Huckleberry Brew

"Did you here the news?" says Sammy Parker, turning up his sharp nose from stubborn bug juice splattered on the tinted glass. A ring of dirt and sweat circled the neck and armpits of his gray tee shirt. Wavy lines of crusty egg yolk were visible on his unkempt red beard. The live flies must have been after the leftover breakfast he was wearing. He waved his meat hook sized paw as if it were an airy-fairy fan in an attempt to shoo them away as he hung-up the gas hose. Heat danced in waves from the red trucks polished hood. Slanting white clouds reflected from the newly clean front windshield.

"Ya, bad news travels fast in these mountains." said middle aged T. J. Cornpepper, his back against the side of the truck bed, his arms crossed at his chest, and one dusty boot heel resting on a ten-ply steel belted 75-16 tire.

"Whatcha ya gonna do Teddy?" ask Sammy not being able to mask the excitement in his voice.

"What makes you think I need to do something?" Tall and lanky Teddy Cornpepper bent his nimble frame at the waist, picking up several small round stones in the gravel and rolled them in his left hand like marbles.

"Come on Cornpepper, you ain't the kinda guy not get even. Whatcha gonna do? As God is my witness, I won't tell a soul. Whatcha gonna do?" Stroking his ratty beard, Sammy Parker picked at the yolk with his dirty fingernails.

Unbuttoning his oxford shirt collar, Teddy casually swallowed several times holding back a gag factor of that the locals would consider only a two, or three, on a scale of one to ten. At three o'clock in the afternoon, the roadside store and gas station was empty of any customers other than Cornpepper.

Earlier, seventeen-year-old Mary Jo McAllaster had sashayed through the front door of Shannon's Hodgepodge Mercantile, her Levi cutoffs revealing way more cheek than the preacher of the church on the hill could handle. Her low scissors-cut tee shirt was even more to the point. If old lecherous Henry Hues hadn't already died, the sight of Mary Jo bouncing to the beer locker would have killed him for sure. As for the preacher, his eyes were short circuiting between, ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no mountain low... sweet chariot. He sideswiped a cardboard display of candy bars at the counter, and knocked over a box of beef jerky sticks. His shaking hand missed his jeans pocket, sending nickels and dimes rolling down the store's dirty black and white checker floor.

"Leave it for the kids to pick up." said the preacher. "Gotta go-- I'm late for a wedding." Running both hands through his greasy blond hair, he paused for a moment before opening the squeegee clean double front doors.
Mary Joe had that kind of effect on men and she knew it.
The toothy grin on Sammy Parker's bushy buffet face at the preachers moral dilemma faded as Mary Jo strutted past the checkout counter. Ducking under the preacher's arm as he opened the door, and with Olympic perfection, Mary Jo casually vaulted into a cream coloured BMW convertible with a six pack of Sammy's most expensive imported beer. The other woman in the driver's seat smiled and gave what could be called, a most wicked wink before driving off in a cloud of dust.

"Humm, Humm, jail bait never looked so good."

"Roll your tongue in Sammy before you step on it. She's serious trouble with a capital T."

"I could sure use some of that kind of trouble." He said, as he quickly lifted the counter gate and started picking up the change on the floor.

"What if one of the Border Patrol guys had see that? She could cost you your Liquor License."

On his hands and knees looking for any change he might have missed, His head turning side to side, his eyes raking the floor. He snicked then laughed, "Boy don't you worry about me ever loosing my Liquor License."

The preacher Larry Vandyke stood outside the store still composing himself before walking across the street to his car. His classic 1967 Chevy II Super Sport had seen better days. In a fit of delayed adolescences, he fishtailed from the curb doing a one eighty U-turn, almost hitting Cornpepper's 1952 Ford pickup parked at the gas pump.

"Damn! That was close." said Sammy still smiling. So whatcha gonna do Teddy? Like I said, I won't tell nobody."

Teddy Cornpepper walked down the row of glass refrigerator doors, stopping at the bottled water section. On the lower shelf he pulled out two High Sierra's Best and returned to the counter.

"So whatcha gonna do? Small town like this, everybody knows a piece of the story. Bad news get people excited. Makes them feel good when it's somebody elses troubles. Do you know who did it? I mean Hell, people here will make up shit if they think they won't get caught. Whatcha gonna do?"

Cornpepper rolled up the sleeves of his clean blue shirt, he slowly turned from the counter and walked down the well stocked country store aisle.

"Oh Sam! I almost forgot. Been having gopher problems in my garden. Do you still carry that powder poison you sold to me several years ago?"

