We slog through the antediluvian swamp, a diaphanous mist rises from the quagmire and a miasmal stench fills our nostrils. The authorities are pursuing us, though we have done nothing wrong. Well, Andrew has done nothing wrong. I, on the other hand, bit a man—a big, obnoxious slob of a man. He had it coming to him. He said I was the ugliest dog he had even seen. Me, Danny the Dog!
After I bit him, he pulled out his cell phone and called the cops, but Andrew and I didn’t stick around and wait for them to show up. We hightailed it out of there pronto. Now we are hunted fugitives, with a price on our heads and the law closing in. Andrew always told me I’d go to Doggie Jail if I didn’t mend my sorry-ass ways.
Bud is fussy about his budget. He does a computer check on the bank account every morning. Our big dog, Croc eats a lot. That goes in the budget. What goes in must come out, so he poops a lot. Bud also likes to work that not the budget. “Croc pooped about a dollar’s worth.”
A man and his wife enter a dentist’s office. The wife says “I need a tooth pulled. No gas or Novocain — I’m in a terrible hurry. Just pull the tooth as quickly as possible.” “You’re a brave woman,” says the dentist. “Now, show me which tooth it is.” The wife turns to her husband and says, “Open your mouth and show the dentist which tooth it is, dear.
On their 50th wedding anniversary and during the banquet celebrating it, Tom was asked to give his friends a brief account of the benefits of a marriage of such long duration. “Tell us Tom, just what is it you have learned from all those wonderful years with your wife?” Tom responds, “Well, I’ve learned that marriage is the best teacher of all. It teaches you loyalty, meekness, forbearance, self-restraint, forgiveness — and a great many other qualities you wouldn’t have needed if you’d stayed single.
Recently a routine police patrol was parked outside a bar in the Outback. After last call, the officer noticed a man leaving the bar so apparently intoxicated that he could barely walk. The man stumbled around the parking lot for a few minutes, with the officer quietly observing. After what seemed an eternity, in which he tried his keys on five different vehicles, the man managed to find his car and fall into it. He sat there for a few minutes as a number of other patrons left the bar and drove off. Finally he started the car, switched the wipers on and off; it was a fine, dry summer night, flicked the blinkers on and off a couple of times, honked the horn and then switched on the lights. He moved the vehicle forward a few inches, reversed a little, and then remained still for a few more minutes as some more of the other patrons’ vehicles left. At last, when his was the only car left in the parking lot, he pulled out and drove slowly down the road. The police officer, having waited patiently all this time, now started up his patrol car, put on the flashing lights, and promptly pulled the man over and administered a breathalyser test. To his amazement, the breathalyzer indicated no evidence that the man had consumed any alcohol at all! Dumbfounded, the officer said, “I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the police station. This breathalyser equipment must be broken.” “I doubt it,” said the truly proud Redneck. “Tonight I’m the designated decoy
A man is driving down a deserted country road when he has a blowout. Not having a spare he finally finds a house and asks the lady if he can use her phone to call for a tow-truck. As she opens the door for him to come in, a Three Legged Pig runs out. He asks “why does that Pig only have three legs?” She says that they had a fire and the pig woke everybody up and then went back and brought the dog out. He said “but why does the Pig only have three legs?” She said well another time my son was playing on the ice and it broke and he fell in and the Pig ran to the barn and got a rope and saved him. Again he asked “why does the Pig only have three legs?” After all the Pig did for us, it didn’t seem right to e
Daddy took pride in being strict. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” He was certainly never accused of spoiling the child. Many times I heard him say there wasn’t a kid or an animal he couldn’t conquer. During his hog-hunting days he acquired a hog-dog he was incredibly proud of. Sutter was a black lab/Catahoula Cur mix. When sicced on a herd of hogs, Sutter plunged in and fearlessly latched onto the hog’s ear not to be dislodged until the hunter dispatched the hog. The poor hog couldn’t slash Sutter as long as he hung on to the ear. The dog was in the greatest danger of being bitten as he rushed the hog. Hog-hunting was dangerous for men and dogs. I’ve seen Daddy stitch his cut dogs a few times. He required stitches a time or two, but splurged on a doctor for himself.
Sutter worked cows with Daddy. One day, he chased a calf and pinned it to the ground where he held it by a mangled ear. Expecting a kill, he wouldn’t release it. Daddy pulled him off the calf, tied him off to a small sapling, and pulled off his belt to strap to him. He got a couple of licks in before Sutter changed his belief system. The enlarged dog ran Daddy up the sapling where he clung just out of the dog’s reach. At six-foot three and two hundred forty pounds, Daddy was imposing on the tree. It dipped from one side to the other as Daddy bounced side-to-side just beyond the snarling dog’s jaws. I wondered if somebody would have to shoot Daddy if Sutter latched onto his ear. After a few minutes, Sutter’s temper cooled and he wagged his tail when Daddy spoke to him. Daddy climbed down when Sutter seemed to have forgiven him.
