Bubbas Dud Ranch by Gary Benton
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“I got me one of them ideas Mule,” Bubba said as he sipped his hot coffee at the kitchen table in his mobile home.
He had a far away look to his eyes as he spoke to me and I got a feeling of butterflies in my stomach. See, when Bubba gets an idea it’s time to get scared. You never know what he will come up with in an attempt to make or save a buck. Once, for example, he decided to make his own houseboat. He made the boat out of fifty-gallon gas drums, plywood, and a used mobile home—it promptly sunk at the lake.
“I thinks I am a-gonna start me one of them dud ranches I heerd about on the television last night.”
“Now what zactly is a dud ranch?”
“Ya know, one of them places where rich city folks can come and ree-lax in the country. I mighten even add some horse or mule ridin’ to the program. What do ya think about that?”
“Where would ya keep ‘em over night? Ya ain’t got no hotel or even tents fer a group of people. It just won’t work.” I asked, knowing that Bubba had not every remotely considered that aspect. I was interested in his answer.
“Well, I reckon they could rough it. They can camp outside and I could get some tarps fer real nasty weather. I hain’t really concerned much ‘bout that part cause they’ll all be Yankees.”
“Ya mean ya don’t care if a Yankee gets cold or wet while stayin’ with ya?” I was confused once again, because this did not sound like Bubba. While dumb, he was usually caring about folks.
“No, I didn’t say that a-tall. I figger if a rich Yankee gets too cold or wet he has enough money to go into town and get a hotel room. I mean, ya have to have money to pay fer a dud ranch visit, right?”
“Oh, I see yer logic Bubba. Nice thankin’.” I said with an inward groan. See; in Bubba’s mind this all made sense.
I forgot about Bubba’s plans over the next few weeks. Then one day I went into town to get a few things. There, taped to the front door of Wilson’s General Store and Wedding Gowns, was a flyer. I looked at the paper and began to read, ‘Y’all come to Bubba’s Dud Ranch fer a nice reelaxin’ time. We gots us some mules fer ya to ride, some catfishin’ in the pond behind the house, rough campin’ fer real outdoors men and women, and we even let ya do yer own cookin’. Come visit Bubba’s and be a REAL mountain man or woman. For more infermashun call….’
As soon as I got home, I gave Bubba a call. I was impressed when he answered the phone, “Bubba’s Dud Ranch and remote campin’ site. Bubba a-speakin’ to ya.”
“Bubba, this is Mule. How’s business?” I could hardly wait to hear his disappointed comments.
“Real good. I got me a big group a-comin’ tomorrow mornin’.”
“Good fer ya. How many of ‘em?”
“Twenty-five and I need some hep. You hep me and I will grease yer palm fer ‘bout fifty dollars. How does that sound ole buddy?”
“Sounds good. What time do you want me to show up?” I wasn’t interested in the job so much as to see what would happen.
“Be heah ‘bout the time the rooster crows. OK?”
“I wouldn’t miss this Bubba, really. Gotta go, but I’ll see ya in the mornin’.”
I knew that Bubba wanted me there before sunrise. I also knew this was going to be something to see. Bubba knew nothing about a dude ranch and little about a business. Additionally, he knew very little about Yankees or any other folks really. Well, maybe a little about business since he ran his own auto repair shop in his barn. But, this would be fun. I spent the rest of the night thinking about how things could go wrong.
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