"Dang Teddy! That can of poison should have killed every gopher with in miles of your place."

"I don't like to keep it in the storage shed just in case the dogs get in there, so I tossed it."

"Ya, it's on top shelf in the livestock section." He waved his arm like throwing a baseball. All the way back, you'll have to use the ladder to reach it. Remember a spoon full of that stuff will kill a large animal, it's deadly so be careful with it."

"Don't worry Sammy, I'll be careful. By the way, when are you going to get the air conditioning unit fixed? It's hotter than hell up here."
Stepping off the ladder with a can of poison, Cornpepper takes his time in walking to the front counter, stopping several times to fiddle with several items on the shelves.

"I know, I know it's hot. That's why I'm closing the store at four o'clock instead of six-thirty. I gotta repairman is coming over from Wenatchee, it will be fixed sometime tomorrow morning. Guess you're my last costumer for the day. I'm locking the doors as soon as you leave."

"I know you usually drink beer Sammy, but have you ever tried one of these?"
Sammy rang up the two bottles of High Sierra's Best spring water and handed Teddy Cornpepper his change. Cornpepper cleverly twisted the plastic cap off the bottle, handing the ice cold drink across the worn Formica counter top to Sammy.

"Here try this, I think it will quench your thirst."

"Why thank you Ted, that's real thoughtful of you." Sammy said, as Cornpepper left the store.

Opening his truck door, Teddy Cornpepper grinned at the blast of heat from inside the old Ford's fully restored cab. "Damn! he said, it's hotter than the hubs of Dante's Hell-- how apropos.

Teddy Cornpepper may have been a cosmopolitan in his manners, but he had been schooled in small town ways from childhood. He knew from that day on, the local folk would never again make him the brutal butt of, "bad news."

The Pull Of Values

Help me trust others as much as I trust myself.

Help me earn an honest living.

Help me reach out to others.

Help me accept a helping hand.

Help me accept, and forgive those who don't have VALUES.

Beach Nut Gumbo Ice Cream

My friend Captain Ayé and his crew traveled from the City of Angels to the Gilroy's Garlic Festival in the northern sector of the golden state, California. Ships log note and record an encounter with "The Pod Creature" from the Gilroy growing fields, his name, Bubba Clove. As luck would have it, he was not dressed to kill.

The Captain and his crew were able to escape only to meet the double dealing "Cone Man" selling Allium sativa.

Garlic Ice Cream?

Here's the scoop...

Glad to say, the Captain and his crew have returned to a healthy lifestyle.

My vampire hot line tells me, the guzzle goons, and blood suckers will have to hunt elsewhere when they are feeling a pint low. And for an added bonus due to the miracle sweet idea bulb, all home base computers are worm free.

My guess is Captain Ayé will be up for a promotion soon. With his taste for adventure, the vampires haven't got a chance.

Thick Skin and Sweetheart

"Are we're having an adventure Mama?"
"Yes Sweetheart, you could say we are having a real adventure."
"Learning to roll out of the ol' mud hole is hard work. Why?"
"To teach us how to be persnickety."
"What is per-snick-ety?"
"Persnickety is knowing exactly where you are standing in the mud hole, and where everybody else is standing in relationship to you."
"Huh?"
"Persnickety is choosing who stands by your side. Choosing those you trust, so you can be safe and enjoy your mud bath."
"Why do we have to have mud baths Mama?"
"Well Honey, because thick skin can be rather tender, and we need protection from the sun's rays and bloodsuckers."
"Are bloodsuckers per-snick-ety?"
"No. That's why we need to learn how to persevere and persistently out smart them."
" What is per-severe, and per-sis-tent?"
"Ask your friends to help you out the next time you're in the mud hole."
"Okay! In that case I better learn to be persnickety."

The Crown of Air

Sacred keep the mountain view,
The candor caravan of Capulet.
Now only slow Summer days to savor.
Sweet lips press the cup to satisfy,
My Lady's apple pie, the Kettle River...

Fleeting moments travel pass.
This standing so all alone.
Heaven's gate on blue bird wings.
Warm arms reach out to touch,
Her wished for dreams before cast.

What difference thought we,
On pine papered poems of love,
Sent in secret,
Passed down from above,
Below the kins knowing mind.


Before the water came,
Lightening, thunder, darkness in the rain.
Sacred sent in secret,
Still standing all alone,
Damn, the caravan of Capulet.

It's An Italian Thing

Are all people touched by something? Does the flow energy take noodles and meatballs?

