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.