Hank the Happy Snowman
by
Richard Alan Dickson
Published by Grey Cat Press
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 © Richard Alan Dickson
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Table of Contents
Other Titles by Richard Alan Dickson
Bonus Story: The Case of the Missing Cookies
by
Richard Alan Dickson
"Yeee-haw!"
Hank the Happy Snowman let out a silent whoop of joy as he sailed down the country road in the back of a beat-up pickup truck. He'd been waiting for winter the whole year. Now, it was finally here.
"Yeee-haw!"
Most snowmen were stuck in boring old yards. Most snowmen were sad and neglected. Most snowmen lived for the mere handful of minutes they spent with the kids who made them—the minutes right before those same kids ran inside their houses for a hot lunch of steaming chicken noodle soup and toasted peanut butter sandwiches, never to return to visit their snowmen friends again.
Not Hank.
For fifty years, Mark the Maker had been building Hank with the first winter snow. He never missed. They'd been best buddies when Mark the Maker was small, but things got even better the day he grew big enough to drive. On that morning, while whistling a happy tune, he'd rolled Hank into the back of his pickup, hopped inside, and then motored that old truck right on down the road.
The rest was snowman history.
Even with only one friend, Hank never had the chance to feel sad or alone in all the years since. He had the best life any snowman could ever want—going everywhere Mark the Maker went... both before and after that hot lunch of chicken noodle soup.
"Yeee-haw!"
But this year was better.
This year was best!
This year, Mark the Maker surprised Hank with something special.
It wasn't his eyes. Hank still wore the same button eyes as before. Big and black and shiny, they let him see all the wonderful winter sights as the pickup cruised through the countryside on its way into town. With his big, shiny eyes, he saw the fluffy blankets of snow draping the rolling fields that passed by, the sunlit forest of tall evergreens crowding the edges of the fields, and the tiny snowflakes skittering across the asphalt to twirl and dance on the frozen road behind the truck.
It wasn't his mouth, either. Hank still had the same golden grin from the zipper he wore. As the truck left the rolling fields behind, Hank shouted out another 'yee-haw' to the dozen overdressed children waddling with their sleds to the top of the schoolyard hill; but with his zipper closed, his call went nowhere. Hank's muffled cries were seldom heard and never returned.
It wasn't the broom in his hand either, solid and steadying as the truck slowed and turned from the country road onto the main drag through town; nor was it his skinny yellow scarf—the plastic one with the letters 'c-a-u-t-i-o-n' repeated down its length and snapping sharply in the wind.
No, this year's something special was a big foam finger.
This year, Mark the Maker had set a big foam finger on a shiny spring into the end of Hank's wrist where it could bounce happily with every little bump and wave excitedly with every little breeze.
With his new foam finger, Hank could finally point out all the cool things he saw to the man who drove the red car that caught up to the truck as it passed through the outskirts of town. He could finally return the waves of the little girl and the mother who strolled the sidewalk beyond the low berm of snow that the snowplow had pushed to the side of the road. He could finally practice showing Mark the Maker that he was the Number One best kid on the block for remembering to bring Hank back every winter, long after his neighbors grew too old to go out in the snow and play.