My Dawg Might Be A Redneck

(An Excerpt)

Currently at the Publishers with a estimated release in e-book form during February 2005

This manuscript may not be reproduced in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, recording, or in any information shorage or retrieval system. All rights belong to the author and the publisher. All characters are from the imaginations of the authors and do not represent any persons living or dead. Any similarities between real persons and the characters in this manuscript are a coincidence.

Bubba moved out to the rocking chair he had on the patio next to his mobile home. As he placed his quart jar of ice-cold water on the fifty-fire gallon drum (cut in half at his garage, so he had two) used as an end table, he looked around the barnyard. His seat was next to Wally's lawn chair. Nothing was moving. But, that did not surprise Bubba, because it was so hot and only eight in the morning. Neither he nor Wally spoke.

It was so hot and dry that Bubba suspect even the fish were carrying canteens. As Bubba surveyed the small dirt patch farm he owned, a big red pick'em'up truck suddenly pulled into this driveway and honked its horn. Getting up, he slowly made his way to the truck. He wasn't in no hurry, ‘cause he figured the truck would still be there when he arrived.

Wally's chair creaked loudly as he got up to follow Bubba out to the truck. Both men, of course, brought their ice water with them. Wally was suddenly extremely interested. He had been there a week and this was the first visitor's he had seen.

“Uhmmm,” He thought, “They got ‘em some outta state plates on that thang and no gun rack. Yankees. Not from ‘round heah ‘bouts fer shore. Plus, this thang looks brand new. Ain't nobody I know can ‘ford one of these thangs.”

As he neared the truck the driver's window went down with a slight whirl sound and a head poked out. No sooner had the head appeared than Bubba's pack of dogs started barking loudly. They ran out from the barn and circled the truck as a crazed group of individuals, not as a pack.

It was then he heard a loud Yankee voice yell, “Can you's call those dogs off sir. I need to ask you's a question. I'm in a terrible hurry too.”

“Afternoon, to y'all too. Shore, I can call ‘em off fer ya. But, they won't listen to a-body. Nope, they are just like a big city lawyer. Once they get yer scent, they stay on ya fer'ever. Remind me later to tell ya ‘bout the time I dee-vorced my first wife and her egg suckin' Yankee big city cut throat lawyer. Now, what can I do fer y'all?” Bubba responded as he moved up beside the open truck window and took a big gulp of his water.

He could feel the cold air from the air conditioner in the truck on his face. Bubba noticed the man was dressed in an expensive tan suit, his hair was long and styled, and his gold plated eyeglasses probably cost more than Bubba's truck.

“Do you's know how to get to highway 63 from here?” The man asked as he looked down at a couple of the barking dogs.

“That is right down the road about four miles, eh, Bubba?” Wally asked with his thick Canadian accent. Bubba noticed streaks of sweat running down the man's face.

“Why shore I can tell ya. See, I done lived heah all my life, but Wally is just a furr'en vis'ter. So, don't ask him. I know every road fer miles. Wally, now, he is a nice ‘nough feller, he just don't know this place like I do though.” Bubba said as he reached in his right rear pocket and pulled out his chewing tobacco.

Being civilized, he opened the pouch of tobacco and extended it toward the man as he continued speaking, “Want a chaw?” As soon as he had spoken he placed his jar of water on the hood of the new truck.

“Uh, why, no, no thank you. And do you know where the highway is? Don't you think it's a bit early for drinking moonshine?” As the man asked his question once more, Bubba thought the guy must be hard of hearing. So, as soon as he had filled his left cheek with tobacco he decided he had to speak louder.

“YES, I SAID YES. I KNOW WHERE THE ROAD IS! AND AS FER THE MOONSHINE, IT HAIN'T NONE OF YER NORTHERN BUSINESS!” Bubba yelled as he leaned forward into the man's face. The juice from his chewing tobacco ran down his chin, but he made no effort to clean it off.

“The fool thanks I am a-drinkin' moonshine this early in the day.” Bubba gave a chuckle to himself. He decided, right then and there, to play it up a bit.

“Well, where is it then. I guess you didn't hear me when I said I was in a hurry.” The man stated with thick northern accent.

“Aren't you going to tell him Bubba? You know where it is.” Wally stated simply as he took a swig from his cold ice water. He pulled his cigarettes out, removed one, and lit it.

“Wally, you obviously didn't heah the man. He didn't ask me to tell ‘em how to get thar. He asked me if I knowed where it was.” Turning back to the truck window Bubba spoke once again, “ Now, which is hit, suh, that y'all want?”

“I do not like rude people, ‘specially rude Yankee's.” Bubba thought to himself as he answered the man's question, with a question, of course.

