The Halloween of my 13th year proved to be one of the most memorable Halloweens I ever celebrated, and it all started with a suggestion from my childhood buddy and partner in mischief, Skunky Wilson.
“Hey, after we’re done with tricker-treatin’ let’s mosey over to the circus and check out the action there,” Skunky said.The one-tent circus that my buddy mentioned was brought to our little township every Halloween by the city fathers of Booger Holler. Its purpose was to provide older kids an alternative to vandalizing the town with their Halloween high jinks.
So, after we had our fill of trick-or-treating, Skunky and I headed to the field just outside of town where the circus tent was pitched.“Hey, look at that!” Skunky excitedly said. He was pointing to a banner over the doorway of the tent and read out loud, “Seventy-five dollars to anyone who can stand toe to toe wrestling Bruno the bear.”
“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t take on a bear for a thousand dollars!” I said in a tone of disbelief.
“But seventy-five bucks is all I need to buy that go-cart I’ve been saving for all year! Do you know how many lawns I’d have to mow to earn that kind of cash? And heck, it’s fall; there aren’t enough days left in the lawn mowing season to earn that much money.”
"But, Skunky, read the whole banner," I said. "You have to wrestle Bruno for five minutes and must be standing when the ends!"
Well, that didn't faze his enthusiasm, and by the look of determination on his face I knew it would be a waste of breath to try talking him out of this one.
We stepped into the tent and as Skunky signed up to wrestle Bruno I looked over to the center of the ring as the bear’s first match got underway. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
"Hey look!"I whispered as I tapped Skunky on the shoulder and pointed to the center of the ring, "it's old man Wedbetter." Wedbetter, the town pharmacist . . . and town drunk, was wrestling the bear.
“Well I’ll be switched, he’s the other contestant. Only two of us were brave enough [personally, I thought it something other than bravery] to wrestle Bruno. I couldn’t make out his chicken-scratch on the sign up sheet, but it is him.”
Watching the two wrestle, we soon realized that the owner of the circus had the presence of mind to de-claw and muzzle the bear. Still, the sight of old Mr. Wedbetter grappling with an adult black bear was unsettling to say the least.
As time ticked away and Wedbetter just kept hanging in there Skunky got a little scared. But finally, at the four minute and thirty second mark of the match, our pharmacist took a hard, sobering (which quite possibly was the first time he’d been sober in years), smack across the head from the bear, sending the old man to the ground, face first into the dirt. Old man Wedbetter shook the cobwebs from his mind, gathered himself, and scampered out of that ring as fast as his wobbly legs could take.
“This will be a cakewalk. If old man Wedbetter can last over four minutes with that bear I should be able to go a measly five,” Skunky announced.
The lady at the registration table (who, incidentally, looked like she’d wrestled and lost to a few bears in her day) stood up from her chair, and in a gruff, hoarse voice hollered, “Next up to wrestle Bruno is Skunky Wilson!”
The crowd cheered. Skunky raised his arms in the air in a celebratory fashion. Then, as he hopped into the ring, a hush fell over the crowd as Bruno come charging toward my friend.
The bear stood on its hind legs to greet my friend and the two locked arms, each one trying to move the other off balance. Obviously, Bruno was a veteran at this.
Next, Bruno leaned on Skunky, almost pushing him to his knees.
“The go-cart, Skunky,” I screamed, encouraging my friend to his feet.
He managed to wiggle free from Bruno and stood up to once again face the bear and the two locked arms. But this time, with legs apart, knees locked, and leaning into the bear to counter his weight, Skunky stood his ground . . . for a short while anyway.
The two swayed this way and that, trying to outmaneuver each other in an effort to gain some leverage. Then, Bruno feinted left. Skunky bought the fake and tried to counter. As he did so, the bear threw his full weight into my friend and slammed him to the ground. Do you understand what I'm saying here? Skunky was outsmarted by a bear!
Once Bruno had my buddy face down in the dirt he was determined not to allow him to easily get back on his feet. He sat down near Skunky, keeping an eye on him. Every time Skunky tried to raise to a knee that ole bear gave him a whack with a powerful paw and flattened him to the ground.
Bruno toyed with Skunky like that until my friend managed to dodge one of those whacks and scrambled to his feet, Bruno nipping at his heels.
The wrestlers locked arms yet again, but this time, when Bruno got Skunky flat on his face, the bear just sat on him, pinning him to the ground. Ten seconds later, the ring master blew her whistle, announcing the end of the match. Skunky had lost.
On our way home I tried to cheer up my friend.
“Look at it this way,” I said, “you lasted longer with that ole bear than Wedbetter did.”
“Gee thanks,” Skunky responded, “that’s supposed to make me feel better; to know the town drunk lasted almost as long with that bear as I did?”
“Well, you might say that you bearly lost the match,” I said with a smile.
No response from Skunky.
“Look, go-carts are a luxury not a bear necessity.”
I saw a hint of a smile on his face.
“Well, I’m here if you need to bear your soul.”
Now even I started to chuckle.
“Wuddya say we drown your sorrow with an ice cold rootbear or a raspbeary shake?”
“Ok, ok,” Skunky chortled, “just stop it, will ya? You’re not beary funny you know.”
With that we both laughed hysterically and once again all was right with the world . . . until we got to Skunky’s home and, while looking for a snack, realized the cupboards were bear.
Sorry, I was on a roll and just couldn’t resist.
Posted by Doug Bagley at 1:01 AM
7 comments:
kristi noser said...
Patrick McManus better look out...Thanks Doug.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007 1:04:00 AM EDT
skrpndiva said...
Very cute story. Very cute.Jacquie
Tuesday, October 30, 2007 4:52:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
thank you! i'm here all week! don't forget to tip your servers!good one.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007 10:16:00 PM EDT
Jamie Dawn said...
Beary cute story.I was really rooting for Skunkie.Too bad he didn't win and get to buy that go-cart.:-(
Tuesday, October 30, 2007 10:23:00 PM EDT
Jules said...
Loved this bear-y much. Happy H'ween Doug!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007 8:53:00 AM EDT
Rachel said...
Another very funny story!! I was hoping Skunky would win. Shucks!!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007 8:18:00 PM EDT
Sharon said...
I really wanted Skunky to win...Nice story!
