The Humor and Life, in Particular Web site |
Willy and Eugene's Pet Bull
We were all seated at the big booth in my uncle Andy's restaurant having breakfast. The time was early…or way before the rooster crows and along with breakfast we were havin' us one of them dee–skush"uns. We always stopped to eat at uncle Andy's in the early mornings before we went hunting or fishing. It was located in a small hole in the wall next to the bus stop.
This morning the group was made up of Bubba, William Robert (Billy Bob), uncle Floyd, T–Bone, and me. Of course as soon as we were seated, uncle Andy joined us at the table.
I am constantly surprised that anyone can drink Andy's coffee. He completely amazed me when he would gulp it the way he did. It was thick enough to tar paper a roof with. He claims it was his time in the Navy that taught him to make good coffee. He further stated that after drinking his coffee a person had a deep appreciation for only the best. Well, I can tell ya fer sure, that I can agree with. Seems right after I tasted his coffee, I developed a deep appreciation for good coffee as well! And, ANY coffee was better than Andy's ! But, the man can cook!
"Well, I hain't so shore I ‘gree with ya one hunnert percent heah on that Andy. But, you always been a bit on the dumb side. Hell, mos" the time you don't know come heah from fetch." T–Bone said as he took a big bite of biscuit and gravy off his fork. The bite was so big it made his right cheek bulge like a chipmunk storing food for the winter, as he chewed. He and Andy were about the same age and size, that meant old and fat.
"Bullchips! You know, and I know, that we both know, that everyone else knows, that all of us know, just what we know. And, YOU know it! You know what I mean!" Andy continued, but he had changed from sippin' coffee to eating his grits.
"Uncle Andy? Uncle Andy? Listen to me heah. I ain't got no idée what in the Sam Hill you are a–talkin' "bout. What is all this, you know and they know garbage? You sound like a hungry Yankee used car salesman. You make no damned sense hat all. You talkin' jes to heah ya"self talk." William Robert spoke as he leaned forward and waved a gravy–coated spoon under my uncle Andy's chin.
For a fer minutes nothing was said at all. You could feel the tension in the air and we all knew my uncle was mad. Andy, obviously upset at first because we not agree with his views, finally realized we didn't even know what his views were. He had not done a very good job of conveying his thoughts, nor his strong opinions. So, he shoveled the grits in. I watched him eat two bowls of them.
I hated watching Andy eat grits. See, he put syrup on them, butter, ketchup, and then ate them with a spoon! AND, from a BOWL! Way I figured it; he should have been arrested for improper ingestion of the national southern breakfast dish. It is sort of a capital crime against all southern culture. Ya know what I'm talkin' ‘bout! Hell, ya just don't eat grits with a spoon and fer shore not outta bowl.
Finally after a few very long minutes Bubba stands up and yells, "Nurse! We need some coffee over heah!" Every head in the place turns to look at this loud mouth redneck dressed in bibs, flannel shirt, boots, and ball cap. Yep, you guessed it, he looked like all the rest of us. Be hard to pick him out in a po–leese line up. Well, maybe not that difficult since he is a fairly big boy. As soon as Nadine Lucille turned and started toward our table Bubba sat back down.
Andy just shook his head and looked to the heavens. Way I figured it he had no reason to call upon the heavens. All these heah folks at the table were his kinfolks. Andy could always blame a few ancestors, but not heaven for the mess he had on his hands. As Nadine arrived at the table with the coffee pot, Andy got up and walked off toward the kitchen mumbling to himself. He had taken to doing that every time we stopped by for a visit.
"Bubba," Nadine said as she bent over giving all of us a grand view of her huge cleavage (I thank she even poured some coffee, but I ain't rightly shore). "What is all this shoutin' ‘bout a nurse?"
As Bubba spoke, I realized it was the first time I ever saw a man talk to a pair of breasts. His eyes never moved away from them as he said, "Well, when I was hurt in the Vee–it–nam war, the onliest way I could get what I needed in the V.A. horse"pital was to scream fer a nurse. Hit's an old habit."
"Oh, ya was a war hero Bubba. I didn't know that." Nadine leaned forward until her face was almost touching Bubba's . I know he could feel her breath on his cheeks.
I watched in anticipation as white pepper gravy ran off of Bubba's lip and down the right side of his cheek. It took a few seconds before Bubba was able to speak, but finally he said, "I twernt no wo" he"ro Nadine Lucille. I was jest a common sol"jer a–doing my dooty. I just got hit by some shrap–nails from an ‘splosion once is all."
Nadine raised her right hand and wiped the gravy off of Bubba's cheek. She gave him a big smile and a wink. She then stood straight, put her hands on her hips and said, "I don't agree with ya at all Bubba. I thank ya was a hero and you are just too shy to admit it."
I suspect she was going to say more, but then the small bell mounted above the door jingled and a older couple entered. Nadine gave us a big smile and said, "But, I cain't argue with ya over hit right now Bubba Lee, cause here comes Mister Johnson with his old lady. You boys need anythang, give me a yell. See ya all later."