As my uncle Nick Cucci would say, "Non é tutt' oro quel che luce / All that glitters is not gold, and prestare attenzione/ pay attention."

Uncle Nick helped develop the petroleum fields in Egypt and Saudi Arabia before they were nationalized. He made big bucks and retired to Pebble Beach to play golf everyday. My aunt Vera owned a restaurant in California and drove herself into the back of a stopped eighteen wheeler. She was going over a hundred miles an hour, driving under the influence of alcohol. Maybe with the helping hand of a twelve-step group she could have slowed down and received the help she needed.

When I now gaze up at the night's sky, I believe they wink back at me, my family of many colours and bright lights. My uncle Nick and aunt Vera's lives were filled with the excitement of adventure, the quest for romance, and sad to say, great tragedy. The memories of my family are a tangle of odd ball stories, treasures I hold close to my heart, they feed me when I hunger for love.

Writing, like a good ragú ( pasta sauce) takes hours to create. Good cooking comes with experience, attention to detail and a desire for excellence. Fresh herbs the memories, aromatic spice the artistic verisimilitude that works together to enhance a memorable meal. The unseen garnish is always a touch of love from above.

Gag Factor of Insufferable Intelligence

After reading a search page on Google intitled "Gag Factor", I need to get off the information highway for awhile, and wash off the trail dirt.

Woo Chow's Kung Foo Steak

A swift hand reaches out, fingers lightly sweep across the chest of his shirt as she brushes between them, and sonders down the sidewalk. Only one of the three bystanders catches a glimpse of her Mona Lisa smile.

"Her name is Esmeralda Jackson." Leaning his back and one foot against the red brick building that faces the busy city street, Bobby Joe Benson fishes in this shirt pocket for a crumpled soft pack of American Spirit cigarettes.

"Damn!" he says in a low almost whining tone, as he gently taps one of few remaining cigarettes in the pack, and raises it to his dry cracked lips.

"She's one brassy lady with a heart of gold. Packs everything she owns in that raggie old pack sack." His right hand digs deep in his dirty military camouflage pants pocket searching among his own carried treasures. He straightens his arm then bends his elbow, expertly opening the brushed silver zeppo against his thigh. The familiar "click" is a second ahead of the flame... the lighter raises to meet the unfiltered cigarette. In a cloud of gray smoke Bobby Joe's up-turned chin motions toward a short wiry person walking against the crowd.

"That was a woman?" says a young office worker. His white shirt and tie are spotless, the puzzled look on his face, priceless. The girl hanging on his arm snuggles closer for assurance, comfort against a gust of icy wind.

"You better get her home, she looks like she seen a ghost."

Bobby Joe casually returns the zippo to his pocket and steps away from the wall.

Down the alley behind a overflowing dumpster, a man on his hands and knees retches several times before spueing the contents of his stomach on the concrete. Another man lay face down not moving.

"Go on now, I'll take care of those two. They won't be bothering you, or anybody again. You get her home where she's safe."

"What was her name again? I didn't get a chance to thank her, it all happened so fast."

Gusts of wind carring the smell of fried grease from the large rotating fan above the Chinese restaurant's back door reminds Bobby Joe he hasn't eaten in several days.

"Her name is Esmeralda Jackson. Sergeant Major Esmeralda Jackson, now go on, get out of here." The tone of Bobby's voice changes to a low growl of authority.

Pulling on the young man's arm, the young woman is pleading in her body language. The couple quickly walk down the street, hailing a cab that pulls to quickly to the curb.

Bobby's smile fades, his eyes redden as he walks into the shadows and towards the man on his knees. With teeth gnashing he takes the last puff of cigarette, and flicks the butt against the alley wall.

"Thank you Ms. Jackson for tenderizing my tenderloin."

USA Paper Wipes Tails In China

This is one of the photos emailed to me from my Spanish language and art teacher Charlene.

News travels fast in this age of electronic information, but for how long?

United States valuable natural resources are being exported to other countries at an alarming rate while the majority of Americana's people sit ideally wondering why their hard earned money is going down the plastic drain pipe.

For those who are blazing the information digital trail through our governments wasteful drain of taxes know the end may be near unless the American people stand up, tighten their belts, and get to work using their heads to vote for balancing the books on economic issues.

Holding corrupt governmental elected officials accountable for their flush disposable spending is common sense. Keeping a focus on world issues while finding solutions to the fast sinking of United States citizen's household debit is frankly crucial if Americans want to remain free.

