Teardrop Fiction

[deceiver]

I hope all of these stories have a copyright notice. A few more weeks of posts and you might see them in a book of compendium of short stories on Amazon.

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

SOWING OATS

There are times when even the most honorable cowboy will get…urges...and no matter how hard he tries to resist the temptation, his need…to be bad...is overwhelming. It's in his...um...genes. Today was one of those days.

So...

I scrubbed, scraped, brushed, combed, scented, and dug out a clean shirt. I dabbed a little polish on the toes of the boots and chose the good hat...all after spraying the dust off the old truck.

In every small town in this part of the country, there's a backstreet. And on every backstreet there's a turnoff beside an abandoned, half-toppled gas station. And near the end of that turnoff, in a neighborhood where, with cash, you can literally buy anything...there's always an old house guarding a front yard of hard-packed dirt...compliments of heavy foot-traffic.

There's a long, tired porch...complete with a sagging rocking chair, an old woman smoking God-knows-what in her pipe, and a couple of holey, screen-wire doors. There's an ample scattering of half-naked children with dirty faces, two skinny dogs of questionable character, and a tattle-tale aroma.

Tax, title, tip, license, and come-back-soon-parting-smile, it cost me ten bucks to be naughty, and it was worth every last immoral cent.

It's a twelve inch flour tortilla, grilled just shy of crunchiness, and stuffed with a pound and a half of rice, red beans, spicy beef, onions, and peppers. It's covered in layers...chili, cheese, then thick bean soup. There's a garnish of incredible pico...finely diced onions, peppers, cilantro, and tomatoes...drizzled with fresh lime. And on the very top, a huge, whole jalapeno pepper which has been rolled around on the grill until it’s almost dead, but not quite. It comes on a platter intended for a turkey.

7000 calories, 350 grams of fat, enough carbs for two motorcycles...and enough heartburn that it doesn't matter HOW you care to spell it. I ate every last bite...

Afterglow, and time for the Thinkin' Chair...um...on second thought, make that the hammock.

Please Do Not Disturb –

Tex

[Ratkity]

*sits upwind* Encore!!

Luv your stories!!

Hugs,
Ratkity

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

ARGUING WITH A WOMAN

No matter what a cowboy does, and no matter how hard a cowboy tries, sooner or later he's gonna find hisself in an argument with a woman. He can wipe his boots BEFORE he comes into the house, he can change his socks twice in the SAME week...he can even put the seat down eleventy-seven times in a row...but it just don't matter. Sooner or later...next week or next month...he's gonna do SOMETHING insanely stupid and cause disagreementation to sprout up like a weed seed in the barnyard.

So...when the unsuspectin' cowboy finds hisself face to face with the disagreed upon situation, and the disagreein' female finds it necessary to stand on her tiptoes and disagree quite loudly, with her finger in said cowboy's face, there's a few things he should understand before he ever opens his mouth.

First, arguin' with a woman is an exercise in futility, `cause he AIN'T gonna win. That's because there's two known methods for arguin' with a woman, and clinical studies indicate that neither one of them will work. And THAT'S because a cowboy is limited in his ability to think while arguing, his thoughts being seriously hampered by concepts such as LOGIC and COMMON SENSE.

For example, out on the trail, a cowboy just instinctively knows he should always drink upstream from the herd. A woman, on the other hand, could care less about the drinking part at all, unless of course, it involves some of that fluffy, air-infused crushed ice, a drive-thru window, a huge styrofoam cup, and something with “dietâ€

[starleen2]

'bout right - nuff said

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

MUDDIN’

Just in case there's a Yankee in the bunch...muddin' is a southern term for dirty fun...as in locking in the four-wheel drive, leaving the pavement behind, finding an old logging road, shallow creek, or boggy ravine...then seeing just how far the truck will go before it completely stops moving.

Muddin' is most effectively done in phases. Phase 1 is officially known as "Loadin Up", and involves making sure all the important stuff makes it into the truck...ice chest, CDs by Alan Jackson, CCR, and the Eagles, one big black dog, one pretty lady, a shovel or two, and Scooby Snacks for all involved. (Filling the tank with gas should also be considered during this phase.)

Phase 2, or "Ridin' Around", consists of opening and closing the ice chest several times, cranking up the volume and howling along to "Pop-a-Top Again", and sliding the rear window open so Dog can poke his head inside and enjoy the fun.