Sunday, November 4, 2007 11:16:00 AM EST
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Sunday, November 4, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Skunky and I Build a Monorail
One of the most dangerous things in the world is a teenage boy with too much time on his hands. About the only thing more dangerous is two teenage boys with nothing to do. That’s exactly the circumstances Skunky Wilson, my childhood buddy and partner in mischief, found ourselves in one warm August day of my 15th year.
Around midmorning of that memorable day, Skunky Wilson called me on the phone and invited me over to his place, where we’d think of something to do to ease our pangs of boredom.
“Hey, I know what we can do,” Skunky announced as he welcomed me into his house. “Let’s make a monorail.”
“Sounds good, but how we gonna do that?” I asked.
Skunky said all we needed was a long rope (his dad’s 200ft industrial rope would do), a thick tree branch that forked out like a V, a jar of hog lard, and the Wilson’s small Ford tractor. It already was sounded pretty good to me.
Once we found the materials, we went to work building our monorail. We tied one end of the rope to a power pole that stood behind the back fence of the pigpen, took the other end to the barn (the Wilson’s milking barn stood directly across the pigpen, maybe 100 ft, opposite the power pole), and slung it over the roof, tying it to the back of the tractor, which we’d parked behind the barn.
Skunky then drove the tractor away from the barn until the rope was taught. Next, we found the perfect tree branch and peeled the bark off the inside of it, precisely at the point where the branch forked, forming a V. Carrying the jar of lard with us, we climbed a ladder to the barn roof, and once we reached the top Skunky scooped a gob of lard out of the jar with his fingers and greased the freshly peeled joint of the branch. With the joint now thoroughly lubricated on the inside, our contraption was ready for a test run.
Holding the branch over the rope like an upside down wishbone, Skunky was about to take off when I strongly protested.
“Hey, you always getta go first,” I said. “This time I wanna be the test pilot.”
“Oh yeah?” replied Skunky, “who gotta go first when we jumped off this very same roof using my mamma’s umbrella for a parachute?”
“Uh, me,” I answered.
“And who was first to roll down dead-man’s drop inside the tractor tire?”
“OK, OK, you go first,” I said.
With that, Skunky took off toward the edge of the roof at a dead run. Down the rope he slid, away from the barn and toward the pigpen. But Skunky forgot one little, but very important, detail before he took off—He forgot to wipe the lard off his fingers. Luckily, he lost his grip on the branch right over the water trough of Melba their cow.
“Yaaaaw hooooo!” He yelled after his splash down. “That was great!”
“Hey, toss that thing up here,” I hollered, referring to the forked branch lying on the ground not far from the trough. “It’s my turn!”
Skunky tossed the branch up to me, and after wiping off the greasy ends of it, I placed it over the rope. With the rope resting snuggly in the crotch of the branch I backed up to the top of the pitched roof and ran as hard as I could down to its edge.
Away I flew, over Skunky, Melba’s trough, and the corral fence. I zoomed over the open space between the barn and the pigsty, cleared the gate to the pigpen, and sailed right toward the end of the rope and the pole it was tied to, and that’s when it dawned on me.
In all of our planning and scheming, Skunky and I had forgotten to factor in our body weight when figuring how low to tie the rope to the power pole. As I cleared the gate to the pig pen, it became obvious my body weight was creating so much pull on the rope that I wasn’t going to make it to the pole. No, infact, I landed with a soft thud right in the middle of the pigsty.
Now, for those of you who have never had the privilege of stepping inside a pigpen, suffice it to say, crashing down in the middle of one, especially on a scorching hot August afternoon, the day after what we called in Booger Holler a “toad strangler” (a storm that rains so much and so hard it drowns the toads trying to cross the road), is not something that is highly desired unless, of course, you happen to be a 15-year-old boy.
“Yee haw! I gotta do that again,” I hollered.
Well, a couple of hours and several rides later, Skunky’s mom rang the dinner bell on their back porch, and Skunky headed in for dinner, and I left for home.
Evidently, Mrs. Wilson called my momma to prepare her for what she was about to encounter. Upon my arrival home Momma was waiting for me at the front door, and she wasn’t too pleased when she saw me covered in pig excrement, resembling something akin to a big ole pig dropping.
I just couldn’t understand her anger. I mean, I know I was wearing my new school clothe, but heck, they had to be broken in, didn’t they? A guy couldn’t show up the first day of school looking like he’d just come off the clothes rack of the local J.C. Penny’s store. Geez, he’d never live it down.
8 comments:
Rachel said...
With all your inventions it's a miracle you and Skunky both survived your childhood days. Now that Monorail does sound like fun, and you had all that pig gook to land in!! LOL I can just picture you now as your poor Mom saw you!! Another great story!!
Sunday, September 17, 2006 9:47:00 PM EDT
cmk said...
And no one thought to take pictures?!?!?! For shame! :) (Great story, as always.)
Sunday, September 17, 2006 11:53:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
Sounds like a lot of fun even the pig pen part.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 1:12:00 AM EDT
Jules said...
YOu boys and your poor mothers! Another big smile on my face from another great Doug story...thanks.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 7:34:00 AM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Oh, my!I'm glad I wasn't your mama- or Skunky's! :)Come to think of it though, MY son did some pretty daring things too! (He's about your age,too!!...maybe it was the times...!!)Junie
Thursday, September 21, 2006 12:27:00 PM EDT
SonSon said...
A smile lit my face before I even finished reading the post title. If it's you and skunky, it's gotta be good.
Monday, September 25, 2006 2:34:00 AM EDT
Mountain Mama said...
Oh my gosh! Wasn't childhood fun?My sisters and I had a swing made of a single rope with a big knot tied at the bottom. It was attached to a huge old maple tree on the hillside. We could take a run down the hill and swing out over the barn and the old barb wire fence. We had a great time until little sister let go to get a better grip, landed on the fence and broke her arm. Dad cut the tree down.Shucks, he ruined our fun!
Thursday, September 28, 2006 2:23:00 AM EDT
Peter said...
Hi Doug, I see we share a few readers and I'm here to tell you I'll be back for some more of your adventures.
Thursday, September 28, 2006 8:00:00 PM EDT
Around midmorning of that memorable day, Skunky Wilson called me on the phone and invited me over to his place, where we’d think of something to do to ease our pangs of boredom.
“Hey, I know what we can do,” Skunky announced as he welcomed me into his house. “Let’s make a monorail.”
“Sounds good, but how we gonna do that?” I asked.