The price of freedom is in our natural resources which are being sold off cheaply to meet foreign demands. In return, the American public is being fed a study diet of preprocessed crap.

The Whole Story

After several hours of surfing the net late one night, I came across this photo on a political blog. God forgive me, I don't know why, but I snagged it.

Get the picture?

A wooden statue with a copper catheter brings new meaning to: propane, he's on the beaten path, and son you light up my life.

What does the picture say to you?

Please, rush to post tacky feedback comments.

As you very well can see, woody may be a dangerous "Splinter Oh Bomb" in the making.

Blue boy stand back, the man has deadly gas!

Miniature golf can be a deadly game to play.

And for those who like to sing...google the lyrics of Ernie Marrs...The Dance Jesus Song.

CQ-CQ-CQ

A mountain meadow on the third planet from the sun called Earth isn't the worst place to land a cargo vessel. However, the ship suffered some damage to the breaking system after landing.

As you can see by the photo, one ground grabber has deflated. Actually all four should be replaced for safety reasons. The cost is beyond my limited funds at this time, and yet to travel to the Southern regions of this planet their replacement would be prudent. My ship is in good working order, and that's a blessing. Local fuel prices limit any exploratory ventures at this time. Most encounters with the local species have been interesting and quite educational in my understanding of this planet.

Whether I leave for the southern regions, or stay through the winter is dependent on many variables. It was rather cold last night and my heating fuel supply is low. Compared to what locals say is needed to get me through another winter here, my energy supply is dangerously low. I must be prepared to leave, and yet to make a decision now without gathering more information seems foolish. Communications with support team has been difficult due to low levels of gamma rays. Without help, my assignment seems to be doomed, and yet I believe there is hope for me in this world.

It's a beautiful day, and I need to walk along the river to reduce unnecessary built up stress levels. A healthy dose of gratitude and some fresh air is what is called for right now.

I will continue further communications transmissions this afternoon.

Voilá! Arcenciel

The path to the other side,
A slide of colours bright in hue descend.
Frea fragmentary this I of me.
Yet feel the hope to touch again,
The hand of God I call friend.

Bridge of tears the trail above.
Fragile. Slight. Frail.
My soul did fall for love.
Now caught in misery, a mire.. jail,
Remembering my empty cup, the Grail.

Afternoon Shadow

It's a beautiful day outside, so quite I can hear the flag snapping in the breeze. A lady who owns the big ranch down the road rode by on horseback not to long ago. She had two cattle dogs with her, so of course Sarah pulled the eye-hook from the post where she was chained. I apologized and drought her into the house. This is open range country where cattle ranchers have the right of way.

"We'll be driving cattle through here later this afternoon. When those folks..." she nods her head toward the house barely visible on the other side of a thick stand of pine trees on the hillside. Her horse steps sideways as she talks to me. "...the ones that had those big white dogs. The ones before those new people with the kids moved in. I would have to call ahead of time to make sure they would take their dogs in when we needed to move some cows."

"Don't worry about Sarah, I'll keep her in the house until you drive the cattle past here. I don't let her run because she might chase the new fawns. She doesn't know any better not to chase deer, or cows."

We talk about her horse. I comment about the horses I had on my small farm in Pennsylvania. I ask myself will the pain ever go away as I walk with Sarah back to the cabin. Do I suffer from envy? Ya.

Later I getup from my writing desk for a cup of coffee, a baby snake of some kind is coiled up on the bricks in front of the wood stove. Quickly I grab a mixing bowl off the kitchen counter and scoop it up before Sarah has a chance to kill the poor thing. Outside I take a picture, then let it go. It scurries into the wood pile. The photo isn't very good, yet it's enough for me to use as identification later. I know it's not poisonous. I'm just curious as to it Latin name.

The breeze picks up, old Red, White, and Blue waves proudly. Many might say I should take her down because she's tattered and frayed. I choose not to because she's the only flag I have. Today is the forth of July, and a raggedy Old Glory is better than no Glory at all.

Needs

See, each moment a small miracle found,

Sweet blessings of life's magic,

Slowing the mix of thoughts on wing.

Drinking eye shows,

Pie-eyed on beauity sweet sound.

