Shots Fired! ...

Ever since Grandpa DooLittle swilled too much hard apple cider, which triggered his frightening run in with the Devil out in the barn, Grandpa decided to move his remaining supply of cider and a fresh batch of homemade elderberry wine into Luther DooLittle's barn for safe storage ... and for safer sippin' ... and he reckoned he had the perfect plan for doing just that ... Grandpa had recently sold a truckload of hay to Luther, and planned on hauling it over to Luther's place on his old, barely road-worthy flatbed truck, which he had already loaded beyond capacity with hay ... just beneath the wooden bed of the truck, between the metal frame and the exhaust pipes, were hidden two stone jugs containing what was left of the hard apple cider, along with twenty-two, one-gallon plastic milk jugs filled with the homemade wine ... Grandpa DooLittle knew that Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter would be lurking somewhere alongside the highway near the foot of the long grade that wound up the side of Snipe Mountain, usually hidden behind the big Sunbeam Bread billboard ... motorists would either coast downhill too fast, or try to get a running start uphill, so it was Sheriff Clarence's favorite spot for a speed trap ... more importantly, Grandpa didn't want Grandma DooLittle to know anything about the transfer of the spirits, she thought Grandpa had sworn off drinking and dumped everything he had into the trough with the hogs' slop ... so the old man waited until sunset, and departed under cover of darkness.

It was an uneventful trip as Grandpa motored along careful not to exceed the posted speed limit or make any illegal maneuvers with the unsteady old truck ... as he neared the base of Snipe Mountain he thought about building up some speed to make it easier to climb the grade, but the overloaded, vintage machine wasn't capable of such, not with that heavy load of hay even if he'd tried, so Grandpa downshifted a couple of gears lower and let the truck grind up the hill at its own pace ... with no sign of Sheriff VanMeter anywhere ....... until Grandpa heard the screaming siren and saw the flashing blue lights behind him ... he wondered why in blue blazes the Sheriff would be stopping him, he couldn't think of any immediate laws that had been broken ... then he remembered ... the truck's taillights ... they never had worked! ... so Grandpa pulled to the side of the road, knocked the truck out of gear, set the parking brake and waited as the Sheriff's big V8 pulled up behind him.

Well, Sheriff VanMeter climbed out of his car and slowly approached Grandpa's truck, ticket book in hand ... the Sheriff had known Grandpa all his life, and intended on letting him off with just a warning ... just as Clarence walked up even with the rear of the truck -- one of those plastic jugs filled with wine, which had heated up and expanded due to the tremendous heat from the truck's exhaust pipes, along with the natural fermentation process -- exploded! ... BOOOOOOOMM! ... ol' Clarence ran back to his car, grabbed the mic from his antiquated Motorola police radio and yelled "Shots fired! ... Shots fired!! ... Bring help!!! ... then he pulled his pistol and took cover by belly-flopping right there on the ground beside of his car ... he couldn't imagine why in the world Grandpa DooLittle would be shooting at him like that ... over taillights that never had worked! ... then those other jugs started popping ... Booom! .. booom! ... boom booom booooomm!!!

Grandpa DooLittle couldn't imagine why on earth Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter would be shooting at him like that either ... over taillights that never had worked! ... so he sprawled out across the seat and took cover ... BOOOOOOM! .. BOOOOOOOMM!! ... BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!! ... now Sheriff VanMeter's only Deputy, and first cousin Cletus A. VanMeter had heard the Sheriff's broadcast over his two-way radio, but those army surplus radios had always been hard to hear and transmitted more static than anything else rendering them nearly useless ... so Deputy Cletus had misunderstood, and thought the Sheriff had said that he was "Hungry and tired! ... Hungry and tired!! ... Bring lunch!!! ... so Cletus had taken his good ol' time getting there with cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes he'd picked up from the diner on the way.

In the meantime, after all twenty-two plastic jugs had finished emptying their contents onto the side of the highway, a steady stream of warm, red elderberry wine had oozed down the shoulder of the road and drenched Sheriff VanMeter who had been lying there on the ground during the "shootout" ... when Clarence realized that he was lying in a pool of warm liquid, he switched on his flashlight to discover that it was a bright red, warm substance, well he thought he had been shot and forthwith passed out! ... when Deputy Sheriff Cletus A. VanMeter finally arrived on the scene with the burgers and shakes in hand, he found Grandpa DooLittle shaking like a leaf and slumped across the seat of his truck ... twenty-two empty plastic jugs along with a pool of fresh homemade elderberry wine spilled all over the side of the road ... and most shockingly unbelievable was the sight of his cousin and boss Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter lying there face down on the ground drenched in elderberry wine ... and passed out cold! ... Cletus shook the daylights out of ol' Clarence in an attempt to wake him from his stupor, but the Sheriff appeared to be skidded beyond repair ... Cletus stood up, peered down at one of the most upstanding and respected men in the entire county then said ... "Clarence A. VanMeter ... you might be my cousin and the High Sheriff ... it's no great surprise that Grandpa DooLittle is lying over there three sheets to the wind ... but you ought to be ashamed of yourself ... drinkin' on the job like that ... you're a lawman for cryin' out loud!"


