The Sledge, Wedge and the Electric Fence

The Sledge, Wedge and the Electric Fence by Gary Benton
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“Mornin’ Bubba, y’all ready to go to work?” As Bobby Dale spoke, Bubba knew he hated the man. Actually, he realized he hated anyone who could sound so happy this early in the morning. The sun wasn’t even peaking over the trees yet. Better by far, the rooster was still sleepin’.

“Bobby Dale, are ya drunk?” Bubba asked, suspecting only a drunk would be up at this hour or somebody goin’ fishin’.

“Not a-tall Bubba. I’m right on time, ‘member? It’s four in the mornin’ and time fer work. Since hits yer first day, I let ya sleep in a bit. Now, get dressed, we have trees to cut my man!” Soon as he had spoken, he leaned over and gave an old beagle a gentle pat on the head, and then continued, “I’ll wait fer ya in the truck.”

Bubba cursed and almost screamed, but he did get dressed. He could not believe anyone would get up so early just to work. Shore, he could understand it if the guy was deer huntin’ or fishin’, but to work? It proved to Bubba that all of his wife’s family was insane. Crazy bunch of folks I done married into. They have to be crazy, ’cause who in their right mind would go to work at four in the mornin’? Bubba thought as he put on his army fatigue coat and his Saint Louis Cardinal’s baseball cap. He slowly made his way to Bobby’s truck.

They had gone about a mile before Bubba said, “Turn heater up some Bobby Dale.”

“Won’t do no good.”

“Why not?”

“Heater burnt up in 1968 or maybe 1969, I ain’t shore.”

“Ya ain’t serious?”

“Ya feel any heat in heah?”

“Nope, cold as a well diggers left leg.”

“That’s ’cause the heaters burnt up.”

For the next six miles Bubba shivered and cursed under his breath. I got myself in one whale of a mess attemptin’ to hep fambly. It won’t happen again, he thought as he rubbed his chilled hands together to warm them.

Soon, Bobby Dale pulled off onto an old gravel road and continued driving. After two more miles, he turned off on a logging road that was mostly ruts. Now, if his truck had had any suspension at all, it would have broken, but as it was, they just bounced and slid all over the muddy trail. Four of five minutes later, the truck entered a small clearing, Bobby turned off the ignition, and they both exited the truck.

“Ok, Bubba,” Bobby said as he pulled the old chainsaw over the tailgate of the truck, “I will trim some limbs while ya start splittin’ cordwood.”

“Bobby Dale, what time is it?”

“Four forty-five, Bubba. Why? Ya takin’ medicine?”

“I ain’t doin’ a dang thang ’til I get me a cup of hot coffee. And, now that I thank of it, one of them Moon Pies ya promised.” Bubba stood in the false sunrise with his hands on his hips and his chest pushed out.

“Bubba, in the old navy days I could flog or hang you for this mutiny stuff, ya know. But, since yer fambly, I guess hit won’t hut to let ya have a Moon Pie and one cup of coffee.” As he spoke, Bobby Dale threw Bubba a Moon Pie and pulled his old aluminum thermos out from behind the seat of the truck.

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