As she turned and walked over to the table were the Johnson's had seated themselves, every head at our booth was on her. She was a mighty nice looking woman.
As if he could hear my thinking, Billy Bob said, "That is one very nice woman. Not only is she very attractive, but she is one in–tell–I–gent woman too. The man who catches her will be one lucky man. She can burn my biscuits any time."
"Well, my biscuits ain't ‘zackly a burnin' right now, but they shore ‘nough be smokin' a little." Bubba said as he looked over at Nadine."Speakin' a luck. Did ya all heah ‘bout what them tore"nad"ders done to Willy Eugene's place when they blew through heah las" week?" Asked uncle Floyd.
I took a sip of my buttermilk, wiped off my mouth and then said, "Nope. But, I thought everyone was safe. I didn't heah of no body a–gettin' hut.""Nobody hut, but Willy lost his mo"bile home, a chicken house and a pretty long stretch of wood fence line. It's likely to take him a spell repairin' hit too. They are still a–findin' chickens in the woods and from different directions fer miles." Bubba added.
"I heerd his rooster crows at odd hours since the storm. He told me hit crowed a little after midnight the other night. He said he didn't know what time hit was, so he got up and headed to work. Willy said he was half way to work ‘fore he realized his rooster had gone psycho on him." Billy Bob stated with a voice of knowledge.
"Cycle? You mean he done taught that rooster to ride a cycle? Now, that would be somethang to see wouldn't hit Mule?" Bubba asked me with a grin."Did his live stock get out of it? They all make it?" I asked as I scooped up the last bite of my hot pork sausage on my fork.
"Bubba, you quit now. You know ‘zackly what I meant. You are just a–bein' stoo–pit." Billy Bob said with a voice that shook just a little from frustration.
"Ev"thang but his one dawg. His bagel and his puddle is ok. But His pet bull didn't make it. Right now, ev"body is a–livin' in the barn. They are at least till Willy can get a new used double wide mo"bile home back up on the cinder blocks," added Floyd as he looked around the table.
"His pet bull? I didn't even know he had a bull. ‘Course everybody knows he's got a few head of old cows." Billy Bob commented as he put his coffee cup down and pulled out his pouch of chewin' tobacco. He filled his right cheek with chew and worked the cud until it felt right to him.
Uncle Floyd pulled out his old brier pipe and stuffed it. He lit it and puffed a few times before he continued his story. "Not his pet bull, his pet bull. You know, his dawg. His pet bull."
"Floyd, they are called pit bulls, not pet bulls." Billy Bob said.
"Pit bull, pet bull, it don't pay me no never mind. y'all know what I am a–talkin' ‘bout. I am a–talkin' ‘bout dawgs. You know, a pet bull is a dawg with a permanent case of PNS." Floyd said with a tone of frustration in his voice.
"He had in"shore"ance didn't he? And that is PMS, Floyd, not PNS." Bubba said as he lit one of the cheap cigars he smoked.
"I cain't see what he sees in them pet bulls. They are ‘bout as friendly that big city Yankee dee–vorce lawyer Bubba's wife had durin' his dee–vorce." T–Bone said with a grin.
"Nope, no in"shore"ance. His mo"bile home was...a gift from his momma–in–law and hit wasn't in"shored at tall. And, Bubba, I don't care if it is PMS and not PNX. It don't matter none to me, ‘cause you knew. what I meant all along." Floyd commented between puffs on his pipe.
"Yep, them pet bulls is just like Yankee lawyers..they both go fer yer throat and the kill." Bubba interjected quickly.
I looked at my watch and realized it was going to be daylight in less than an hour. I wanted to be on the lake way before then and ready to fish at first light. I stood, finished off my coffee, placed the cup on the table, and said, "Well, at least Willy's still got his bagel and the puddle. That bagel is a good rabbit dawg. Actually, one of the best I have ever seen. But, personally, I don't see what him or his woman see in them damn puddles. Some kind of French breed, hain't they? I hate that little ball of cut fur hits got on the tip of hit's tail."
All of us picked up our bills and headed toward Nadine Lucille at the cash register. In a few minutes we would all be on our way to a full day of bass fishin' and fun in the sun. Our conversation in Andy's restaurant would soon be all but totally forgotten by us. Besides, it didn't make no never mind. See it was just another cool and early summer morning in the backwoods of America, the birthplace of a great nation. All in all, it was just normal mornin' in Dixie Land, with a normal conversation.
©Gary L. Benton
About the author:
Margie writes: Gary retired from the United States Air Force as a Senior Master Sergeant in the USAF. He had received sixteen military medals and awards. These days Gary teaches wilderness survival, wilderness survival skills, camping, hunting, and is an author.
Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking Sites.
It helps give the page "votes” and it helps you find this page later on!
©Margie Culbertson
Back to The Humor and Life, in Particular Home Page
Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking Sites.
It helps give the page "votes” and it helps you find this page later on!
Back to The Humor and Life, in Particular Home Page