Skunky said all we needed was a long rope (his dad’s 200ft industrial rope would do), a thick tree branch that forked out like a V, a jar of hog lard, and the Wilson’s small Ford tractor. It already was sounded pretty good to me.
Once we found the materials, we went to work building our monorail. We tied one end of the rope to a power pole that stood behind the back fence of the pigpen, took the other end to the barn (the Wilson’s milking barn stood directly across the pigpen, maybe 100 ft, opposite the power pole), and slung it over the roof, tying it to the back of the tractor, which we’d parked behind the barn.
Skunky then drove the tractor away from the barn until the rope was taught. Next, we found the perfect tree branch and peeled the bark off the inside of it, precisely at the point where the branch forked, forming a V. Carrying the jar of lard with us, we climbed a ladder to the barn roof, and once we reached the top Skunky scooped a gob of lard out of the jar with his fingers and greased the freshly peeled joint of the branch. With the joint now thoroughly lubricated on the inside, our contraption was ready for a test run.
Holding the branch over the rope like an upside down wishbone, Skunky was about to take off when I strongly protested.
“Hey, you always getta go first,” I said. “This time I wanna be the test pilot.”
“Oh yeah?” replied Skunky, “who gotta go first when we jumped off this very same roof using my mamma’s umbrella for a parachute?”
“Uh, me,” I answered.
“And who was first to roll down dead-man’s drop inside the tractor tire?”
“OK, OK, you go first,” I said.
With that, Skunky took off toward the edge of the roof at a dead run. Down the rope he slid, away from the barn and toward the pigpen. But Skunky forgot one little, but very important, detail before he took off—He forgot to wipe the lard off his fingers. Luckily, he lost his grip on the branch right over the water trough of Melba their cow.
“Yaaaaw hooooo!” He yelled after his splash down. “That was great!”
“Hey, toss that thing up here,” I hollered, referring to the forked branch lying on the ground not far from the trough. “It’s my turn!”
Skunky tossed the branch up to me, and after wiping off the greasy ends of it, I placed it over the rope. With the rope resting snuggly in the crotch of the branch I backed up to the top of the pitched roof and ran as hard as I could down to its edge.
Away I flew, over Skunky, Melba’s trough, and the corral fence. I zoomed over the open space between the barn and the pigsty, cleared the gate to the pigpen, and sailed right toward the end of the rope and the pole it was tied to, and that’s when it dawned on me.
In all of our planning and scheming, Skunky and I had forgotten to factor in our body weight when figuring how low to tie the rope to the power pole. As I cleared the gate to the pig pen, it became obvious my body weight was creating so much pull on the rope that I wasn’t going to make it to the pole. No, infact, I landed with a soft thud right in the middle of the pigsty.
Now, for those of you who have never had the privilege of stepping inside a pigpen, suffice it to say, crashing down in the middle of one, especially on a scorching hot August afternoon, the day after what we called in Booger Holler a “toad strangler” (a storm that rains so much and so hard it drowns the toads trying to cross the road), is not something that is highly desired unless, of course, you happen to be a 15-year-old boy.
“Yee haw! I gotta do that again,” I hollered.
Well, a couple of hours and several rides later, Skunky’s mom rang the dinner bell on their back porch, and Skunky headed in for dinner, and I left for home.
Evidently, Mrs. Wilson called my momma to prepare her for what she was about to encounter. Upon my arrival home Momma was waiting for me at the front door, and she wasn’t too pleased when she saw me covered in pig excrement, resembling something akin to a big ole pig dropping.
I just couldn’t understand her anger. I mean, I know I was wearing my new school clothe, but heck, they had to be broken in, didn’t they? A guy couldn’t show up the first day of school looking like he’d just come off the clothes rack of the local J.C. Penny’s store. Geez, he’d never live it down.
8 comments:
Rachel said...
With all your inventions it's a miracle you and Skunky both survived your childhood days. Now that Monorail does sound like fun, and you had all that pig gook to land in!! LOL I can just picture you now as your poor Mom saw you!! Another great story!!
Sunday, September 17, 2006 9:47:00 PM EDT
cmk said...
And no one thought to take pictures?!?!?! For shame! :) (Great story, as always.)
Sunday, September 17, 2006 11:53:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
Sounds like a lot of fun even the pig pen part.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 1:12:00 AM EDT
Jules said...
YOu boys and your poor mothers! Another big smile on my face from another great Doug story...thanks.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 7:34:00 AM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Oh, my!I'm glad I wasn't your mama- or Skunky's! :)Come to think of it though, MY son did some pretty daring things too! (He's about your age,too!!...maybe it was the times...!!)Junie
Thursday, September 21, 2006 12:27:00 PM EDT
SonSon said...
A smile lit my face before I even finished reading the post title. If it's you and skunky, it's gotta be good.
Monday, September 25, 2006 2:34:00 AM EDT
Mountain Mama said...
Oh my gosh! Wasn't childhood fun?My sisters and I had a swing made of a single rope with a big knot tied at the bottom. It was attached to a huge old maple tree on the hillside. We could take a run down the hill and swing out over the barn and the old barb wire fence. We had a great time until little sister let go to get a better grip, landed on the fence and broke her arm. Dad cut the tree down.Shucks, he ruined our fun!
Thursday, September 28, 2006 2:23:00 AM EDT
Peter said...
Hi Doug, I see we share a few readers and I'm here to tell you I'll be back for some more of your adventures.
Thursday, September 28, 2006 8:00:00 PM EDT
Monday, August 13, 2007
Sweet Revenge (A Skunky and Me Halloween)
When I was a kid, Halloween was a yearly contest to see if you could make it home after trick-or-treating without the town bullies, Billy and Bob Bellywacker, taking your candy.
Skunky Wilson, my childhood friend and partner in mischief, and I almost always lost that contest, but, when we were 13 years old, it being our last year for trick-or-treating (in Booger Holler there was a well known but unwritten law that 14 was the cut off age for trick-or-treating), we figured we’d give the Bellywacker boys something to remember us by.
So, Skunky and I moseyed on down to the local drug store and bought some chocolate laxatives. We scraped the brand name off of each individual morsel, wrapped them in cellophane paper, and put them in our Halloween bags.
Sure enough, Halloween night, like field hawks the Bellywackers swooped down on us and we felt the air leave our lungs as they slugged us in the stomach.With breath that smelled like rotten road kill, Billy said, “Awl right, pig-dogs, hand over yer loot.”
