A Dog Day Afternoon

Loading

Men’s evil manners live in brass:
their virtues we write in water.

Henry VIII IV:2

Finished work on a hot fall day down in Cajun country. It was a ramshackle trailer house and a pile of rubble I wouldn’t classify as a scrap heap, but these Coonasses led out some beautiful horses. They were Thoroughbred race horses and they told me about the races they’d won over the last thirty years at the Fairgrounds In new Orleans and how they had taken a horse up to Arlington in Chicago and got beat by a whisker for $75,000 in a Grade One Stakes race.

Now, I take all these horse stories with a grain of salt, some of them are accurate and some of them get better for the telling. However, these guys had an excellent breeding program and they knew how to take care of a horse. They couldn’t do carpenter work, that was obvious and they didn’t have that innate ranch savvy that enables a guy to build things out of scrap that work as well or better than store bought, but they sure knew how to take care of and condition a horse.

We worked on a dozen, they paid me cash money and asked if I’d like a cold beer. I thought they had some in the house, but then I looked and saw they didn’t have power lines. They told me to follow them to the local club for a cold beer. It was a gray plywood building that had a six foot ceiling and no electricity. There were a couple of oil lanterns for light and the place had a dirt floor. It was primitive but they had the beer cooled down in a galvanized water trough packed with ice. The beer was cold and that was the main thing as I listened to more horse racing stories. The bartender brought us another round and I noticed a tattoo that chilled me to the bone. On his bicep, he had two pitbulls standing on their hind legs trying to get at each other’s throat. Now, I knew why this place had a dirt floor, it was a dogfighting bar.

In my life, I love dogs much more than horses and would never derive pleasure from watching dogs fight. I’ve had Pitbulls and pits crossed with Catahoulas all my life, I have found them to be loyal loving dogs and every time one died, there was profound melancholy in my life.

I became uncomfortable with this place and the people. I wanted to ditch my hosts as soon as possible and never come back. As a matter fact, my dogs had saved my life once and that of my friend Knarley Manners.

Suddenly, the door opened and a man walked in with a burst of glaring sunlight. He walked up to the bar and said, “I’ve got $500. for the man who thinks his dog can roll with my dog, may the best dog win. The place got real quiet, the bartender walked up to the man and said, “We’ll roll your dog, but we gotta see him first.” Now I was in trouble, if I stood up to leave, I might get a knife in my back for the effort, these gents didn’t look like the kind you would meet at church. I stayed seated and tried to ignore the conversation.

The new man walked out and came back in with one of the funniest looking dogs, I have ever seen. It was a short yellow dog with bowed legs and bug eyes. Everyone laughed at his dog and thought he must be playing a stupid joke, but the man laid his five hundred on the bar; chairs were pushed aside and men struggled to get money out of their pockets to cover the bet on the yellow dog. I couldn’t believe that I was trapped and about to watch something I didn’t want to see.

The bartender went out the back door and came back with a large black Pitbull. He had many horrific scars on his body and head; he was a fighter from way back. The yellow dog watched the old black Pit as the bartender put him on the floor. I thought the man must have been nuts, for surely this yellow dog was about to die a horrible death; how could anyone be so stupid? The old Pit was in no hurry, he knew this game well, he walked slowly around the little yellow dog about four feet away looking for an opening. The Yellow dog made sure the Pit stayed directly in front of him by pivoting on his hind legs and slowly shuffling his front legs. Both the dogs seemed wary of what the other one was capable of and they were being very careful while displaying complete confidence and a relaxed poise.

Just as the Pit started his second time around, the yellow dog rushed the pit and grabbed hold of his chest, the Pit groaned and fell, the yellow dog then shook the old Pit and the old dog let out a death rattle and died.

The bartender rushed up to the man, spun him around and demanded to know what kind of dog that yellow dog was.

The stranger laughed, “Well, before I cut off his tail and painted him yellow, he was an alligator.”

If you are like most people, you swallowed this story like Americans swallowed the myth of Obama. Americans were told over and over they were getting the most intelligent man in the world by a corrupt and duplicitous press and we ended up with a teleprompter reader who fancies himself a Marxist Revolutionary. Well, the MSM, George Soros, and the Progressive Socialists hired the soulless harpies of Madison Avenue to concoct the biggest con job ever perpetrated on the American people; in fact, the con was so good that over half of the people who swallowed the lies still believe them. The rest of the world has seen through the charade and recognize his incompetence and those of his bumbling administration, the same ones who are so committed to Stalin, Lennin, Mao, and Marx. He is driven, either by being a complete nincompoop or an evil Marxist bastard, to destroy the economic solvency of this great nation in four years or less. The rest of the world leaders who were once enamored of the myth of Obama regard him as a dithering fool and are about to leave the United States out of serious negotiations and efforts to salvage the world economic situation, so glaring is the incompetence and stupidity of Obama.

Now do you see how several men made a mistake in the dim flickering light and bet against the yellow dog?

0 0 votes
Article Rating
Subscribe
Notify of
6 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments

Skookum, zero knows exactly what he is doing, and doing it pretty damn well. The only problem he has is us. True patriots will never stand down as long as this low-down dog is amongst us.

Skookum… on a personal note. I went for a drive the other day to explore my new surroundings and discovered that I live only 2.6 miles from the horse ranch where we first met!

Keep up the great writing! As usual another great article!

Well played sir, you had me up to the end.

Damn, Skook, what a coincidence, . . . that sounds like the very same dog an acquaintance purchased in Lodi. Once he got it home, it never spit one single nickel, no matter what he tried to feed it.

Holy cow, Skookum! I’m still trying to get the hook out of my stomach.

However, I was never taken in by the BHO story. Far too much group-think on the meme. Also, throughout the campaign, one song kept running through my mind: “Cult of Personality” by Living Colour.