VICTOR’S ADVENTURE

Near the town of Sweet Springs Station
In McKinley County, Kansas,
Dwelled a dotted deft Dalmatian
By the name of Victor Jackson.

He lived on Last Chance Ranch,
Where he helped with herding llamas,
And tending rows of plants
For his friend, the family farmer.


He flew a purple plane,
A Cessna called Cream of the Crop,
Across the amber plains
To powder the pests from their crops.

It was the sixth week into summer
When their peas were under siege,
Beyond Old Dry Fork Junction
Between the fields of flax and wheat.


So he packed his purple plane up
With a drum of DDT,
And some rounds of Recluse Round-Up,
And a tank of Termite TNT.

And some bombshells for the beetles,
And some Fast-Zapp for the fleas,
And some flip traps for the field mice,
And some extra sacks of seeds.


As he taxied toward his takeoff,
He rolled into a rut.
He saw that mud too late and ...
Up to his wings he soon was stuck!

He revved it past the red line,
And his wheels began to slip,
Then a gruesome groaning gear grind,
As the ground released its grip.


He bounced on down the runway
As his engine whooped and wheezed.
Then he lurched and leaned and lumbered,
And he barely cleared the trees.

He fought the flaps and throttle,
But his plane was far past filled,
And as he wigged and wagged and wobbled,
His seeds began to spill.


Some fell in fertile fields
Where they endured a dustbowl drought,
But most meager was their yield,
As they were drowned by doom and doubt.

Some fell by Frio River
And in soft soil found firm root.
They were blessed with blossums bigger,
Bearing hundred-fold the fruit.


Then the sky grew very strange,
And the winds began to shift.
He wrestled with the reins
As his airplane pulled and pitched.

He took a terrible tumble,
And he grazed against the ground.
Then he flipped back toward the funnel,
Where he heard a horrible howl.


And then a jolt and jar and jump,
As he was sucked into the storm,
Where he bucked and banked and bumped,
As he was twisted, tugged, and torn.

His tummy turned and churned
As his tail swung round and round.
Then it all became a blur
As that hound wound upside down.


And then a sudden sweet surprise,
As his spin and shaking stopped,
When he entered in the eye
And floated freely to the top.

The rage around him ripped
As the blackness brewed and billowed,
But within that wall of wind
It was peaceful as a pillow.


Hush little puppy,
Count these sheep ...
Victor curled right up and
Fell asleep.

He drifted deep into a dream,
From dawn’s dear light, he danced all day.
The sky his stage, the stars his scene,
On Broadway’s brightest big ballet.


He was sleeping in the silence,
When arose a rocking rattle,
And a vibration very violent,
As he was blasted back to battle.

His Cessna shook and shuttered
As he was punched and pulled and plowed,
While his frightened faint heart fluttered
As he cartwheeled through the cloud.


It was a whirling swirling wonder,
Growing greener, grim and gray,
Raging rains and rumbling thunder,
With wild winds that wrenched his plane.

That cyclone socked him senseless
With every rock and roll and reel.
Then it tossed him off to Texas,
Where it finally flung him free.


His plane was still in peril ---
The flaps were froze, the blades were bent ---
When came the Army Air Corps,
Who’d heard him send his SOS.

They towed his tail from trouble,
And sought to set him safely down,
But they lost the leash near Lubbock,
When he took off toward the town.


As he circled round the city,
A crowd looked up and stared,
When a someone started screaming,
“Air raid! Courthouse Square!”

The townfolk fled for cover
As the sirens sang their cry,
When a cloud as thick as thunder
Filled the bright blue morning sky.


He dumped a drum of dust
As he terrorized his targets ---
A cat on Cactus Crest,
And the mailman by the market.

He bombed the bunnies bashful,
And strafed a squirrel up in a tree.
Then he took aim on the trashman,
And a biker, Barbara Lee.


Then he fogged a field of daisies
Behind Big David’s Diner,
And he powdered Palmer’s Pansies
At Cochise and Carolina.

To finish off the flowers,
He spread some granules on the ground.
And then, his finest hour ---
When he freed the city pound.


He returned to base a hero,
And in victory buzzed the tower,
But his fuel gauge flirted zero,
As his plane was losing power.

His stick began to shake
As his single engine stalled.
Then as he cleared Ojibwa Lake,
He began his final fall.


The whistles whined a warning
At the Air Corps Co-Op farm,
Where he crashed across a cornfield
Before he wrecked on Runway 4.

Then came the base commander,
The pile of plane parts to peruse.
I just don’t understand it ...
It’s like a case of deja vu!


It was an awful awkward landing,
He wasn’t sure quite what to do.
So he checked his High Flight Handbook,
And then he boldly broke the news:

In his forty years of flying,
He’d seen a lot of things,
But this one sure surprised him ---
Victor earned his wings!


Then he pulled him from his plane,
And he took him to the vets,
Where they found the strangest thing
In his bloodwork, breed, and tests.

And the commander combed the files
To compare a pair of records.
Why, it was just as he’d surmised!
Then he wrote Chief Dan a letter.


David J Allen
August 26, 2007


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