“Oh, please don’t hurt us. Take it all, but please don’t hurt us.” I said, trying to sound horrified, which I was.
“YYYYes! You can have it all. Jjjjjust don’t bbbeat us!” Skunky was always a ham.
After the Bellywacker boys took our candy and shoved us on our way, Skunky and I headed to the open field where the annual Halloween carnival was held. We were looking forward to trying our luck at the games there to see what we could win.The night drew on, and before long it was time to leave.
Well, we’d won our share of trinkets at that carnival, and as we headed home we were laughing, giggling, and carrying on over our good fortune when all of a sudden, who should jump out at us from the cover of night? THE BELLYWACKER BOYS!
“Give us yer prizes or we’ll send you home a-carryin’ yer innerds in a sack,” Bob snorted (word traveled fast in our little hillbilly town, especially when it came to winning a lot of loot at a carnival).
“No way!” said Skunky, “Y’all have to skin us first.”
“Us?” I said. “You got a mouse in your pocket?” Hey, I was seeing my short time on earth coming to a premature end. It was the best I could think of to say at the time.
Well, Billy grabbed Skunky by the coat collar and Bob grabbed me. Each brother pulled back his free arm and made a fist. Then, just when they were ready to release their fury upon us, Bob let go of me and let out a moan that sounded akin to a moose with severe intestinal trouble.
Within seconds of Bob’s painful noise, I heard a wild rumble and a grunt. Turning to my left, I saw Billy release his grip on Skunky, and the brothers, bending over and clutching their stomachs, headed home.
The next couple of days in our town were the most peaceful we’d seen in a very long time. You don’t suppose it had something to do with the fact that Billy and Bob were home fighting over the commode do you? Too bad they just had the one in the whole house.
Skunky Wilson, my childhood friend and partner in mischief, and I almost always lost that contest, but, when we were 13 years old, it being our last year for trick-or-treating (in Booger Holler there was a well known but unwritten law that 14 was the cut off age for trick-or-treating), we figured we’d give the Bellywacker boys something to remember us by.
So, Skunky and I moseyed on down to the local drug store and bought some chocolate laxatives. We scraped the brand name off of each individual morsel, wrapped them in cellophane paper, and put them in our Halloween bags.
Sure enough, Halloween night, like field hawks the Bellywackers swooped down on us and we felt the air leave our lungs as they slugged us in the stomach.With breath that smelled like rotten road kill, Billy said, “Awl right, pig-dogs, hand over yer loot.”
“Oh, please don’t hurt us. Take it all, but please don’t hurt us.” I said, trying to sound horrified, which I was.
“YYYYes! You can have it all. Jjjjjust don’t bbbeat us!” Skunky was always a ham.
After the Bellywacker boys took our candy and shoved us on our way, Skunky and I headed to the open field where the annual Halloween carnival was held. We were looking forward to trying our luck at the games there to see what we could win.The night drew on, and before long it was time to leave.
Well, we’d won our share of trinkets at that carnival, and as we headed home we were laughing, giggling, and carrying on over our good fortune when all of a sudden, who should jump out at us from the cover of night? THE BELLYWACKER BOYS!
“Give us yer prizes or we’ll send you home a-carryin’ yer innerds in a sack,” Bob snorted (word traveled fast in our little hillbilly town, especially when it came to winning a lot of loot at a carnival).
“No way!” said Skunky, “Y’all have to skin us first.”
“Us?” I said. “You got a mouse in your pocket?” Hey, I was seeing my short time on earth coming to a premature end. It was the best I could think of to say at the time.
Well, Billy grabbed Skunky by the coat collar and Bob grabbed me. Each brother pulled back his free arm and made a fist. Then, just when they were ready to release their fury upon us, Bob let go of me and let out a moan that sounded akin to a moose with severe intestinal trouble.
Within seconds of Bob’s painful noise, I heard a wild rumble and a grunt. Turning to my left, I saw Billy release his grip on Skunky, and the brothers, bending over and clutching their stomachs, headed home.
The next couple of days in our town were the most peaceful we’d seen in a very long time. You don’t suppose it had something to do with the fact that Billy and Bob were home fighting over the commode do you? Too bad they just had the one in the whole house.
Anything to Save a Buck
We all know people who are masters at getting something for nothing. But when it comes to saving a buck Skunky Wilson, my childhood partner in mischief, is the king. He can pinch a penny so tightly he gives ole Abe Lincoln a migraine.
I’m reminded of an incident when trying to save a few bucks almost cost Skunky and me a night in jail.It was a warm Wednesday; the middle of September, the week of our county fair, and Skunky had come up with great scheme to get us into the fair and the nightly concert for free.
You see the following Saturday evening our all time favorite local country group, Puck Outhouse and the Down-winder band, would be performing in the grandstand at the fair. We just had to see them. But the admission to the fair, along with the price of the concert ticket, was beyond our financial grasp.
“All we need,” Skunky quietly announced as he entered my bedroom, “is a leash, Meathead [Meathead was my humongous, cross-bred, unruly, hyper, dumber-than-a-tree stump dog], and a pair of sunglasses.”
What Skunky had in mind was to pretend he was blind--Meathead and I were along to help him around the fairgrounds. He felt that with a “seeing-eye” dog and an escort, no one would dare question us.
Now, it was a policy of the county that people with impairments were, along with an accompanying attendant, allowed to enter the fair and the nightly concerts for free. I’ll have to admit, Skunky was sinking to a new low with this one. Unfortunately, new lows are highly sought after by most 15-year-old boys.
The days couldn’t slip by fast enough for our impatient teenage selves, but finally the big day arrived.After getting through the gate without any problems, Skunky put his sunglasses in his shirt pocket and handed control of Meathead to me. We then strolled along the fairgrounds, observing the different rides and games, but they were of little interest to us. We were there to see Puck and the gang.
Soon it was time to head to the grandstand for the concert. On our way there we snuck behind the auction building, where Skunky promptly put on his sunglasses. “O.K., let’s go,” he said. I handed him Meathead’s leash. He grabbed my elbow with his free hand and off we went.
We were about halfway to the grandstand when Meathead spotted a barely eaten foot-long hotdog on the ground. That mutt took off for it like he was possessed with a demon. A tug-of-war then ensued, my dog, trying with all his might to get to the hotdog, while Skunky, to counter Meathead’s effort, leaned backward and pulled on the leash with both hands resembling something akin to a water skier.