Sitter was a very valuable dog. Instead of shooting him as I expected, Daddy took the reasonable attitude that he’d handled things badly. He and Sutter worked it out and the dog concentrated on hogs from that time forward.
There’s an old adage that ‘the easiest person to sell to is another salesperson’. I don’t buy it!
I spent my career in sales which has nothing to do with the fantastic chopper, mixer, blender, all-in-one appliance that I bought from the QVC shopping network today, the wildly popular Ninja. What a magnificent collection of blades and bowls. I didn’t need the sales pitch to make me dial. It was good, but that’s not what sold it.
I saw the drinks and desserts this compact culinary cutie was churning out and felt my credit card twitching in my pocket. ‘You’ll be more efficient in the kitchen and put pizzazz in your food prep’, the host assurred us. Ha, talk is cheap. One demo, and I knew that after some trial and error, we’d be juicing and sluicing our way to gourmet heaven. The bullet point delivery of the on-air personality…
Don’t ever watch infomercials when you’re bored and your wallet is handy. Had a cold a few weeks ago, was flipping channels, and happened on a commercial for Smarty-Kitty, a product that will train a cat of any age to use the toilet. I didn’t need Smarty-Kitty. Squeaky, my ragdoll cat is five years old and up until I interfered with his life at that point, had never had an accident. Well, naturally, I got busy and ordered Smarty-Kitty and the amazing “But wait” cat products that came along with it, postage and handling separate. As soon as Smarty-Kitty arrived, I set it up as directed on a stool, in the bathroom near toilet, and Squeaky accommodated my craziness by using it, just like the commercial said he would. We progressed in baby steps, as directed, moving it closer, finally, putting cat toilet directly on toilet seat. Squeaky was okay with all this until I reached the point that I started cutting out circles when he would have been pooping directly into the toilet. This was too much for him and he revolted and started pooping in bathtub. I repented and put catbox back immediately, but he refuses to forgive me. Since that time, any time I leave my bathroom door open, he poops in the bathtub, on a towel if he can find one, or on my bathroom rug. He even got my sewing kit once. I have repented of buying Smarty-Kitty many times, but have yet to obtain Squeaky’s forgiveness. I will never mess with a cat’s bathroom habits again.
Taking his cue from Mr. Grady Rose, Daddy decided he needed to go into the hog business. In theory, all he had to do was harvest wild hogs and watch the money roll in. Mother reluctantly agreed. In fact, he did accrue a few expenses to get a few starter sows and a boar or two, timber to build trap pens, and corn to bait the traps. Of course, he had to have a gun and knife for protection, and mud tires to negotiate the deep woods and oh yes, a hog dog for the hunt, expenditures that severely stressed an already overburdened budget. Daddy brought home about a hundred dollars a week. Groceries took twelve dollars of that.
Daddy took to hog hunting enthusiastically. It became a sport rather than a money-making venture. I don’t recall eating a lot of pork or having to help count the extra money it brought in. The boars were very aggressive to men and dogs. Daddy stitching his dogs up after they were slashed by hogs.
Daddy’s hunting buddy, Jimmy, was amazing. He’d lost a leg as an infant, but had compensated so well, he seemed not to miss it at all. When an angry boar charged a group of hunters aggressively, the other men scattered into nearby trees while Jimmy agiley jumped on top of his crutch and balanced as the hog ran beneath him. He used his crutch to vault over fences rather than hunting for a gate. When my brother Billy was little, Mother had learned to dread what he might say to people. Early one morning as she stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes, she saw Jimmy headed for the front door. She rushed to get to the open front door greet him before Billy got a chance open his big mouth and ask about the missing leg. She was too slow. As she rushed in, Billy announced, “Mama, a skeeter bit his leg off!”
Daddy made an interesting acquisition from one of his hunting buddies. For a nominal amount, he became the proud owner of the Hog Wagon. It was a school bus on a cut down frame with a cage on back for transporting hogs and sometimes children. This amalgamation was unlicensed, of course, since it had no windshield or doors. A battered bench seat covered with burlap bags replaced the bus seat. The V8 flathead engine made it very powerful when run in first gear, an invaluable feature for a vehicle used in swampy areas. We hung on for dear life when we were fortunate enough to get a ride on this beauty. Daddy also employed this powerful machine to pull up stumps when clearing pasture.