Mr. Monk and the Baked Potato

When I started my business, I often employed the services of a local carpenter who also lived in my small hometown.  Mr. Monk was old, even then, always wore worn-out overalls, and a small-brimmed hat.  He was a fair carpenter, and an interesting man.

One day, I had him working in a larger city, building some shelves for my business.  At lunch, I thought maybe I should take him out to eat.  He didn't often go to town, so he might feel intimidated by the large restaurants.  So I asked him to go to lunch with me.

When we went through the cafeteria line, Mr. Monk filled his tray so fast that I had to get another tray in order to hold all his food.  There we were, two grown men, and three filled-to-the-brim food trays.  As we passed through the dessert area, Mr. Monk picked up several pieces of pie, looked at them intently, and then put them back.  The manager ran up to protest, I caught his eye, and he put all the pies on my tray.

Mr. Monk's carpenter charges might be low, but believe me, he cost me a bundle that day at lunch.  We had to have a table for six in order to accommodate the food,

 As he set about eating his food, he picked up a tinfoil-wrapped baked potato, held it up, squinted at it, then put it back down on his plate and began unwrapping it.  His face fell as he realized it was only a large baked potato.   He pushed it away, exclaiming, "Why, it ain't nothing but a damned old baked potato!"

Needless to say, he went to lunch on his own the rest of the week.

The Bike, A Dog, and the Snake

As a teenager, I loved to ride my bike.  It was a heavy, steel bike, beat up and rusted, that was a hand-me-down from an older brother.  I'd ride five miles into town and then five miles back home.  I'd also acquired a large dog, a boxer, who loved to run with me as I rode the bike.  However, he had a bad habit of running off on these journeys with me on the bike, and be gone for days.  So I decided I'd put a leash on him and just let him pull me on the bike.

This worked out really well for a long time.  I'd just sit on that old heavy bike, and Jock would run his heart out, racing along the road and pulling me and the bike along at a good speed.  We were the topic of a lot of conversation in the neighborhood.  Everyone thought it was such a joke, me letting the dog pull me while sitting on the bike.  I just felt like I was quite smart to have figured out a way to ride the bike, while at the same time letting the dog exercise and keep him with me.

However, all this came to a dreadful end one morning.  I had just started out on our ride.  Jock was especially strong that morning, going full blast from the get-go.  Just as we neared the intersection nearest our house, he suddenly came to a full stop.  I, being on the bike, couldn't stop as suddenly, and continued along the road, almost immediately being right on top of him.  As I got alongside, Jock jumped right into the ditch, and pulled me and the bike right along with him.  When I became aware of my surroundings, I realized that right in that ditch was Jock, the bike, me and a snake!!  Jock and the snake were having a face-off.  Then Jock jumped toward the snake, the snake gave a half-hearted strike, then started racing away.  Meanwhile, I was crawling as fast as I could toward the road.

After it was all over, I felt lucky just to have some road rash and bruises.  I could have been snake bit, or have broken bones.  As it was, the neighborhood just had another story to tell about me and the bike and the dog.  This time, that story included the snake.

The Quiz Show Pony

I had a pony when I was a young boy of ten.  Got it in a funny way.  One day the telephone rang, and I answered it.  A voice that was a little familiar told me that I could win a pony by answering a few questions.  It was a quiz show calling, and I was the lucky person who could be the owner of a beautiful pony.  So I answered some questions that I couldn't recall thirty minutes later.  And hung up the phone so excited, planning where I would house my pony and what I would name it and how was I going to tell my parents that soon they'd have another mouth to feed.  I let the question of another mouth to feed leave my mind entirely and just dwelt on the positive side of having a pony.

When I told my parents what had occurred, they just looked at each other, shaking their heads.  From their attitude, it was evident they thought someone was playing a joke on me.

Well, someone was playing a joke on me.  It was my uncles, who loved to tell me jokes and play tricks on me.  It was weeks before my two aunts found out about  the latest trick played on me.  When they did, they immediately demanded that the uncles buy me a pony and deliver it.

Several weeks later, a truck pulled into the yard, and out came a beautiful pony, black with a little blaze of white on her forehead.  I loved that pony immediately and named her Sugar.  In a couple of weeks, we realized Sugar was pregnant.  So we wound up with two ponies  for one joke.  The foal I gave to my little brother.

For several years, we loved and cared for the two ponies.  Gradually we outgrew the little ones and wanted horses.  So Dad bought us a big horse, sight unseen  from an ad in the paper.  Little did we know what havoc that horse would bring.

