The Drug Dealer?

Bug and Danny were  were swapping out a motor from his '79 Ford F250.  Bug's truck was his baby.  Since Danny, our older son was home on leave from the Navy and I was at work he chose this Sunday to do it.

They had the new motor hanging by a heavy chain from the limb of the huge oak tree in our front yard.  He wasn't a back yard mechanic, he was a front yard mechanic.

"Danny, look," he said and pointed at the shinny white Jaguar with New York plates coming up our driveway.  Our driveway was more for trucks than fancy cars.  He was driving very slowly.  He parked the car near the truck.

 Bug, a man of slight build, who has had cancer most of his adult life, was not afraid of anything or anyone.  Danny, on the other hand was tough looking with  muscles on top of muscles, the Navy had made him that way.  They were both wearing those bibbed denim coveralls and were all greasy.  They just looked like ol' hillbillies.

The two men in the Jag got out and walked over to the front of the truck.  They were both very large men.  The driver said, "we're from the Bronx, where's so and so," the previous renters.  He had a threatening tone.

Bug never took his eyes off those two. "Mister, we just moved here.  We don't know those people." He answered them with authority.

"They owe us a lot of money," the driver said.

"What for," Bug asked?  I don't think he was ready for the answer.

"We came all the way down here to pick up our drug money," was his smart answer.

If it's anything Bug hated more than a Northerner it was a Northerner selling drugs.  That was a fact.

"Mister, I told you before I don't know them and I would suggest you get back in that fancy car and git out of here," Bug said.

That guy got real nasty, his tone of voice threatening stated, "___ ___, you don't know who I am!"

Bug hit the ball right back in his court, just a little bit harder.  "Bud, NO, you don't know who I am."  Then he added, "I bet nobody knows you're here."

"No," he answered.

"You're back here on this farm, one way in, and nobody knows you're here.   Nobody will ever find you down here in this swamp.  I'll part that car out in less than a week.  When somebody does come looking they won't find you or that car.  Now, I'm telling you to git the hell out of here.  Take that drug business and ram it."  Of course Danny was standing behind Bug holding a large wrench.

Those men started towards their car.  Bug ran into the house returning with with his 12 gauge persuader.

The driver turned the key about the time Bug fired off a round into the air.  They took off, even though the road was only good for pickups.  They were going pretty good down the driveway and out of sight around the bend at the bottom of the hill.  BUT!

I had been working and now as usual when I hit the driveway I didn't slow down.  I was barreling around the second bend and almost ran head on into the Jaguar.   I slammed on my brakes and stopped.  They stopped also.  I could see the two men inside.  They looked like they were arguing about something.  I was figuring on them backing back to the house since the distance to the house was shorter than for me to back back out of the driveway.  So I motioned for them to back up.

That driver put that car in reverse and backed up faster than anyone I'd ever seen and I followed them back into the front yard.  I pulled around them when I got close to the tree.  About that time, Bug raised his shotgun again.

The driver slammed on his brakes, put the car in drive and flew out our driveway as Bug fired off another round into the air.

THEY NEVER CAME BACK!

The FROG

Patrick got home from work at 2:00a.m. He quickly changed into his sweats and decided to have a sandwich and some coffee.  He noticed a van sitting beside his house with the headlights on.  The van was just sitting there in the road with the motor humming.  A big question mark arose in his head.  What the heck's going on. Who would be stopped in the middle of the street?  Then he heard the doors slam. He looked out and could see three people standing there in the dark beside the van.  With that, he eased out his back door, hugging the side of his house.  He knew they couldn't see him.  He kept staring into the darkness.  He watched, taking short breaths so they wouldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest.

There, he could tell the taller person was a lady and the other two were young girls, but he couldn't see what they were doing.  He watched intently.  Then the lady moved a little and he could see it.  The largest FROG he had ever seen.  The lady was stooping down to grab it.

He crept up behind them.  They were so involved in catching the frog, they never heard Patrick. Just about the time the lady grabbed the frog, he said in the deepest tone he could muster, "DID YOU GET 'EM?"

The lady grabbed the frog, and jumped into the van.  The girls jumped into the creek beside the road, all screaming for their lives.

Patrick fell down onto  the road laughing.   Then he realized how much he had scared them. He walked to the lady's van, knocked on the window. He said with a big grin, he was sorry.  He tried not to laugh, but couldn't help himself. He apologized again.  By now she knew he didn't mean them any harm and she laughed too.

Her daughters didn't laugh, they were all wet.  They were really mad at him. 
"Well, you saved the FROG. What are you going to do with him?" he asked her.

She told him "I'm going to put him back into the creek, and finish my job.
I'm the newspaper lady. My daughters were trying to help me tonight deliver the papers, and look at them all soaked."

Patrick apologized again.  He told her all he saw was a parked van in front of his house and heard the doors open and close. He didn't know who they were.  Of course he watches for them every night when he gets home and now waves to them daily.

Trailride Chili

One of my early day trips was a 25 mile trail ride.  Unfortunately I wasn't able to ride.  I had an on the job injury.  I didn't think workman's compensation would believe I was hurt if I road on this 25 mile trail ride. I knew my body couldn't handle it either.


I decided to do the tailgate party.  My menu was a huge kettle of venison chili, saltine crackers, cheese, lots of hot coffee and pie.  Since this was the last trail ride of the year and the temperature was very cold I knew they would appreciate the hot chili.

I prepared the chili at home.  I put lots of green bell peppers, celery, onions, garlic, several cans of tomatoes and tomato sauce, 2 of those large cans of red kidney beans and about 4 pounds of ground venison.  Of course I never measure the spices.  I added lots of chili powder and just a little red pepper (just a LITTLE)!   I cooked it for several hours.  Those ingredients blended into one of my best chili's ever . I had Bug help me carry the kettle out to the truck.  He secured it so it wouldn't turn over and spill, then he gave me instructions on how to use the camp stove. He advised me to get someone to help me lift the kettle onto the burners since it was so heavy and full.

I asked a man at the trail ride to help me set up my tailgate.  He was waiting for his wife to come in on her horse and had plenty of time to help.  He was very helpful. I invited him and his wife to join us.  He declined when I told him the chili was made with venison.  I thanked him.  He hurried back to his van, got inside and turned on the motor to get warmed up.  It was so cold outside.

My friends, Joe and Dottie, a couple from my job rode their horses, Joe's cross bred, Dottie's a most beautiful Arabian and my friend Carol rode her fancy Thoroughbred.  They looked great  riding into the camp area of the trail ride.  My feelings were hurt because I couldn't ride.  Carol was first, then came Dottie, and Joe brought up the rear of our little group.  I helped them with their horses.

They were hovering around the kettle.  I ladled out a bowl of chili into a large paper bowl. I had bought a package of them at the grocery. Joe took the bowl and scooped up 2 big bites.  I told him, "Joe before you eat any more, I have to tell you I made the chili with ground venison."

He said, "Frances, I don't want to hear that, I don't eat venison." 

I assured him I used  real ground venison. I told him if he didn't like it he could eat the pie and coffee. No, he tasted it again and again and before long that bowl was gone.  He ate  4 bowls. Dottie and Carol also ate their fill. What I didn't expect was that several other people, people I didn't know invited themselves to our tailgate and ate too.  Not only did they eat, there wasn't any left to take back home. All those folks told me they were glad I wasn't riding so I could be the chuck wagon cook.  They wanted me to come back next year, and cook again.