--sja

Pardon Me Please? ... A Turkey's Tale ...

Thomas T. "Tommy" Turkey here ... I'm gonna cut right to the chase ... a while back, that whinin' complainer Jack O' Lantern was cryin' the blues about how punkins are murdered and mistreated in the precedin' days leadin' up to and includin' Halloween ... well Jack ought to try livin' the life and dyin' the death of an American turkey ... then Jack would have somethin' to complain about ... we turkeys endure mistreatment and mayhem year round, not just durin' the holidays ... we get no respect even though we been around as long as those punkins have ... we was livin' here in America long before Columbus and them Pilgrims landed on that rock and discovered America ... that's when the trouble began ... when them Pilgrims showed them Native Indians how to prepare us turkeys, along with some dressin' and gravy in exchange for some sweet taters and corn, life was never again the same for the American turkey ... I reckon that feast was necessary to prevent those Indians from scalpin' those Pilgrims, and to prevent those Pilgrims from shootin' those Indians, I ain't really sure ... but us turkeys got the short end of that stick! ...

Are you aware that at one time us turkeys and those bald eagles was both considered as America's national symbols? ... back then, Benjamin Franklin was really pullin' for us turkeys ... he thought even though we was silly and vain, we was a better choice for the national symbol than those "cowardly" bald eagles ... well I think so too ... them Pilgrims and them Native Indians could just as easily have had roasted bald eagle for that Thanksgivin' feast, along with bald eagle dressin' and bald eagle gravy ... and so should you people ... besides, those bald eagles are much better lookin' than us turkeys ... not as dry and probably tastier too ... each year durin' Thanksgiven' alone, nearly 50 million of us birds are murdered, cooked and consumed ... and another 250 million of us meet with the very same fate durin' the rest of the year ... a travesty indeed ...

Each year since 1947, the National Turkey Federation and the Poultry and Egg National Board have given one of us turkeys to the President of the United States at a White House ceremony ... since then, presidents have been more likely to eat us rather than grant a reprieve ... one notable exception occurred in 1963, when President Kennedy, referring to the turkey given to him, said, "Let's just keep him" ... it wasn't until the first Thanksgivin' of President George H.W. Bush, in 1989, that a turkey was officially pardoned for the first time ...

Presidents Bill "Slick Willy" Clinton and George "Dubya" Bush have continued the turkey pardons begun under the first ol' Bush ... some confusion about the true origin of this practice has crept into recent presidential speeches ... one story claims that Harry Truman pardoned a turkey called "Veep" given to him in 1947, but the Truman Library has been unable to find any evidence of this ... another story claims the tradition dates back to Abraham Lincoln pardoning his son Tad's pet turkey "Hannibal" ... what's certain is that since 1989 a turkey -- and its alternate -- have been pardoned each year ... an alternate is chosen just in case the first bird is unable to perform its duties, as if that's going to happen! ... for fifteen years through 2004, the pardoned turkeys were given to Kidwell Farm, a petting zoo at Frying Pan Park in Herndon, Virginia ... those fortunate turkeys would receive a last minute pardon before arriving, and were then led to their new home at the Turkey Barn after enduring a turkey "roast" full of poultry humor and history ... in 2005 and 2006, however, the turkeys were flown to Disneyland in California where they served as honorary grand marshals for Disneyland's Thanksgivin' Day parade ... after that, they spent the rest of their lives at a Disneyland ranch ... a spot in sunny Disneyland seems immensely preferable to a place called Frying Pan Park if you happen to be one of us turkeys who has just escaped from becoming the main course of somebody's Thanksgivin' feast! ...

On Wednesday, November 26, 2008, President Bush gave two of my cousins, "Pumpkin" and "Pecan," a last-minute reprieve ... they both hailed from Ellsworth, Iowa, and were raised under the most pleasant of environments ... back then, the American public was allowed to vote for their favorite turkeys on the White House web site ... durin' 2007, my uncle "May" and aunt "Flower" were both spared ... in 2006, grandpa "Flyer" and grandma "Fryer" escaped the roasting pot ... back in 2005 my sister "Marshmallow" and my brother "Yam" were permitted to see many more sunrises ... and way back durin' 2004, both of my parents, "Biscuit" and "Gravy" were sent back to the roost ... we sure have been a lucky family ...