“Mister, are you drunk or something?”

“Not yet, but I ‘spect me and Wally will be in a couple hours. Too hot heah to do much of anythang else. Figured we would take the dawgs and meander down to the pond. Might do us some catfishin' later today. Of course, fishing means me and Wally will need to take some beer.”

“Man, are you's for real?”

“Well, I gots me one of them birth sir'tifi'kates that says I am real. ‘Course, don't pay no ‘tention to who it says is my daddy, ‘cause that part is one of them air'ors ya know. One of them typo-thang-of-a-bobs. And, Wally heah, he done got him one of them Can-a-dee-an passports, or sumthang like that anyways.” Bubba said as he felt himself starting to enjoy the conversation a bit now.

“It is a Canadian passport, Bubba. You have seen it, eh?” Wally said as he looked at Bubba more than a little confused. The man spoke passable English not ten minutes ago. What in the happened? It was then he decided to lay back and just watch.

“Look, how do I get to the high way. I just need to get back on the road. Will you help me or not? I'm in a big hurry.” The man spoke in a pleading voice, just before his head disappeared back into the cab of the truck a split second before Taterhead, the beagle, jumped up on the door.

“Ok, ok, jess cool down a bit, son. Dang, we don't do thangs so fast heah in the south. One of these days yer gonna take one of them heart attack thangs and jess fall oveh daid. But, since you ain't frum ‘round heah, I will give y'all a break. I will tell ya the way I would go to the highway . You got a pencil and some paper in that thar truck?” Bubba asked, then he spit a stream of thick brown tobacco juice out onto the ground near his feet, barely missing Taterhead and not missing the side of the man's truck door. Well, thought Bubba, least ways the driver didn't see it hit the door.

“Ya, I gots a pen and paper right here. Ready to copy.” The man said as he turned back to face Bubba.

“Ok. Now, ya all go down this hear road fer a fair piece. Not as far as old lady Cisco's place, or ya gone too far, and then ya turn left. You cain't miss hit, cause hit is whar Burrhead kilt that monster buck back in '68. You know, thar's that big open field thar. Go straight fer another mile or three until you come to whar the old Packizer place used to be, onliest, hit ain't thar no more. So, don't count on seein' the ree-mains. Right thar you turn right, ‘mediately when you see the whar the lightening struck that old post oak tree back in ‘83. Then past old man Johnson's place, past Millers Feed store and Nightgowns, and at the inner-section you will see the post office, Andy's café and one of them fast eatin' burger places. Feller, you look kind corn-fused, you a-getting' all of this down?” As soon as he had finished speaking he gulp the remainder of his water and tossed the empty cannin' jar out into the barnyard, just missing Butch, the old coon hound.

Suddenly there was a whirling sound and the window to the truck closed. Since it was tinted Bubba could not see in. He heard the engine race, saw the truck back up, and watched as it disappeared down the driveway and turned onto the dirt road in front of his mobile home. It turned the wrong way of course.

Bubba was still chuckling to himself when Maude walked up beside him with a cold ice tea in her hand. She smiled at Bubba and asked, “What was y'all a-doin' out heah a-talkin' to them folks Bubba. They hain't from ‘round heah, are they? They looked like Yankees to me. Did you know them folks Wally, since yer from up north and all?”

“Maude, do you know how many people live north of the Mason-Dixon line ? Do you have any idea how many folks live in the states, and in Canada north of you?”

“A couple bushel baskets full, I reckon. I hain't never really gave hit much thought. You are the only bon-ee-fide Yankee I ever met. Even ifn you do say you ain't a Yankee. You take funny, just like they do, so you must be one.”

“They was lost Maude and I was a-doin' the right thang by hepin' ‘em.” Bubba said as he took the cold drink from Maude's hand and took a long gulp. He turned his head towards Wally and gave him a big twisted grin.

“That's mah baby doll, Wally. He's always a-hepin' other folks, Bubba is, even Yankees. That is one reason I love him so dang much. What ya say we'uns take some fried chicken gizzards, tater salad, cornbread , colt tea, and go do us some catfishin' fer a spell.” Maude said as he put her arm around Bubba's large waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

As Bubba and Maude headed back into the mobile home to pack up for the fishing trip, Wally wondered why the man had been so rude to the man in the truck. And the man in the truck was just as rude to leave without saying so much as thank you. After all, hadn't Bubba given him exact directions to the highway? Hadn't Bubba answered all of the man's questions? It was obvious to Wally that all Bubba had done was try to teach the man some manners.

“Life shore is strange.” Wally thought with a loud laugh. He realized he had only been in the south for a few weeks and it was already rubbing off on him. This could prove to well be one holiday to remember.

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