The Fan Club

There was a time when it was not so uncommon for a young lady to walk past the house several times as I toiled shirtless in the yard, or to stop her vehicle while I worked, whether to ask directions, or to comment on the beauty of the lawn, or for any other excuse she might find to stop. But I have to admit to some surprise this morning when the car with two lovely young ladies slowed and stopped in front of the house, as the occurrences have slowed in direct relation to my growing width and graying head. Their excitement actually bubbled over into giggles as the driver rolled down her window, “Excuse me, are you by any chance Huckleberry_Hoo?”

Taken aback, as the “_Hoo” ending is obviously a pen-name, I stopped my work and wiped my John Deere ball cap across my forehead as I contemplated from where they might have learned of that particular nomenclature. Regardless, it would be a lie if I said my chest did not swell a bit to have two such young pretties inquiring. I shut down my string trimmer, sucked in my tummy, and walked over to the car so that we could more easily converse. I had concluded that these were obviously young Prosers with impeccable taste and were familiar with my work, a budding fan club if you will! “Why yes, I proudly exclaimed, “I am Huckleberry_Hoo. How may I be of service?”

“And over there... is that General Sherman?”

I looked over to where my dog Sherman lounged glassy-eyed in the chaise where he had been manning his post behind the card table with a sign exclaiming:

Try

“General Sherman’s Paw-Made

Deliciously Hard-Lemonade”

(It’s dog-gone good!)

“Why yes, that is Sherman. Why do you ask?”

“We were wondering if he might like to go for a ride?” They began giggling again.

“I expect that he would love to, but I am afraid you will have to come back later as he is currently engaged in gainful employment!“

The driver opened her door and whistled. I could see the joy in Sherman’s face... damned dog, anything to get out of work. They drove away with Sherman on the console between the front seats, his sun-glassed face poked through the sun roof, his ears, gums and Elvis bandana happily flapping the breeze.

Two hours later they were back. The yardwork done, I was reclining in the hammock with one of Sherman’s famous (and truly delicious) cocktails when the earlier mentioned driver solemnly approached me. “Mr. _Hoo, Sherman and I have decided to marry. He will be coming to live with me.”

Well now, here was a kicker! “Missy, you do understand that Sherman is a dog, correct?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak about my future husband that way.”

“Well then, tell me this, do you by any chance watch television?”

“No. Well only “The Bachelor”, and “AGT”, and sometimes “DWTS”, or “The Voice”, and “The View”, but no, not really.”

I laid back in my hammock secure in my belief that this case of young love would never last, safe in the knowledge that no one can ever love another person’s dog. “All right, then. I guess you should be together then. Take him.”

The wife and I were on the porch after supper, tossing a ball into the lawn for my “regular” dog, Josey Wales, when the “Ring” rang. My phone’s screen showed the young lady from this morning on the front porch, leash in hand. “We are on the back porch, Missy,” I laughed. “Bring him on ’round!”

There was a tear in her eye as she told us the wedding was off and handed me a bill for $4,000 for ‘engraved invitations on parchment paper’. It seems that Sherman attacked their TV whenever a commercial with an animal on it appeared, and all of the commercials seem to have one. “He also drank my father’s bottle of Johnnie Walker’s Gold Label! What a horrid little dog he is! And you trying to push him off on an unsuspecting stranger... you should be ashamed! You are worse than Trump!”

I could not contain my laughter as Sherman’s betrothed stormed off. “Now, you see there Pooky-Bear! There is what Proser’s get when they skim and don’t read the whole story. You just cannot retain what you read when you only skim, and often you miss the most important and best stuff!”

Glad our little family was back together, I whistled a happy warning. “Come dogs! Get in the truck... let’s run get some pecans, peaches and watermelon to celebrate General Sherman’s continued availability!

And so we did.