“Bubba, you quit now. You know exackly what I meant. You’re just being stupid.” Billy Bob said with a voice that shook just a little from frustration.
“Everything, but one of his dawgs. His bagle and his puddle are ok, but his pet bull didn’t make it. Right now, everybody is livin’ in the barn. They’ll be there at least till Willy can get a new used double wide mobile home back up on the cinder blocks.” Added Floyd as he looked around the table.
“He had a pet bull? I didn’t even know he had a bull. Of course everybody knows he’s got a few head of old milk cows.” Billy Bob commented as he put his coffee cup down and pulled out his pouch of chewing 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 talkin’ about. I am a-talkin’ about dawgs. You know, a pet bull is a dawg with a permanent case of PNS,” Floyd said with a tone of deep frustration in his voice.
“He had insurance didn’t he? And that is PMS, Floyd, not PNS.” Bubba said as he lit one of the huge cheap cigars he smoked.
“I cain’t see what he sees in them pet bulls. They are about as friendly as that big city Yankee divorce lawyer Bubba’s wife had durin’ his divorce.” T-Bone said with a grin.
“Nope, he had no insurance at all. His mobile home was a gift from his momma-in-law and it wasn’t insured at all. And, Bubba, I don’t care if it is PMS…. and not PNX. It don’t matter none to me, because you knew what I meant all along,” Floyd commented between puffs on his pipe.
“Yep, pet bulls are just like Yankee lawyers…they both go for your throat and then 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 puddles. Some kind of French breed, ain’t they? I hate that little ball of cut fur it’s got on the tip of its 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 Southern America, the birthplace of a great nation. All in all, today it was just a normal mornin’ in Dixie Land.
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