It was such a spectacle that a crowd gathered. From the collective doubt I saw expressed on their faces I knew they were on to our little scam, and unless I acted quickly the sheriff would soon arrive to haul our skinny behinds to jail.
“Hey,” I said to the onlookers, “the dog just graduated from school and he’s new at this. Give him a break!” I don’t think I convinced anyone, but by then Meathead had given up the struggle and we quickly made our way to the grandstand.
There’s another courtesy the county commissioners provided at the fair for impaired patrons. A few seats near the stage were reserved for them. Of course, that was another part of Skunky’s devious plan, to get free seats near the front of the stage.
“Come on you two,” the usher chortled, and with a grin she proceeded to guide us to our seats. I had the distinct feeling she’d witnessed the tug of war between Skunky and Meathead but she never mentioned it, and we silently started down the steps to the front row. And that’s when Skunky’s plan fell apart like a leper in an aerobics class.
About four steps into the stand, we passed an aisle seat with a man sitting in it, eating a sandwich, a barbecue sandwich. Well, Meathead caught a whiff of that sandwich and forgot all about the lost battle for the hotdog. This was a much better prize and this time he was not to be denied.
Meathead lunged for the sandwich just as the guy was taking a bite of it. Leaping into the man’s lap, the dog clamped his powerful jaws around that tasty morsel and bit that sucker off right at the man’s lips, even giving the sandwich owner a kiss in appreciation for sharing his food. It took Skunky, me, and the usher to yank that mangy mutt off the guy, and as we were so doing, it seemed the sandwich owner was trying to tell us something. But the guy could hardly speak, what with his spitting and all--I guess the dog-slobber kiss didn’t appeal to the guy. Some people just don’t know how to graciously accept gratitude.
While we stood there pondering our predicament, sandwich owner collected himself and commenced an attempt to take us in toll. As they say, it was time to get while the getting was good.
At a run we sailed down the steps (not an easy task with Meathead trying to take off in every other direction) toward the stage, and flung ourselves over the railing that skirted the front of the grandstand.Of course Meathead went under the bottom rail, while Skunky and I went over the top one.
The problem was that Skunky still had hold of the leash. The leash went taught, and because Meathead was not only the stronger of the two, but he also had a full head of steam, Skunky was jerked backward against the fence.
Suddenly I heard, “Whaaaaaaaaaa,” just before the loud thump. Turning my head I could hardly believe what I saw. There was Skunky, sliding down the fence (by now he’d lost his grip on the leash), right onto Meathead’s back, as if he were going to ride that dog like a bronc.
“Come on Skunky! This is no time to be playing rodeo,” I said. Sometimes I wondered about that boy.
Skunky hung on to Meathead as the dog ran toward me at a full gallop.
“There they are, after them!” It was the local sheriff and a couple of deputies, and they were running down the center aisle of the grandstand, heading toward us.
“Jeez,” I yelled, “they got the cops after us. Let’s get out of here!” With that, we ran with great haste toward home.
Later that night as my family, Skunky, and I were watching the evening news, the broadcaster reported that two boys had snuck into the county fair and the nightly concert by faking to be blind.
“Good thang them boys wuznt ya’ll,” my momma said to us. “I’d surely skin yer ears if’n it was. But then, I know y’all wunnt do an unnerhanded thang like that, would yuh?”
Skunky and I didn’t say a word. We just looked at each other and smiled. Why ruin a tender moment like that with Momma?
10 comments:
Britmum said...
Come on Doug are you for real? How bloody funny is that. I am in stiches. OMG!!!
Sunday, February 18, 2007 10:34:00 PM EST
Doug Bagley said...
All I can tell you is, as it says in my profile concerning my stories, "some fact, some based on fact, some just fun fiction." I, dear readers, will let y'all figure it out, lol, ;-),but glad I made ya laugh.
Sunday, February 18, 2007 10:55:00 PM EST
Valerie said...
oh lord."falling apart like a leper in an aerobics class." you're killing me!!great story again...i so wanna be like you when i grow up - only i wanna stay me, just write like you.
Monday, February 19, 2007 1:38:00 AM EST
cmk said...
I can picture every hysterically funny moment of that story! Great writing.
Monday, February 19, 2007 2:40:00 PM EST
LZ Blogger said...
Skunky & Meathead... boy you just can't make THIS STUFF up! ~ jb///
Monday, February 19, 2007 8:34:00 PM EST
Rachel said...
Thanks for another good laugh Doug!! This was hilarious!!! I agree with cmk, I could see it all as I read it. You are a good writer!
Monday, February 19, 2007 10:40:00 PM EST
Peter said...
That was a doozy Doug, its amazing just how much mischief can be fitted into the life of a teenager.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007 8:53:00 AM EST
cantellya said...
I'da had to fight him for the chili dog...
Wednesday, February 21, 2007 6:44:00 PM EST
JunieRose said...
Hahaha- Good story, Doug!I think this one is embellished a little!On second thought, tho, my husband tells some pretty tall-tales of his youth and swears they are true...so knowing what boys are like I can imagine this could happen! ;)Fun!!JunieRose
Thursday, February 22, 2007 12:47:00 PM EST
Sideways Chica said...
Well, with a name like "Meathead," can you blame him for going for the meatloaf sandwich? Not me! ;)Very funny Dave...have a great week.Teri
Friday, February 23, 2007 12:16:00 PM EST
I’m reminded of an incident when trying to save a few bucks almost cost Skunky and me a night in jail.It was a warm Wednesday; the middle of September, the week of our county fair, and Skunky had come up with great scheme to get us into the fair and the nightly concert for free.
You see the following Saturday evening our all time favorite local country group, Puck Outhouse and the Down-winder band, would be performing in the grandstand at the fair. We just had to see them. But the admission to the fair, along with the price of the concert ticket, was beyond our financial grasp.
“All we need,” Skunky quietly announced as he entered my bedroom, “is a leash, Meathead [Meathead was my humongous, cross-bred, unruly, hyper, dumber-than-a-tree stump dog], and a pair of sunglasses.”
What Skunky had in mind was to pretend he was blind--Meathead and I were along to help him around the fairgrounds. He felt that with a “seeing-eye” dog and an escort, no one would dare question us.
Now, it was a policy of the county that people with impairments were, along with an accompanying attendant, allowed to enter the fair and the nightly concerts for free. I’ll have to admit, Skunky was sinking to a new low with this one. Unfortunately, new lows are highly sought after by most 15-year-old boys.