For one thing, no one could ride it.  I couldn't, my brother couldn't, our friends couldn't.  Finally Dad decided he would show us how it was done.  He saddled that wild thing, lead it to the pasture and started trying to mount it.  The horse would shy away, and slip just out of reach, making Dad madder and madder.  Then he just jumped on the saddle, put his feet in the stirrups, and hung on for dear life as the horse bucked and dipped and became air borne.  Then it was Dad who became air borne, flying high in the air and coming down flat on his back, making a loud "whump" noise.

All of us spectators were laughing so hard at the antics of the horse and Dad trying to ride him, that we continued to laugh as he lay on the ground.  At the same time, we all realized Dad hadn't moved, our laughter quickly ended and we rushed to where he was.  He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, but his eyes were open, and we realized he was mad.  I mean, really mad.  After he got his breathe back, he gave us what for because of our laughter.  We were sorry we had laughed.  But it was such a comical moment, we still laugh when we think about it.

As soon as Dad got to the phone, he called the newspaper and put an ad in it.  In two or three days, he started getting calls from interested people.  Several people came by to see the horse, wanting to know all the particulars.  So they got the truth from Dad.  Wild and untamed, he said, difficult.

A man from the Florida panhandle came by the second time, saying he wanted the horse for his grandchildren.  Dad told him he'd think twice about letting the grandchildren try to ride him.  But the man was insistent, saying he had a lot of experience with horses, and he could handle this one.  So he came by one day with his horse trailer, and we helped him load the horse, all the while the horse was kicking and prancing and jumping around.

We stood around talking for a while, and the horse could be heard bumping the walls of the wooden trailer, and making all sorts of noises in there.  Then the new owner cranked up that big diesel truck and took off slowly for Florida.  Well, he made it about fifty yards before pieces of the wooden trailer started flying off.  That horse was kicking so hard that the trailer was shaking and rocking.  The man stopped the truck, got out of it and walked around to the back of the trailer.  By that time, half the trailer was gone.  He managed to get a loop around the horse's neck and tied the head down.  Then he managed to get a rope on some legs and tie them down.  How he did it, I'll never know.

Dad tried to help but he was just in the way.  When the horse was completely tied down, Dad told the man he wouldn't hold him to the deal if he wanted to back out.  The man just looked at Dad, a stern look on his face.  Don't worry, he said, I'll tame this horse;  he'll know who's boss before long.

Later, we got a phone call from the man.  His tone had definitely changed.  He told Dad that the horse managed to break loose from him as soon as he unloaded him, and he hadn't seen him since.  No one had seen him, he figured that horse was living in the wilds of northwest Florida.

We just hoped he didn't know how to get back to our house.

Dad and the Milk Cow

I always thought my Dad was invincible.  Then one day, I saw a side of him that made me think maybe he was just like the rest of us.

It was during harvest time.  We all had come in from the fields and were resting a little while before we ate the lunch my Mother and sisters had prepared.  There were about six of the family working in the field and about ten or twelve hired hands working there, too.  So all of us field hands were out in the yard, resting and killing time til lunch.  Two of the younger hired hands saw we had a milk cow and her calf penned in the barn.  They went over and started poking the calf with some sticks that they picked up at the barn.  Of course the calf got upset and that upset the milk cow, who was her mother.  I mean that cow got really agitated.

Dad saw what was happening and walked over to tell the boys to quit.  As he got to the barn, he leaned over and looked through a crack.  At the same instant, that cow butted that part of the barn and knocked out a section of wall.  That section happened to be exactly where Dad was, peering into the interior  of the barn.  That section knocked him flat on his back and the cow ran over it and Dad on her way out.  The cow was bellowing and so was Dad.  The cow ran down into the pasture toward the woods.

As soon as Dad got his breath back, he picked up a pitch fork and started after the cow.  I didn't know what he planned to do with that pitch fork but I knew if he used it on the cow, Mother was going to be bellowing louder than the cow or Dad had done.  As he got into the woods, all we heard was a lot of thrashing and rustling.  We could see limbs moving and the high grass waving.  Then it got awful quiet.  And it stayed that way for a few minutes.

Then out of one of the trees down there, we heard Dad.  "Sammy," he hollered.  "Bring me my gun."  I didn't answer right away.  Then he hollered again for me to get his gun and bring it to him.  I was in a terrible fix.  I knew if I brought him the gun and he killed the cow, Mother would whip me bad for not telling her about the situation.  I knew if I didn't bring him the gun, he would punish me just as badly.