Needle In A Haystack

I found the needle Dad!
The mordant mores tried to stick it in my eye.
I morphed into a eagle, a bear, a matrix butterfly,
And flew through the portal of time.
Loves consequence of what you gave to me,
My twice blessed ticket a golden key.
Consequence, recompense in the lock of descent distinction.
Pietistic elite! She rans on defeat.
Where do all the whiggish go when they run?
To Hell with the digital funny money.
Consequence, recompence, this land of the mighty and brave,
Stave off the foreign master's despot desolation.
Remember yellow waves of past desperation?
History is a tall tale,
Hit-and-run a market swindle game.
I found the needle Dad,
And the thread of truth in so many lies.
The ticket paid with sweat, blood, and tears.
And me with no stack of my own.
Such is Rome and the pietistic elite.
She's still the apple of my eye.

Saving For The Future, Mountain Grown

Above the average bare who wear the texture of strength and fortitude worn with a handmade silver fibula fasten at the shoulder with love.

The Fair Stratagem

Eureka is a captivating little frontier town tucked away between two mountains passes. A place where unsuspecting.... strangers come to get away from the poison gasses of city life among other reasons. If they linger to long, they may discover the haunting truth about the quantal place, the native people, and what lurks within the many abandoned mines.
The frightened townsfolk mass together, safety in numbers is their joie de vivre rule. Power lines feed electric wattage to hungry power consumers, never the less, calamities dispassion lays claim to giving the devil his due. And a river of tears flows to the sea in the name of half-hearted poverty.

The Portal Crossing

Siskiyou sat very still, starring at his salad plate, in deep thought, private hell... the look of a honorable man faced with an unsolvable dilemma. The salad dressing had a delicate magical flavor. He had to admit, Bobby Twofeathers was an exceptional apprentice chief. The new Commandor of the Western Republic Free Space Sector had not tasted such food in months. The smell of roast chicken continued to drift from the kitchen. Sweet floating ribbons of caramelized potatoes, carrots, turnips mingled, weaving their way from his nose to torture his mind and his empty growling belly.

The lights flickered several times in rapped succession, dimming ever so slowly until darkness folded like the sealing of a letter in an envelope.

"Not to worry." said Victor cheerfuly.

"How romantic!" Gertrude cooed. Shay Patrick leaned carefully forward toward the table's center piece, an arrangement of imported North Carolina magnolias and short needle evergreens with several candles artfully placed here and there on the white linen cloth. A metalic click sounded. The flame from the American made Zeppo lighter lit up the dark room like a torch. After lighting the table candles, Shay lit the tall candelabra that sat on the birds eye cherry credenza next to the rather large bouquet of purple lilacs.

"You are most correct my dear Gertrude. Romance is a mood that may be found in the most unfortunate circumstances." Soft light cast flickering shadows on Victor's porkchop

cheeks, his beadywide eyes were shinning brightly, reflecting the study flame of the homemade candles. The magic beeswax candles, a birthday gift given to Pendragon by Gertrude.

"Mother please, it's hard enough to sit here. This opulence is obscene. People in other worlds are starving. Wars rage throughout many lands while we sit here and play nice nice." Commander Dean Siskiyou's voice quivered in anger. He made a sweeping motion over the table. The candles flickered in the motion of air disturbed by the wave of his hand. We are consuming more food in this one sitting than some families I know eat in a month.

"My word." Jeff said, rolling his eyes at Shay Patrick who looked dumb struck.

"Well la-tee-DA! Tisk-tisk, and all that Jolly Rot." Siskiyou oozed, gripped his salad fork as if he were squeezing Jeffery's neck. The cutting edge of his voice, and his starring eyes were razor sharp.

"That's enough of that boys. I won't warn you again." Turning her head to look at Pendragon. She continued. "You must forgive Dean, he tends to be a bit sanguinary, bearish at times. It must be difficult to slide between the many poor and war torn worlds he visits. His passion to save the Republic Federation from the evil alien Corporate Magistrate is-- I suspect directly inherited from his father side of the family. I will say no more on the subject."

Thumping sounds could be heard from the kitchen, it was Junior chewing on his ham bone.