The days couldn’t slip by fast enough for our impatient teenage selves, but finally the big day arrived.After getting through the gate without any problems, Skunky put his sunglasses in his shirt pocket and handed control of Meathead to me. We then strolled along the fairgrounds, observing the different rides and games, but they were of little interest to us. We were there to see Puck and the gang.
Soon it was time to head to the grandstand for the concert. On our way there we snuck behind the auction building, where Skunky promptly put on his sunglasses. “O.K., let’s go,” he said. I handed him Meathead’s leash. He grabbed my elbow with his free hand and off we went.
We were about halfway to the grandstand when Meathead spotted a barely eaten foot-long hotdog on the ground. That mutt took off for it like he was possessed with a demon. A tug-of-war then ensued, my dog, trying with all his might to get to the hotdog, while Skunky, to counter Meathead’s effort, leaned backward and pulled on the leash with both hands resembling something akin to a water skier.
It was such a spectacle that a crowd gathered. From the collective doubt I saw expressed on their faces I knew they were on to our little scam, and unless I acted quickly the sheriff would soon arrive to haul our skinny behinds to jail.
“Hey,” I said to the onlookers, “the dog just graduated from school and he’s new at this. Give him a break!” I don’t think I convinced anyone, but by then Meathead had given up the struggle and we quickly made our way to the grandstand.
There’s another courtesy the county commissioners provided at the fair for impaired patrons. A few seats near the stage were reserved for them. Of course, that was another part of Skunky’s devious plan, to get free seats near the front of the stage.
“Come on you two,” the usher chortled, and with a grin she proceeded to guide us to our seats. I had the distinct feeling she’d witnessed the tug of war between Skunky and Meathead but she never mentioned it, and we silently started down the steps to the front row. And that’s when Skunky’s plan fell apart like a leper in an aerobics class.
About four steps into the stand, we passed an aisle seat with a man sitting in it, eating a sandwich, a barbecue sandwich. Well, Meathead caught a whiff of that sandwich and forgot all about the lost battle for the hotdog. This was a much better prize and this time he was not to be denied.
Meathead lunged for the sandwich just as the guy was taking a bite of it. Leaping into the man’s lap, the dog clamped his powerful jaws around that tasty morsel and bit that sucker off right at the man’s lips, even giving the sandwich owner a kiss in appreciation for sharing his food. It took Skunky, me, and the usher to yank that mangy mutt off the guy, and as we were so doing, it seemed the sandwich owner was trying to tell us something. But the guy could hardly speak, what with his spitting and all--I guess the dog-slobber kiss didn’t appeal to the guy. Some people just don’t know how to graciously accept gratitude.
While we stood there pondering our predicament, sandwich owner collected himself and commenced an attempt to take us in toll. As they say, it was time to get while the getting was good.
At a run we sailed down the steps (not an easy task with Meathead trying to take off in every other direction) toward the stage, and flung ourselves over the railing that skirted the front of the grandstand.Of course Meathead went under the bottom rail, while Skunky and I went over the top one.
The problem was that Skunky still had hold of the leash. The leash went taught, and because Meathead was not only the stronger of the two, but he also had a full head of steam, Skunky was jerked backward against the fence.
Suddenly I heard, “Whaaaaaaaaaa,” just before the loud thump. Turning my head I could hardly believe what I saw. There was Skunky, sliding down the fence (by now he’d lost his grip on the leash), right onto Meathead’s back, as if he were going to ride that dog like a bronc.
“Come on Skunky! This is no time to be playing rodeo,” I said. Sometimes I wondered about that boy.
Skunky hung on to Meathead as the dog ran toward me at a full gallop.
“There they are, after them!” It was the local sheriff and a couple of deputies, and they were running down the center aisle of the grandstand, heading toward us.
“Jeez,” I yelled, “they got the cops after us. Let’s get out of here!” With that, we ran with great haste toward home.
Later that night as my family, Skunky, and I were watching the evening news, the broadcaster reported that two boys had snuck into the county fair and the nightly concert by faking to be blind.
“Good thang them boys wuznt ya’ll,” my momma said to us. “I’d surely skin yer ears if’n it was. But then, I know y’all wunnt do an unnerhanded thang like that, would yuh?”
Skunky and I didn’t say a word. We just looked at each other and smiled. Why ruin a tender moment like that with Momma?
10 comments:
Britmum said...
Come on Doug are you for real? How bloody funny is that. I am in stiches. OMG!!!
Sunday, February 18, 2007 10:34:00 PM EST
Doug Bagley said...
All I can tell you is, as it says in my profile concerning my stories, "some fact, some based on fact, some just fun fiction." I, dear readers, will let y'all figure it out, lol, ;-),but glad I made ya laugh.
Sunday, February 18, 2007 10:55:00 PM EST
Valerie said...
oh lord."falling apart like a leper in an aerobics class." you're killing me!!great story again...i so wanna be like you when i grow up - only i wanna stay me, just write like you.
Monday, February 19, 2007 1:38:00 AM EST
cmk said...
I can picture every hysterically funny moment of that story! Great writing.
Monday, February 19, 2007 2:40:00 PM EST
LZ Blogger said...
Skunky & Meathead... boy you just can't make THIS STUFF up! ~ jb///
Monday, February 19, 2007 8:34:00 PM EST
Rachel said...
Thanks for another good laugh Doug!! This was hilarious!!! I agree with cmk, I could see it all as I read it. You are a good writer!
Monday, February 19, 2007 10:40:00 PM EST
Peter said...
That was a doozy Doug, its amazing just how much mischief can be fitted into the life of a teenager.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007 8:53:00 AM EST
cantellya said...
I'da had to fight him for the chili dog...
Wednesday, February 21, 2007 6:44:00 PM EST
JunieRose said...
Hahaha- Good story, Doug!I think this one is embellished a little!On second thought, tho, my husband tells some pretty tall-tales of his youth and swears they are true...so knowing what boys are like I can imagine this could happen! ;)Fun!!JunieRose
Thursday, February 22, 2007 12:47:00 PM EST
Sideways Chica said...
Well, with a name like "Meathead," can you blame him for going for the meatloaf sandwich? Not me! ;)Very funny Dave...have a great week.Teri
Friday, February 23, 2007 12:16:00 PM EST
Baseball, Hotdogs...and What Kind of Pie?
