Pinky Goes Camping

“How long is it a-gonna rain?” Bubba asked me, just like a six-year-old boy on his first experience with rain and camping.

“Well, from what I saw, I would suspect until it quits, Bubba.” I replied in my most serious voice.
“That’s stoo-pit, Gary. I know that.”
“Then, why did you ask Bubba?”
“Oh neveh mind, I was just a-making a conversation” Bubba quickly spurted out and then turned to pouting.

The next hour went by slowly with the tent rocking from the wind and the spattering of raindrops. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed across the sky. I realized then that we were in for a long wait for this storm to pass. I looked over at Bubba and he had fallen asleep. Yep, the man was asleep and he was cuddling his pink teddy bear close to his heart. This, my friends, was just to good of a chance to pass on.

I reached down to my backpack and removed my camera. I took my time making sure Bubba was centered and the flash would work. I snapped three photos of him and “Pinky” before he moved a little. I then quickly put the camera back and took a nap myself.

The rain continued all that day and most of the next. Finally, about noon the next day we packed up and went home. Bubba, I’m sure, went back to bed, while I went to a one-hour photo-processing store. I had 10, 8×10 photos made of Bubba and his bear. I had some serious plans for these pictures.

The next afternoon I was sitting in my Uncle Andy’s café when Bubba entered. He was madder than a wet hen sitting on an electric fence. He marched right up to my table and loudly asked, “Why in Sam’s Hill did you do this to me? I’m supposed to be yer cousin and your best buddy. How could you do this”?

Well, I had to play ignorant or it just wouldn’t be any fun at all. I looked up at Bubba, took a nice slow sip of my hot coffee, lowered the cup and said, “Bubba, you been in the beer already? What are you a-talkin’ ‘bout?”

Bubba looked totally confused and lost. I knew he was confused because he took his ball cap off and started scratchin’ his almost bald head. As I watched him scratch his head I realized he had lost more hair since the last time I had confused him. After about five wordless minutes he said, “You mean you didn’t have nothin’ to do with all them pic-shures ‘showing up round town of me sleepin’ in yer tent, a-holdin’ my teddy?”

“Bubba, I had nothin’ to do with it, nothin’. I don’t know how it happened.”

Bubba leaned way over my table until his nose almost touched mine and said, “You did so! You are the onliest one that could have taken a pic-shure of me like that! Why, it’s down right ‘timidatin’ it is!”

Looking as serious as I could, which believe me was not easy, I said, “Bubba, do you mean these pictures?” and held up a stack of 8×10 photos
.
“Yea, them pic-shures right there! They be posted all over town!”
I quickly placed the pictures on the chair next to mine, gave Bubba a big toothy grin and said, “I hain’t got no idea what yer a-talkin’ ‘bout. What pictures?”

That was pretty much the end of the “Pinky” goes camping episode. I laughed so hard I cried as Bubba turned and walked out of the café talkin’ about all of my ancestors.

It’s been over five years since this happened and at times when Bubba gets a little too big fer his britches, I know how to take the boy down a notch or three. I simply send him an email, with a photo attached.

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