was a set of tracks made by some animal with hooves.

After hiking all morning, the hungry, tired friends went happily back to their campsite for lunch. Scarlett jumped up soon after they finished.

"Let's see if there's a stream down there!" she said, pointing toward a small valley.

"Not me," said Boomer. "I'm here to relax!" He lay down and took out his hollow reed.

"OK, we're off!" chuckled Rick. "You practice all you like while we're gone."

As soon as they left, the badger began tooting on his reed. He half-hoped the mystery musician would hear him and be curious and come out.

After a while, Boomer closed his eyes. The midday sun and his full belly made him feel so relaxed. Pfft, the badger blew drowsily on his reed until he started to drift off to sleep.

Suddenly Boomer heard a rustle in the grass and became aware of something blocking the sun. He opened one eye. Looking right at him was the biggest animal he'd ever seen.

"Ha-ha!" the huge animal chuckled. "I was hoping to find a swan, and instead here's a lazy badger blowing on a reed."

Boomer was relieved that the animal didn't seem dangerous. But he doubted that this was the musician. Somehow he couldn't picture the big fellow making beautiful music.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Bison Bill," the animal said grandly. "You may know me as a buffalo. Millions of us lived here long ago, but most were killed. Now we're coming back--just like the trumpeter swans!"

"The whats?" asked Boomer, confused.

"My grandmother used to tell me tales of huge white swans in the skies," the buffalo said. "They made a loud noise, like a bugle."

Just then, a bugle-like noise--KO-HO, KO-HO!--came from down in the nearby gully. It was the same brassy sound the gang had heard the night before.

"Let's go see!" Bill said excitedly. "Wanna ride on my back?" Boomer gladly agreed.

The two new friends headed down the path Scarlett and Rick had taken not long before. When they got to the stream, they heard many sounds: long, short, and brassy ones--most as clear as notes from a musical instrument.

"Either the trumpeters are back or the Idaho Jazz Festival is jammin' upstream!" joked Bill.

They hiked upstream until they came to a wide area where the water moved slowly. There, to their amazement, they saw dozens of magnificent white birds with long, graceful necks. Some were in the water scooping up plants from the bottom. Some were stretching their enormous wings, cleaning their feathers with their bills.

Boomer and Bill spotted Rick and Scarlett talking to some swans and joined them. "They were just telling us about their return," said Scarlett after everyone was introduced. "The swans haven't lived here for long."