Phase 3 is called the "Dare", and inevitably contains some portion of the following conversation:

You're not going through THERE…are you!!!??
You DARE me? Here, hold my beer.
You are INSANE.
Gotta get a running start or we’ll never make it.
Oh sh%$ !!!
Maybe if I rock it back and forth, it’ll come loose.
There's water coming in the back window.
Where's Dog?
You Ok?
I can't get the door open.
Uh oh. Now you've done it.
(and lastly) Where's my beer?

Phase 4 doesn't really have a name, but normally involves winch cables, high RPMs, shovels, gritty soggy clothes, sunset, and at least one boot (or shoe) lost forever, sock and all, in the mud. But the most interesting part of Phase 4 is that 97.35% of the time, the truck (when it finally gains traction and frees itself) ends up on the FAR side of the mud hole from civilization, requiring various parts of Phase 3 to be reenacted while going in the opposite direction.

Phase 5 is known as "The Strut", and consists of driving slowly through your small hometown at least seven times, allowing everyone to admire the amount of mud…under, in, and on the truck and it's occupants. Points are subtracted from the overall score if anyone is able to discern the color of the truck, and bonus points are earned for water still dripping from the bottom of the doors. And... if you're among the top three "mudders" of the week, you get to park the truck in your front yard and skip washing it for four or five days until everyone is done taking pictures.

The mechanics of Phase 6, or "DeMuddin'", depends entirely upon the adventuresomeness of the pretty lady involved. Some prefer to be taken home immediately, so they can wash the mud out of their hair. (These ladies are rarely re-invited.)

Others seem to adopt the attitude that since the cowboy is responsible for the mud in her hair in the first place…he can dang well do his part in helping her remove it.

As such, DeMuddin’ can involve...um...shall we say...several sub-phases (including water hoses, soakin’ tubs, hot steamy showers, soft fluffy towels...even backrubs). It can become quite time-consuming, so it’s best to plan accordingly.

Tex

[Ratkity]

DOGS

With Tex talking about Dog and his adventures around the campground, I got to reminiscing about my first dog. I was in graduate school and had purchased a 1969 12x45 ft trailer that was parked in one of the oldest trailer parks in Clemson, SC. Not only was I learning microbiology in graduate school, but I was also learning about practical things in the trailer park, like how to jack up a water heater that decided to almost fall through the floor because of a leak. I learned how to repair that old trailer and also found out what fuss about aluminum wiring (but that’s another story that involves a lot of cute firemen). I learned about dogs and how walking a dog around a large trailer park allows you to meet a bunch of interesting people along the way.

My first dog was an Australian Sheppard mix, about 50 lbs when all grown up. She was about 6 months old when I got her at the local shelter and all of 12 pounds. She had this humongous head, a bad case of kennel cough and a tummy rash that plagued her for a while. She was the only puppy in the puppy playpen that looked at me, sat pretty with her chest out and wagged her tail. I was smitten. Apparently, someone had anonymously dropped her off at the shelter in the middle of the night and she was considered a stray, so I had to wait three days before I could take her home (in case someone wanted to reclaim her). Because I had to wait for her, I named her Patience. It was an apt name for her because she was either demonstrating her lack of it or she was wisely waiting for my next brilliant move as I tried to fix the next thing that broke in the trailer.

Patience loved to chase things, being a herding dog. I broke of her chasing cars and bicycles fairly easily by employing the local kids to ride their bikes past her while she was on a 20 ft leash. She’d start running straight after the bikes and I’d start running the opposite way. A few surprised yelps when she got yanked at the end of the leash, and that was the end of chasing wheeled vehicles.

It didn’t take long for Patience and I to become a team. I was young and into backpacking. She’d carry her own backpack of food and a ball, always stayed on the trail without a leash (something frowned upon today) and never would run off and chase wild animals. The kennel cough finally went away. After hundreds of dollars spend on vets and ointments, the best remedy for the tummy rash was a mixture of 50% sulfur (from the feed store) and 50% tomato dust (5% seven dust). That was one of the things I learned from the permanent trailer folk (as opposed to the renters, who were usually grad students).

