Dogs, Whiskey and Texas Tornados

Note: Some of the names have been changed to protect the Brain Dead.

In case you don't know, here's a little bar wisdom I'd like to pass on. If you find yourself in a bar with a big mean drunk, actin like the back end of a horse, an kinda lookin like one too. Well... you can pretty much ignore him. He's just a lotta talk and less action. But... if your ever in a situation where some quite, little guy, gets a sorta glazed look in his eye, RUN, don't walk to the nearest exit.

We had a live band playin one night out here at The Knot and it was slam up packed. All the Usual Suspects were here, and a few of the unusual as well. Our long time Knothead, Kurt, was in attendance and had brought with him a couple friends. Now Kurt is a great guy and we love him dearly and to his defense he's a great friend to have. But he's kinda a "One Way Designated Driver". See, he will load up and bring out any partier who wants a ride, as long as they understand that its probably gonna be a one way trip. The reason being, Kurt likes his liquor and sooner or later, he's gonna come over to me and say, "Uh, Robin I got a little Whiskey in my boot, (usually Fightin Cock) would it be okay if I have a taste." Since we're beer and wine only, and in Texas you can have your bottle, I can't rightly stop him. So we came to an agreement years ago, When the whiskey comes out, the truck stays. The fact that he knows we have extra beds in the house, his motor home in the yard, plus a hammock and Redneck Futon on the deck, makes this contract more attractive.(Except for the bedroom with the dolls in it, they stare at him all night, too creepy.)

So as usual on this night we had the "talk". But just to keep it interestin on his part, he added that he had Joey and Laurie with him and they all wanted to partake. So they agreed if the Whiskey came out, they were all stayin the night. I didn't have a problem with this on face value, long as everybody was aware I don't do breakfast. Guess you could say I run a B&B, Beer an Bed, an check out time is as soon as I get up. I ain't real personable in the morning.

Now Joey is one of those guys you meet in every bar you ever been in. Just a good ole boy from the shallow end of the gene pool. He ain't any bigger than me and he's like an Irish Setter, a little goofy an uncoordinated, but ya love him anyway. So he follows Kurt and Laurie outside and I go back to servin beer.

Some time later Wayne comes in the back door of the bar sayin he needs some help. He was talkin fast, all flustered lookin and a little mad. Somehow Wayne and Joey had both ended up outside at the same time, to water the trees. (The fact that men love to pee outside is a story in itself, and I wonder if some "Head" Doctor has ever studied this phenomena.) Wayne said Joey was standin right there beside him, drinkin a beer, waterin away, and in mid-stream, he just fell over. I don't mean his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Nope, Wayne said it was the damnedest thing he ever saw, he didn't stagger, he didn't sway, he just fell, Bam, like the tree he'd been waterin. Wayne tried to roust him but all that did was make him mad, an the next thing he knew, Joey crawled under a truck and passed out. To his credit it was a big new Dodge Dually, so as sleepin accommodations go I guess you could say, Joey picked the Radisson of the parkin lot. But the fact that this particular hotel was gonna make its way down the highway later, probably makes it more like a motel. Wayne couldn't get him and Joey had already checked in, or out, dependin on your point of view. So I told Wayne to find Kurt, since he was the one that gave Joey this ride down Whiskey Road. He found him by the dance floor and the two of them went out the door.

The next time I saw Kurt and Wayne they looked like a couple a boys that spent the day 4 wheelin in a swamp fulla gators. They were muddy and dirty, covered in grass an leaves, an scratched from head to toe. They had a look I can only describe as somewhere between bewilderment and pure consternation. Knowin this was probably not the right time to ask for details I gave 'em each a beer an waited for 'em to regain some composure. I finally asked them if they got Joey over to the house. They said they had, but not without a little persuadin. Instead of lettin that sleepin dog lie, they had managed to pull him out from under the truck when all hell broke loose. Seems that Irish Setter musta had a Pit Bull back in the bloodline, an he tore into to them like a windmill in a tornado. He had em' both rollin around on the ground, kickin an bitin, twistin an turnin, and duckin an dodgin. Wayne ain't small an Kurt's a little bigger, but that little man taught both these old dogs a few new tricks. Wayne finally got either plum fed up or plain tuckered out, took off his belt an lassoed Joey's feet. That took some of the fight outta him, an then Joey got sick and that took the rest. Wayne said they half drug, half carried him up to the redneck futon, an left him where he lay. But being the good friends that they are, they covered him up with some Car Hart Coveralls so he wouldn't get too cold.

The next morning when I got up all the Knotheads were still here, kinda millin around, and real hung over. I was just gettin a cup of coffee when I heard the back door open an there stood Joey. He had a big ole sheepish grin, no memories of the fight and believe it or not, he still had that damn beer in his hand.

