dikki-tikki-tavi

One of my favorite childhood stories was Rudyard Kipling's Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. I had fond dreams of having my own mongoose, who would protect me during the night and keep a watch over the house and yard by day.

A little while ago I was at the barn doing some afternoon chores. The geldings were munching rinsed hay from their hay nets, and Salina and the donkeys had wandered out to the round bale (which now has a hanging tarp that is meant to be a shelter but today it's blowing like a giant flag - and no, they are not afraid - but stand there and let it blow up and away right over them as they eat).

I heard a commotion in the forest and immediately looked at Salina, who is my barometer of all things not quite right. And she too had heard the noise and was staring intently into the trees.

The skittering sounded again and suddenly Dickens E. Wickens bounded out of the trees into the sunshine, intently chasing something that I at first thought was a shadow.

Then Rikki-tikki went out into the garden to see what was to be seen. It was a large garden, only half cultivated, with bushes as big as summer-houses of Marshal Niel roses, lime and orange trees, clumps of bamboos, and thickets of high grass. Rikki-tikki licked his lips. ``This is a splendid hunting-ground,'' he said, and his tail grew bottle-brushy at the thought of it, and he scuttled up and down the garden, snuffing here and there till he heard very sorrowful voices in a thorn-bush.

He proceeded to chase something and I peeled my eyes to see what it was. Something long and black and slithery, winding hither and yonder as Dickens pursued.

Darzee and his wife only cowered down in the nest without answering, for from the thick grass at the foot of the bush there came a low hiss --- a horrid cold sound that made Rikki-tikki jump back two clear feet. Then inch by inch out of the grass rose up the head and spread hood of Nag, the big black cobra, and he was five feet long from tongue to tail. When he had lifted one-third of himself clear of the ground, he stayed balancing to and fro exactly as a dandelion-tuft balances in the wind, and he looked at Rikki-tikki with the wicked snake's eyes that never change their expression, whatever the snake may be thinking of.

It was not, thank goodness, a cobra, but probably a black snake, about three feet long. Suddenly the snake turned to face Dickens, rose up in the air, and struck, one, two, half a dozen times. Dickens bravely battled the snake, swatting it with his paws, until the snake resumed its path to the platform by the arena.

Dickens got on top and paraded around, watching for the serpent to come out again. And then he sat and began to lick his paws.

Rikki-tikki curled himself up in the grass and slept where he was -- slept and slept till it was late in the afternoon, for he had done a hard day's work.

On my way inside, I scooped up the snake-eating cowboy and brought him inside, where he restored himself with cat food.

When Rikki got to the house, Teddy and Teddy's mother (she still looked very white, for she had been fainting) and Teddy's father came out and almost cried over him; and that night he ate all that was givn him till he could eat no more, and went to bed on Teddy's shoulder, where Teddy's mother saw him when she came to look late at night.

He's now curled up on the foot rest beneath my desk, taking a well-deserved break. I enjoyed re-reading Kipling's story today, and realizing that another childhood dream has come true.

Who needs Rikki-tikki when we have Dickens E. Wickens?

Rikki-tikki had a right to be proud of himself; but he did not grow too proud, and he kept that garden as a mongoose should keep it, with tooth and jump and spring and bit, till never a cobra dared show its head inside the walls.