So I decided to do both.  I would get the gun and start for the woods with it, but I'd also make sure Mother knew what was going on.  I went into the house, got the gun, and then found Mother to tell her.

She took the gun from me and said not to worry.  She'd go down herself.  So there she went, just as calm as could be, walking into the pasture and then into the woods.  When she got down there, she saw Dad up in the tree, the pitch fork on the ground and the cow standing at the foot of the tree.  She simply spoke to the cow, grabbed the rope collar around her neck and then lead her back to the barn....all the way giving Dad trouble for even thinking about shooting her milk cow.  After all, that was her income---she sold the extra milk to neighbors.  Dad sheepishly came back into the yard and then into the house for lunch.  Far be it from any of us to even mention the episode.  We knew better.

Laughing Out Loud

Came across a book on tape and listened to it, laughing out loud the whole time.  Janet Evanovich has written a series of books with a character named Stephenie Plum and a list of characters that you can love.She does use some x-rated language but nothing I haven't heard before.  So if you want to laugh out loud and do some casual reading, check out her books.  "Smoking Seventeen" is one I recommend.  You can read them in order or just randomly.  Some libraries have them, but you can always get them at Amazon.com or Barnes and Noble.

You might be like me and have one each of a Kindle and Nook.  I bought the Kindle first, thinking it would be one of those that you could use to check out books from the library, too.  But it isn't.  So I bought the Nook.  One for each hand, I guess. 

Gone to Texas

My name is Sam.  When I was a little boy, about eight years old, I started my own business.  Growing up on a farm in the Heart of Dixie afforded me several opportunities to make money, and the venture I chose at age eight was milk goats.  From a neighbor, I got a nanny goat and raised a herd of milk goats.  As they got to producing milk, I started milking them and selling the milk.

It was the vogue back then to drink goat's milk for health reasons.  Say you had ulcers, then the doctor would suggest you drink goat milk to soothe your stomach and ulcers.  Some people just thought it was better and healthier than regular milk.  Some folks never developed a taste for pasteurized milk, so this goat milk was a good alternative.

I had a very special nanny goat named Rosie that gave a lot of milk.  I kept my customers supplied and happy with her milk and the customers even knew her name.  She was gentle and good, never minded being milked and was playful. 

Mr. Ralston, who lived about five miles away, was a barber who had developed a bad case of ulcers.  One early Fall day, he came to the farm and asked me to supply him with goat's milk.  From that day forward, he was a good customer.  For over three years, I sold him milk.

Well, one day, Mr. Ralston was at the farm buying milk when he told me he was leaving to go home to Texas.  And he wanted a big favor from me.  He wanted to take Rosie with him.  His request hit me pretty hard, as I had never even thought about selling Rosie.  Sure, I had other milk goats, but none of them were as special to me as Rosie.  Mr. Ralston saw I was a little upset and he put in to convince me to make the sale.  Before long, I had agreed to have Rosie ready to leave the next week.

On Saturday of the next week, Mr. Ralston rolled up to the farm in his big black Packard automobile.  Every single inch of space inside that car was filled with his worldly goods, and the rest were tied to the sides and rear and most of the top.  He only had room to sit behind the steering wheel. Where in the world was he putting Rosie?

I stood there with Rosie beside me, holding the rose loosely in my hands, not knowing how I got in this jam.  Why in the world had I done this?

Anyway, he got out of the car and handed me the money for Rosie.  I handed him the rope.  And of all things, he proceeded to put Rosie on top of the car!

I asked him if he was going to be able to drive with her on the roof.  His reply was that goats had great ability to balance and she would be fine up there.  My heart sank as he explained that to me, but I didn't do anything else.  I just stood there in silence and wished I hadn't made the bargain.

The last I saw of Rosie, she was standing on the roof of the car as it crested the hill beyond the church and slowly sank from view on the other side.  Would they ever get to Texas?  I guessed I would never know.

One day a few weeks later, I got a letter in the mail.  Never before had I gotten a letter from anyone.  So I viewed it and held it a while before opening it.  Mr. Ralston sand he and Rosie got to Texas, after many days of driving.  Said he had driven quite slowly, about 20 miles per hour, and had encountered no problems.  Rosie had adjusted to Texas and he had gone to work in another barber shop.  Everything was settling down and he was glad to be back home in Texas.  Said to stop by if I was ever out that way.  Now, ain't that something!