Spring training for major league baseball has recently ended. The regular season has begun, and it's this time of year when I can't help but remember one particular sandlot game Skunky and I played in the pasture of his family's farm the summer of our 14th year.
The night before the game, I slept over at the Wilson's house so Skunky and I could get an early start preparing for the game. The next morning, shortly after sunrise, Skunky and I grabbed a shovel and went out to the pasture to make a baseball diamond.As I was digging away some of the grass to make home plate, a sudden, sharp streak of pain ran through my spine. We had forgotten about Lucifer, Mrs. Wilson's rooster.
Lucifer was an attack rooster. I don't know where Mrs. Wilson got him from (I suspect it was at a cock fight), but, when someone was out in the pasture, that dang rooster would sneak up behind the person, plant his claws in the person's back, and begin pecking at him.I dropped the shovel with a screech and began running in circles, grabbing at the roster, and bellowing, "Help, Lucifer's got a hold of me! Free me. Free me from Lucifer!"Mrs. Wilson heard the commotion. For an instant her heart filled with joy at the thought that one of her son's rascally friends had seen the light. But, she looked out her kitchen window and saw me giving a piggyback ride to her rooster. "Those dern kids, " she chuckled, "they're always a coming up with some newfangled way to en'ertain themselves."
After Skunky gained controlled of his laughter, he grabbed the shovel. He swung with all his might at the rooster pecking at my back.Now, Skunky's never been noted for being able to aim well at moving targets and --well, after the swelling went down, I didn't appear to have any major deformities. Although, since then, my hats have never quite fit the same.
Finally, I backed into the electric fence surrounding the pasture, shocking Lucifer. He released his grip, and left us alone the rest of the day.
The ball game was a close one. In the bottom of the 9th inning my team was down 2 to 3. We had two out with Skunky's sister, Jenny, on third. I was up to bat, facing a full count.The last pitch came. I took aim, gathered all my strength, and swung at that ball as if to send it to the moon.
My teammates screamed as I cracked the ball with my bat. "Go, Doug! Run, Jenny!"they shouted as Jenny ran toward home, and I headed to first.As I rounded third base, I glanced back to the outfield. The ball had been scooped up off the ground and thrown in the direction of home plate, andI tried to pick up my speed in an effort to reach home ahead of the ball.
Sweat stung my eyes, blurring my vision, as I headed for home to score the winning run. Through the blur, I could faintly see not one, but two homeplates. There was no time to clear my sight; I had to decide which plate to slide to.I dove head first, arms outstretched, mouth gaping open and sucking air.
When I hit the ground, it dawned on me that home plate shouldn't feel soft and gooey. And when that most gosh awful taste hit my mouth, I realized what I had done.What is that old saying? As American as baseball, hot dogs...and what kind of pie?
17 comments:
cmk said...
Oh. My. Gosh!LOL...love your stories.
Sunday, April 9, 2006 5:28:00 PM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
LOL!Doug, that's a good,funny,country kid story! I LOVED reading it!( :) and it brought to mind a rooster story of my own-which I may post one day soon!...Coming to a blog near you -so watch for it!! )Junie
Sunday, April 9, 2006 6:04:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
oh, EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!once again, proof why you're not safe at home.
Sunday, April 9, 2006 8:05:00 PM EDT
Kelly said...
Great Story Doug!~~ I don't know what was funnier~Envisoning Mrs. Wilsons' face all aglow clasping her bosom, hollerin "Praise the Lord, the youngun is saved"~~ or you sliding in home plate 'scooping poop'~~ I go with the latter. ;)LOVED IT!
Sunday, April 9, 2006 10:52:00 PM EDT
4evergapeach said...
I'll never watch a player sliding into home again without thinking of your story...LOL!Never heard of attack roosters, but let me tell you, geese can be REAL mean birds!
Monday, April 10, 2006 6:01:00 PM EDT
Lis said...
How fitting it is that a BIRD was named Lucifer!!!Great Story Doug! Pasture Patties, nothing quite like slipping in one of those things, I can only imagine how horrific it was to slide face first!
Monday, April 10, 2006 9:22:00 PM EDT
The Kept Woman said...
Moon Pies?!?!?!!?!?
Wednesday, April 12, 2006 3:39:00 PM EDT
doodlebugmom said...
I grew up playing softball in the pasture too. Great memories!Linda :o)
Thursday, April 13, 2006 4:07:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
Oooh cowpie. Yuck. Reading your site is ways gives me a few moments of laughter.
Thursday, April 13, 2006 9:41:00 PM EDT
Slim Suzy said...
LOL, Oh, yuck!!!! Have a lovely Easter Doug.
Thursday, April 13, 2006 10:48:00 PM EDT
Hale McKay said...
LOL - we used to throw them (dry ones) like frisbees or discus - but we never thought you could dive in them....Great post....Thanks for visit.
Thursday, April 13, 2006 11:16:00 PM EDT
Trudging said...
Got to love an attack rooster
Friday, April 14, 2006 9:42:00 AM EDT
Jamie Dawn said...
Eeeeww, you poor fella!I take it the game ended in a tie, and a major embarrassment for you.Lucifer was watching from across the field, and let out a satisfying cluck-le.We had a rooster and few chickens when our daughter was about one. The rooster pecked her. Later, after she had awakened from her nap I took her outside. Her daddy had killed that rooster out of anger for making his baby cry, but he had not gotten rid of the dead rooster. Courtney waddled on over to the pen, saw the dead rooster and said, "Rooster ni-night."That's one of my precious memories. It was so funny and so sweet.
Friday, April 14, 2006 5:52:00 PM EDT
Bossy♥'s YOU said...
you are a true crack up..you couldnt mae this stuff up..could you?..haha
Friday, April 14, 2006 5:54:00 PM EDT
Deevulge said...
Great story! As I sit here on the porch, I had to laugh out loud!...I have never heard of an attack rooster before. In my head, such a thing seems to be an appropriate metaphore for the uncomfortable changes that happen with spring.
Saturday, April 15, 2006 9:54:00 AM EDT
Christa said...
LOL...that rooster should be in a leesh. Thanks for your kind words in my blog btw :)
Saturday, April 15, 2006 10:17:00 AM EDT
Da Gal said...
Did you recover in time to be safe, at home plate that is???Great story Doug. I have recently started writing stories of my childhood and when I am at a loss for what to say I remember you writing your fun stories and I pull up one of those from my file. (That's my memory BTW.)