So, Mister President, durin' this upcomin' Thanksgivin' season ... don't you think it's about time for some real "Change!?" ... let my people go! ... grant a presidential pardon to all of us turkeys!! ... and especially -- pardon me -- please?? ... gobble! - gobble! ... gobble! - gobble!! - gobble!!! ...

UPDATE: Tommy Turkey loses bid for last-minute Thanksgiving pardon - his cousins "Courage" and "Carolina" were mercifully selected instead - may Tommy baste in peace!

--sja

Leon Takes The Fall ...

Ol' Blue's hapless escapade in the story "Sloughfoot's Ghost" brings to memory yet another calamitous incident involving a canine, Luther DooLittle's own Redbone coonhound called "Leon" ... with Luther DooLittle's Redbone ... his Mama Mamie's white poodle known as "Minnie" ... and Grandpa DooLittle's Bluetick affectionately named "Blue" ... the DooLittle clan appeared to be one of the most patriotic families in the county ... anyhow, Luther borrowed his daddy's old Dodge pickup truck, reason being that he and Lamar Beefeater were going to haul a load of firewood to the Widow VanMeter's place on the other side of town, but in actuality the boys were going to transport 10 gallons of the widow's homemade "tonic," hide it in the root cellar behind Lamar's house ... then just sip on it occasionally ... so Luther boosted Leon up into the cab of the truck, then he climbed in, slid beneath the wheel, and off to Lamar's place they sped ... after picking up Lamar, the trio proceeded to the Widow VanMeter's house and acquired the tonic, then they headed back toward town -- sipping all the way!

Needless to say, by the time the boys made it back to the Beefeater's root cellar to hide what was left of their cargo, they were really feeling their oats -- and the affects of all that "greased lightning" they'd been drinking ... well Luther reckoned he should get back to the house forthwith with his daddy's truck, which was probably a good idea, in theory ... however, Luther's sense of time and space as it related to his position in the universe was playing tricks on him as he weaved back and forth up the road as fast and as hard as that tired Dodge truck would allow ... unfortunately, none of this went unnoticed by the Widow VanMeter's nephew, Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter, who was hidden as usual behind a huge billboard at the edge of the highway which advertised Sunbeam enriched bread.

Now Clarence was a fairly proficient sheriff, as sheriffs go ... however, Clarence A. VanMeter was nearly as blind as a bat, and wore glasses with lenses as thick as the bottoms of glass Coke bottles ... consequently, Sheriff VanMeter was only able to determine that it was the DooLittle's rattletrap of a truck that had raced past him nearly peeling the big gold star from off the door of his police car, but he wasn't able to see who the driver was ... but Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter was now officially in hot pursuit! ... now it was just getting dark, and Luther could see the flashing blue lights behind him in his rear view mirrors, and could hear the shrill siren's mournful cry ... the pursuer and the pursued both had their respective peddles to the metal, but the sheriff's big V8 was beginning to close the gap between he and Luther ... luckily, at that moment, Luther turned off the paved highway onto the dirt road leading home, leaving Sheriff VanMeter in a cloud of choking, thick dust ... Luther slid the overheating, straining Dodge through the gate and onto the DooLittle lawn ... then jumped out, slammed the door shut behind him and ran toward the house to hide.

All the while, poor Leon the Redbone coonhound had been lying on the floorboard of the truck scared nearly out of his wits ... when Luther bailed out, he had forgotten all about his closest friend and prized huntin' dog, now trapped inside the cab of the truck ... I think you already know the rest of the story ... but for those who may not ... after the dust had settled and the sheriff had regained his regular composure, along with a smidgen of sight, he flew up that road and skidded to a halt right up against the bumper of the previously fleeing suspect vehicle ... then quickly jumped out to effect an arrest ... by this time, Luther's daddy had interpreted what was taking place, and had already apprehended Luther by the back of the neck, angrily jostling the intoxicated, stumbling young man along in the direction of the sheriff's flashing blue lights ... just as proud father and wayward son approached Sheriff VanMeter, who was now standing just outside the cab of the truck, Luther's daddy heard the sheriff say ... "and boy, it's a doggone good thing you ain't been drinkin' like your twin brother there, else you wouldn't be gettin' off with just a speedin' ticket ... you'd be on your way to jail!"

--sja