All he heard was Chaik Jay waking up in the bottom of the bush where he’d crept the night before. “What a place to sleep!� thought the wicked weasel. “It’s a pity I didn’t see him.�
Chaik gave himself a little shake; then he tried to stretch. “Ye-a-a-ak!� he squawked. “Ow, my sore wing! Oh, my cramped claws! Whee! my stiff feathers!�
“What a noise to make!� growled the wicked weasel to himself. “I don’t believe he can fly a little bit. Now that dog will make a quick meal of him.�
But the dog didn’t at all. He just said: “Here, Chaik, let me lick the soreness out, the way we dogs do.�
“No, thanks,� Chaik almost giggled, because the idea was really funny. “I’d never find head nor tail of myself again if you mussed me up with your great wet tongue. I’d much rather have Doctor Muskrat bring me a blister beetle if he can find one.�
And the wicked weasel didn’t know what to make of that. Chaik was sitting on the lowest branch where anybody could have caught him, and Watch wasn’t even trying to eat him!
Instead of that, he went down by Doctor Muskrat’s big flat stone and barked. And instead of diving down to the deepest bottom of the pond and hiding beneath the water lilies, up swam Doctor Muskrat himself, and he flopped on his stone. “What’s the matter?� he asked. “Did any one want me?�
“Ye-ah,� called the bird. “I’ve hurt my wing. And I’m sore all over. I feel like a mouse after a cat has been playing with it.�
“You do, do you?� said the good old muskrat, flopping over to him. “Well, you look as if you’d been caught in a hailstorm. Let’s see what’s the matter with your flapper. M-m-m. It isn’t broken. Just give it a day’s rest.�
“How about a blister beetle?� asked Chaik. “I feel scary here on the ground. I want to get to flying again.