Tuesday, April 18, 2006 7:42:00 AM EDT
The night before the game, I slept over at the Wilson's house so Skunky and I could get an early start preparing for the game. The next morning, shortly after sunrise, Skunky and I grabbed a shovel and went out to the pasture to make a baseball diamond.As I was digging away some of the grass to make home plate, a sudden, sharp streak of pain ran through my spine. We had forgotten about Lucifer, Mrs. Wilson's rooster.
Lucifer was an attack rooster. I don't know where Mrs. Wilson got him from (I suspect it was at a cock fight), but, when someone was out in the pasture, that dang rooster would sneak up behind the person, plant his claws in the person's back, and begin pecking at him.I dropped the shovel with a screech and began running in circles, grabbing at the roster, and bellowing, "Help, Lucifer's got a hold of me! Free me. Free me from Lucifer!"Mrs. Wilson heard the commotion. For an instant her heart filled with joy at the thought that one of her son's rascally friends had seen the light. But, she looked out her kitchen window and saw me giving a piggyback ride to her rooster. "Those dern kids, " she chuckled, "they're always a coming up with some newfangled way to en'ertain themselves."
After Skunky gained controlled of his laughter, he grabbed the shovel. He swung with all his might at the rooster pecking at my back.Now, Skunky's never been noted for being able to aim well at moving targets and --well, after the swelling went down, I didn't appear to have any major deformities. Although, since then, my hats have never quite fit the same.
Finally, I backed into the electric fence surrounding the pasture, shocking Lucifer. He released his grip, and left us alone the rest of the day.
The ball game was a close one. In the bottom of the 9th inning my team was down 2 to 3. We had two out with Skunky's sister, Jenny, on third. I was up to bat, facing a full count.The last pitch came. I took aim, gathered all my strength, and swung at that ball as if to send it to the moon.
My teammates screamed as I cracked the ball with my bat. "Go, Doug! Run, Jenny!"they shouted as Jenny ran toward home, and I headed to first.As I rounded third base, I glanced back to the outfield. The ball had been scooped up off the ground and thrown in the direction of home plate, andI tried to pick up my speed in an effort to reach home ahead of the ball.
Sweat stung my eyes, blurring my vision, as I headed for home to score the winning run. Through the blur, I could faintly see not one, but two homeplates. There was no time to clear my sight; I had to decide which plate to slide to.I dove head first, arms outstretched, mouth gaping open and sucking air.
When I hit the ground, it dawned on me that home plate shouldn't feel soft and gooey. And when that most gosh awful taste hit my mouth, I realized what I had done.What is that old saying? As American as baseball, hot dogs...and what kind of pie?
17 comments:
cmk said...
Oh. My. Gosh!LOL...love your stories.
Sunday, April 9, 2006 5:28:00 PM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
LOL!Doug, that's a good,funny,country kid story! I LOVED reading it!( :) and it brought to mind a rooster story of my own-which I may post one day soon!...Coming to a blog near you -so watch for it!! )Junie
Sunday, April 9, 2006 6:04:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
oh, EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!once again, proof why you're not safe at home.
Sunday, April 9, 2006 8:05:00 PM EDT
Kelly said...
Great Story Doug!~~ I don't know what was funnier~Envisoning Mrs. Wilsons' face all aglow clasping her bosom, hollerin "Praise the Lord, the youngun is saved"~~ or you sliding in home plate 'scooping poop'~~ I go with the latter. ;)LOVED IT!
Sunday, April 9, 2006 10:52:00 PM EDT
4evergapeach said...
I'll never watch a player sliding into home again without thinking of your story...LOL!Never heard of attack roosters, but let me tell you, geese can be REAL mean birds!
Monday, April 10, 2006 6:01:00 PM EDT
Lis said...
How fitting it is that a BIRD was named Lucifer!!!Great Story Doug! Pasture Patties, nothing quite like slipping in one of those things, I can only imagine how horrific it was to slide face first!
Monday, April 10, 2006 9:22:00 PM EDT
The Kept Woman said...
Moon Pies?!?!?!!?!?
Wednesday, April 12, 2006 3:39:00 PM EDT
doodlebugmom said...
I grew up playing softball in the pasture too. Great memories!Linda :o)
Thursday, April 13, 2006 4:07:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
Oooh cowpie. Yuck. Reading your site is ways gives me a few moments of laughter.
Thursday, April 13, 2006 9:41:00 PM EDT
Slim Suzy said...
LOL, Oh, yuck!!!! Have a lovely Easter Doug.
Thursday, April 13, 2006 10:48:00 PM EDT
Hale McKay said...
LOL - we used to throw them (dry ones) like frisbees or discus - but we never thought you could dive in them....Great post....Thanks for visit.
Thursday, April 13, 2006 11:16:00 PM EDT
Trudging said...
Got to love an attack rooster
Friday, April 14, 2006 9:42:00 AM EDT
Jamie Dawn said...
Eeeeww, you poor fella!I take it the game ended in a tie, and a major embarrassment for you.Lucifer was watching from across the field, and let out a satisfying cluck-le.We had a rooster and few chickens when our daughter was about one. The rooster pecked her. Later, after she had awakened from her nap I took her outside. Her daddy had killed that rooster out of anger for making his baby cry, but he had not gotten rid of the dead rooster. Courtney waddled on over to the pen, saw the dead rooster and said, "Rooster ni-night."That's one of my precious memories. It was so funny and so sweet.
Friday, April 14, 2006 5:52:00 PM EDT
Bossy♥'s YOU said...
you are a true crack up..you couldnt mae this stuff up..could you?..haha
Friday, April 14, 2006 5:54:00 PM EDT
Deevulge said...
Great story! As I sit here on the porch, I had to laugh out loud!...I have never heard of an attack rooster before. In my head, such a thing seems to be an appropriate metaphore for the uncomfortable changes that happen with spring.
Saturday, April 15, 2006 9:54:00 AM EDT
Christa said...
LOL...that rooster should be in a leesh. Thanks for your kind words in my blog btw :)
Saturday, April 15, 2006 10:17:00 AM EDT
Da Gal said...
Did you recover in time to be safe, at home plate that is???Great story Doug. I have recently started writing stories of my childhood and when I am at a loss for what to say I remember you writing your fun stories and I pull up one of those from my file. (That's my memory BTW.)
Tuesday, April 18, 2006 7:42:00 AM EDT
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