Drop Kick Me Jesus, Thru The Goal Posts Of Life.

This being Super Sunday it brought to mind another Super Bowl here at the Knot. A few years back there was some folks in town whose house burnt down. We didn't know these folks, but we all knew about the house. Nothin much happens around here, so a burnt down house is big news. No one got hurt, but they lost everything they had and everyone in 3 counties started takin up collections for 'em.

That Super Sunday the weather was great so Wayne had been doin some work outside. The morning had been chilly so he started out in a coat, but as it warmed up the jacket got cast aside to a lawn chair behind the bar. When he came in to watch the game the jacket was forgotten. (Believe me this is important to the story so please keep reading.)

Pretty soon a young man comes in, gets a beer and starts watchin the game. It wasn't real busy so in between plays and other customers I started talkin to him and it turned out he was the man whose house burnt up. Well now this made him some what of a celebrity so we bought him a beer and he told us about the fire. It was a rent house and they didn't have insurance. But folks had been nice and donated money and clothes and he was up our way to get a travel trailer. Some good hearted neighbor was loanin it to him and his family till they could find another house. He didn't seem in any rush to take advantage of this kindness though and to tell the truth he seemed a whole lot more interested in football (his team was losin) and beer. We told him we felt bad for his loss and after some more beers, he left.

A couple days later Wayne asked me if I had seen his coat. Since things get lost around here and find their way back pretty often I wasn't to concerned, but after a few more days and still no coat we were both scratchin our heads and wonderin.

The next day a couple stone masons we know came in for a beer and one of em, Victor, says "Hey Wayne, we hired a new guy at work, "David" and he showed up wearin your coat." The fact that Victor knew Waynes coat may seem odd, but it has real nice Native American designs on it, so its pretty distinctive.

Wayne and I sat right up. Victor had our attention.

He continued, "yeh, man it was your coat and I told him, I know the guy that coat belongs to."

And accordin to Victor, David replied, "Well I was up at this bar in Willow City, and I saw this coat layin outside. I figured some drunk left it, so I took it."

Now Victor's excited and he tells him, "Man that's Waynes coat, thats the guy who owns the bar. Thats the same guy I'm talkin about." He went on to say David kinda shrugged it off and muttered something about bringin it back sometime when he was up this way again and wandered off.

Well alot of back and forth with the masons followed and ultimately we figured out who this sneaky thief was. Yep, it was that same dang guy that everybody was feelin so bad for, and collectin money for, and donatin housing to. But... we also figured out where he parked that donated trailer!

Now by nature I ain't a real mean female, and I don't generaly go lookin to start trouble, but dang nabbit I hate a thief. We ain't talkin a pirate, pillager, or crook (all of which seen a little romantic to me.) No this is just your common, every day, lowlife rat bastard. Wayne probably woulda gave that him the damn coat if he'd just asked.

The next day I went to town to pick Wayne up at a job he was workin for some extra cash and it just so happened this job was real close to the R.V. Park where our coat napper was stayin. It was one of those huge parks and we didn't have a clue what the trailer looked like but Wayne knew his truck so if he was home we mighta been able to find him.

We were talkin about if we should go in and drive around, when Wayne looks over and says "there's that creep now," And sure enough, David was just turnin into the park.
I quick flipped the blinker and crossin 3 lanes of traffic, turned in right behind him. What followed was a low speed chase through the park (15 MPH) that lasted about 20 minutes. And try as he might, he couldn't ditch me. Although I almost rear-ended him at a speed bump. But I stayed right with him till he turned in his parkin space. And thinkin quick I blocked him in, so he couldn't make an escape. Course I did it with Waynes side of our truck, which didn't please Wayne all that much.

David unfolded out of his truck, he was a mite taller than I remembered, and went for something in the back seat. Quick as a whistle I rolled down the window, and leanin across Wayne I pulled out my...finger and I pointed it right at him. And very authoritative like I said, "You," He froze. Then curlin that finger back at me I said, "Come here!" Older ladys like me can do that real well. And younger men like him, seein instant visions of old Aunts and Grandmas, respond like the little boys they still are. I had the draw on him and he knew it. He got a sheepish look, got Wayne's coat off the back seat and draggin his feet all the way, he handed it over. He muttered somethin about bringin it back, gave Wayne a pat on the back, no hard feelins like, and said he'd be out for a beer real soon. He turned to walk away and I said sterner still "David." He turned around slow all red in the face an kickin at the dirt a little. I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Don't you ever come on our property again." He just hung his head and said "Yes Ma'am." See in Texas, even our felons remember their upbringin.

We ain't seen that boy since, but I like to believe that shamin him the way I did mighta made a change in him. I like to think that every time he went to rip somebody else off, he remembered his red face, ears blazen and thought better of it. And maybe this Super Bowl his house is in order, his ways are mended and his team is finally winnin.