Now I guess it sounds like Patience was the perfect dog. There are things she got into that I still remember that keeps her way out of that category, like the time we were in east Texas at my boss’s fledgling blueberry farm. He had set up a pump system that put dirty pond water in a huge galvanized tub that dripped into another larger tub that dripped water into his blueberries. Now it so happened that the soil was this great sandy stuff that the blueberries seemed to love. The imported fire ants also loved to make their homes in the same stuff. Now, there’s nothing better to a dog that a good wallowing in a sandy patch. Yep, you guessed it; she wallowed in a two foot high fire ant hill. Immediately, those nasty fire ants swarmed and in a heartbeat were all over her. Knowing that a huge swarm like that could kill a small calf, I swooped Patience up and tossed her into the huge galvanized tub of dirty pond water. It only took a millisecond for me to realize that by picking her up, I also became ant fodder and I jumped into the tub with her. Her thick coat protected her from most of the ants, but my bare arms got the brunt of the bites. Ouch!

It was also this same weekend that we hiked out to see a nice natural sulfur spring in a humongous meadow filled with mama cows and their new calves. I learned about bull nettle and how it stings and I also learned that a herding dog will still try to herd a little bull calf despite not knowing his un-polled (meaning she still had pointy horns) mama was not too far away. We had given the mama cows and calves a wide berth, but they still wandered close by to us out of curiosity. Patience was unfortunately the same size as the local coyotes and mama cows don’t seem to care for those.

The little bull calf was so cute. It came up and snorted and pawed the ground at Patience. Patience (who had been wandering around off leash threatening to roll in cow pies) perked up gave a bark and charged the calf. The calf lost its bravado and ran back to mama. Mama was the biggest un-polled cow in the group and obviously was the leader. Mama cow began to charge the barking coyote-dog chasing her precious baby. Patience, not being a dummy, turned tail and ran behind me! For a heart-stopping moment, I wondered if I could outrun the other four people with me to the safety of the electric fence. Fortunately for all of us, it was one of those 100 degree Texas days and we were uphill and the big mama cow decided we weren’t worth the effort. Patience was immediately leashed and the mama cows circled around their calves and gave us the evil eye as we gingerly walked to safety. Phew!

Yup, Patience and I had some interesting adventures. I miss that old girl. She lived a long 15 years and only heel-nipped a few kiddos along the way. She thought they were way safer than bull calves and she left me to deal with the mamas again as well. Geesh, dogs.

[Miriam C.]

You guys are great!

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

:lol: You guys are great!

Thank you Ma'am...

That’s good stuff kitty…really good stuff.

Problem is...once you put it out there, folks begin to EXPECT it. So get busy.

[Ratkity]

Oh dear... I'm sure I have a few more stories hanging around. Probably not as many as Tex - with me being so young and living a sheltered life and all.

Thanks for the

Hugs,
Ratkity

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

FAMILY TIES

Dear Cousin Tex,

This here is your ol' cousin, Dumas Ray, writin' you all the way from Spunky Flat, Texas. You probably don't member me...the last time I seen you, you wuz about knee high to the business end of a woodpecker.

Anyways, I been writin' to everone in the family, tellin' em bout the good knews...I am now an officially educated man.

I seen this ad in the Greater Spunky Flat Grazette down at the feedstore the other week, and I was powerful impressionated. It would seem that for only 69 dollars, a feller can get his high school diplomer...and not even have to go to school or nuthin'. One of them home schoolhouse programs…what’s the world comin’ to?

So I signed up, sent in my money, and got a big package of stuff in the mail. Don't really know why they sent so much junk...papers and books and all…guess they just want a feller to feel like he got his money's worth. Anyways, I went ahead and made my appointment, and went up to the Winkville prison yesterday and took my high school quivelency test. They said it would be about a week afore the scores come back, but I know I done good...the questions was so simple...even ol' Honey, my hound, coulda passed it. Guess they ain't used to us smart cuntry folks needin’ to take that test.

I mean it, Tex…the first question made me wonder what them kids up at the school do all day. It had a long list of words, and the instructions said...

Defind the words...

Shoot, anybody with good eyesight could see em...they wuz right there on the page, and they wanted you find em like they wuz hidin' or something. SSo, I says to myself...be cool Dumas...not everone in here is sharp as you are...so I busied myself in carefully circlin' ever word...just so they wuz sure I found em all.

The next question wanted you to discuss three main reasons why the North won the Civil War. That's when I knew that a bunch of them other folks in there with me wuz in big trouble. Ever Texan, by the time that they is 3 years old, knows full well that the Confederacy won that war, and that we just pretend to go along with the notion that the Yankees won, so as not to hurt nobody's feelin's. So, bein' in the know...I took my time explainin' that, but was careful to cover my answer so's nobody would be tempted to cheat.

And the very last thing on the page...it was a trick question...I knew they'd
throw in at least one of them, and I wuz ready.