CloudMaker Mountain

Standing rigid and silent with his big hands tightly gripping the back of the dinning room chair, the stranger awaits Pendragons return from the kitchen and his little pep talk with Bobby.
The smell of cannon and gunpowder slowly wafts down the hallway, through the living room, and into the dinning room. Jeff and Shay Patrick look at each other in a casual haut monde manner, and roll their eyes.
"Captain Siskiyou, let me introduce you to my good friends, this is..."
"It's Commander now Victor. I do not wish to seem rude, but I have read the files on each of your friends that now sit at this table and..."
Gertrude stood up abruptly, her small blue eyes sending daggers of light at Siskiyou.
"I'm sure you have Commander, however, you will conduct yourself as a gentle man and an officer at this table. I am aware that you have come through from a parallel world at war. As you know this is a place of peace, a neutrality zone. Pendragon's hard working apprentice Bobby Twofeathers has been so gracious as to prepare a wonderful meal for us, and you will enjoy his efforts. Do I make myself clear Commander?"
"Yes Mother."
With his mouth agape, Pendragon's soup spoon shuttered to an abrupt stop, as did Shay Patricks. Bobby had just picked up the tail end of the conversation as he came from the kitchen carrying the heavy crystal salad bowl.
"Gertrude, you didn't tell us Captain Siskiyou is your son."
"Sit down dear Bobby, your Créme au Potiron is delightful. Don't you agree Jeffery? Jeff's head nodded like a glued on back window baseball Kewpie doll, minus the grin. Victor raised his napkin, light dabbed at the yellow soup that had spilled on his silk vest.
"The Chicken is done, although I think the oven needs calibrating."

A howl erupted from the back yard, a mournful howl as ever was to be heard on the moors of Lockmab. The windows suddenly shook as thunder and lighting light up the night sky. The rain pours down as if it would never stop.
"Go get your dog big shot." said Gertrude with a wave of her hand towards the kitchen and the backdoor."
"I'll get him for you." Bobby was up and heading for the kitchen before anyone had a chance to say a word. He peeked in the warming oven for a moment to check on his chicken, grabbed a large towel from the linen rack, then opened the back door. The wolfhound stood with a most mournful sadness about him. Those sad eyes tugged at Bobby's heartstrings. "Get in here Junior you're soaking wet and freezing by the looks of you." The ham bone remained firmly clinched in the big dogs teeth. Bobby bent to cover the shivering hound with a towel before he had a chance to shake water all over Pendragon's kitchen floor. "Dang dog, I need another towel".
"Here Bobby." Victor handed bobby a large towel, and lay a wool blanket down.
"He's gonna make a mess Mr. Pendragon."
"I know. It's okay, we can clean it up later. He'll be warm and safe for now."
"How come things never seem to turn out the way you would like them to?"
"Never? Are you giving up? "Victor Pendragon's smile always made Bobby feel better. Chin up my boy, wash your hands, and serve our guests their dinner. I'll open that special bottle of white wine I've been saving. I think this occasion calls for something special to go with your rosemary and thyme roast chicken.
The wolfhound lay with his head down as he stretched out on the warm wool blanket. Junior's big eyes seemed follow Victor and Bobby's every move as they returned to the dinning room. His big paw remained draped protectively over the well gnawed ham bone. Some things, like true friendship are worth holding on to.

Ham Bone Magic

Bobby pauses momentarily, almost respectfully, as he places both hands on the counter, and leans forward with his head down. As Mr. Pendragon's apprentice he has spent hours mopping floors, scrubbing pots, peeling vegetables...an experience that was not wasted on him. No one had ever given him a chance before Mr. Pendragon came into his life. Victor was a hard task-master, one had to earn the right to apprentice in his book. Bobby Twofeathers wouldn't give up, he would show up everyday at Pendragons door asking if he could help in some small way. To have a passion to learn about cooking is more than just wanting to cook, it's about loving those you feed, that's where the real magic is.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, bobby reaches for the large cut crystal salad bowl, and the fresh herb dressing.
"What weighs heavy on you Bobby?" Victor's hand rest lightly on Bobby's shoulder. "When you do your best you're really in competition with yourself you know. We're here not to judge, or criticize your cooking skills Bobby, but to enjoy and share each others friendship. Food is a good way to do just that. Soon you will understand that the best cooks keep trying to please themselves first. Now into the dinning room with you and let me introduce you to Captain Siskiyu. That man will eat almost anything when he's hungry. By the way, isn't there a ham bone I was saving for stock in the refrigerator? I'm sure Junior would appreciate something to sink his teeth into."
"That big dogs name is Junior? Bruno, or Cereabus, Killer seems fitting... but Junior?"
A low growl comes from behind Pendragaon's big butt.
"Oh!" says Victor. "We were just talking about you."
A curled lip snarl and a rack of white fangs seemed less frightening than the Irish Wolfhounds big eyes that stared directly at Bobby.
"Don't you be drooling on my kitchen floor Junior, or I'll have Gertrude turn you into a Pink Poodle."
Throwing the ham bone out the back door, the Wolfhound was not far behind.. bounding out into the yard as if he were a happy pup.
"He might be big and scary looking my dear man, however, from the stories I've heard, he has saved Captain Siskiyu's life on many occasion."