It said to write down, in chemical terms, what happens when you burn gasoline in your car. Shoot...I busted right out laughin' and got a dirty look from the old woman who was admenstruating the test.

Ever body within fifty miles of Spunky Flat knows that Dumas Ray ain't even GOT no car...I drive a truck. And even if I DID have a car, I dang sure wouldn't burn nuthin inside it...let alone gasoline...they must be idjuts.

Anyways, like I said, I know I done good, I wuz the very first one to finish the test, and after one glance at my paper, the old lady up front just looked at me kinda dumbfounded...I guess nobody ever finished that soon.

I've already got the graduation party planned, and if you'd care to attend, I'd love to see you. It will be next Saterday night, 7 o'clock, in the back room of Gus' Cafe, Quik Lube, and Fangernail Emporium...it's on county road 333 'bout a mile past the place with all the warshing machines stacked in the yard.

You can't miss it...it's on the left...unless you're coming in from on the old river road...in which case its...yeah...still on the left.

Hope you can make it...
Your Cousin,
Dumas Ray

[TheresaD]

I busted right out laughin' and got a dirty look from the old woman who was admenstruating the test.

Ok... I should have gone to bed more than an hour ago... I don't know how I missed this thread. These really are great stories. "Tex" I seriously hope you are considering getting these published... I've been enjoying your word fabrications throughout the different tales, but the one quoted above simply takes the cake. I truly was laughing out loud.

Thanks for sharing your gift with us!

[mandy]

...you wait untill they fall asleep and then just run and push the cow over like this... I should've ran the other way when my much older boy cousins talked 6 year old me into cow tipping.
Too late the cow got tipped and the cousins were nowhere to be seen. The cow charged and I panicked. I had to run to safety; I had to save myself! When I got there I closed the door just in time.
I was so relieved to get away from the cow that I didn't realize that I was in the outhouse. The cow had me cornered, everytime I tried to get out, the cow would charge. It went on like this for hours, on the up side if I need the bathroom I was covered, on the down side I was in the outhouse ewww. Just when I thought I would never get out of my potty prediciment, I heard Grandmas shot gun go off. She chased away the cow and rescued me from my potty prision. When we got back to the house everybody sitting down to dinner, except my cousins they were standing at the dinner table rubbing their buts. I was afraid I was gonna get a little bit of what they got cause after all I did help. Much to my surprise I got an extra helping of dessert, and Grandma never did spank me.

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

HOLDUP ON ALL SAINTS’ EVE

Last year, on Halloween, I remember spending the afternoon making popcorn balls and candied apples. Yes, cowboys do things like that…they just don’t publicize the fact all over the bunkhouse.

(Sidenote: Consuming seven candied apples in any one hour period will give even the meanest old cuss of a cowboy a royal case of the scatters. That’s not a body fluid joke Aunti M, it’s a fact of life.)

Only a few ghosts and goblins showed up at the campground, so there was plenty of goodies to go around. One little fellow, age five, arrived dressed to the hilt as a gunfighter. Mom had even penciled a thin, dark, line of a mustache across his upper lip.

"Twikker Tweet"
"Who are YOU???"
"I'm Joe Bob...da baddest gunfighter in Texasss" (he drew out that last word into a snake-like hiss)
"Stick `em up Mister...this is a holdup."

I filled his saddlebag with all manner of loot. And just before he walked stiffly away, in boots four sizes too big...

"Hey Joe Bob...I've got something else...just for you..."
"It better be good, pardner"
"Oh...just what every gunfighter needs...a special quarter." (I held up a shiny Texas quarter)
"What makes it so special...it's just a quarter."
"Nooooo...THIS quarter has a star on the back of it." (I flipped the coin around and showed him. His eyes doubled in size.)
"WOW" (he held out his grubby little gunfighter hand, and I placed the quarter in his palm)

In a flash, the hand, now a fist, plunged three-feet deep into his pocket...past the toad frog and bottle caps...past the wheat penny and silver dime...way down to the bottom amongst the lizards and PB and J sandwich crumbs. His eyes shown like diamonds.

Quickly remembering his role, and regaining his composure...

"Tanks mister...just for dat, I ain't gonna shoot you."

The innocence and imagination of childhood. We all still have a little of that stuff inside us...and the more often we dig it out, dust it off, and embrace it, the younger we become.

Tex

[Vindi_andy]

Tex loving you stories thought Id contribute one myself.