Last night Daphne wriggled into her long johns and stretch corduroys; laced up her knee high boots; threw on her down coat; adjusted her trapper’s hat; chose the red gloves for a bit of color and finally wrapped her face in a long grey scarf. Thusly encased in wool, down, and fur and despite feeling a bit like a the Michelin woman, she briskly walked to the garage, pulled the car out and drove to town to meet Cowboy Clay at the watering hole.
Clay (clad only in an insulated shirt and a Carhartt vest) laughed at her get up. Gladys the waitress yelled, “Don’t pay him any mind. That’s the way I dressed up today too to walk to work.”
Daphne sidled up to Clay as Claudia slid a Pinot Grigio her way. She smiled sweetly and replied, “I enjoy feeling my feet, fingers, and face, that’s all. And don’t start with the “Cowboy Up” malarkey. It’s 5 degrees. It’s fricking cold.”
Just then Sonny breezed in and Claudia slid a Cab his way. “Fricking cold,” he announced, much to Daphne’s glee, “Looks like it might be a two dog night.”
Daphne knew this was a cue to ask Sonny to tell another tall tale as he liked to do. “So what’s a “two dog night?”
“Well, I heard a story from a friend of mine. A bunch of hunters went out hunting on this 200,000 acre ranch far from any town. By late afternoon everybody was back at the ranch house except two of their party and their dog. The rest of them looked for them until dark, but then there was nothing to do until morning. So the next morning, they set out and finally found them in their vehicle; alive but really really cold. The one hunter said, “It was a two dog night, but we only had one dog.”
Clay laughed and said he knew an old sheepherder. Clay had asked him what he did when the temperature dropped below zero. The old guy said, “I just pulled up another dog.”
“I wonder what a three dog night is?” Daphne mused as Daphne often did.
“Well, I know it’s a band,” said Sonny.
“From the Seventies,” Clay offered.
Everybody nodded and tried to remember any of their songs and strangely enough were all at a loss for words.
“Well, I guess it’s time for you to get out that I Pad and find out,” said Sonny.
This is what makes nowadays a bit different than the old days when you had to wait for somebody to walk in the door who knew the answer to the question. In this case it would be one of the music experts like Cal or Thelma, but they were nowhere near. So Daphne got out the I Pad and looked them up.
“Yep, formed in 1968 and had a lot of hits like “One” and “Joy to the World.”
“That was a b.s. song, said Clay, “Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe they were influenced by the Beatles. You know since we all live in a yellow submarine we would want the fishes to be happy,” Sonny theorized.
“That’s funny,” Daphne said, “We’re having shrimp stir fry tonight.”
This is when everybody paused and knew it was time to go home.
“Says here that the name of the band comes from an article one of the band members read about how the Aborigines crawled into a cave and bedded down with a wild dog, a Dingo. But when it went below zero, they had to find three Dingos. Hence, it would be a three dog night, “Daphne related. So what would happen tonight as it is surely is going to drop below zero?”
“I guess I’ll take the dog,” Clay smiled.
“Well, then, I guess I’ll take the electric blanket,” she grinned.
Fun
(This is the second in “The Grand” series. The first one was “Old Blisters” that introduces the cast of characters.)
It is another cold and windy night in Little Twig, Montana. The temperature had been below zero for almost a week, but with the rise in temperature to above zero, the wind had picked up again. You could hear it howl and it made the sign outside the saloon bash against the bricks. It was the usual cast of characters at The Grand sitting at booths and at the bar. Daphne is sipping a Sauvignon Blanc. She is dressed all in black with a jaunty grey cloche on her head. Cowboy Clay with a Chardonnay in hand is next to her talking to Carl who is nursing a micro brew when Sonny breezes in and sees a spot next to Clay. Claudia pours him a glass of Merlot.
Clay: How’s it goin’?
Sonny: Not bad. Just came in from Idaho and it’s really dry.
Clay: Is it like California? I hear that’s bad.
Sonny: Well, those Californians are just going to have to decide whether they want to take a shower and flush the toilet or eat.
Daphne chimes in: Is that really the choice? Flush or starve? Can’t the Ag business use less water? I mean it’s not like they are a bunch of small family farms growing enough for themselves and the people in their towns. Don’t they export most of the lettuce, tomatoes, pomegranates, almonds?
Sonny: Well, they are family farms, just really big ones. And they have the long water rights.
Well, the discussion went on for a few minutes about who owns what and how water rights came to be through mining rights and taxpayers rights versus corporations rights and Beverly Hills farmers and manifest destiny and survival of the fittest before a truce was called and they went back to talking about the weather.
Clay: Some trucker said his temperature reading went from 20 below to 60 below for a few miles past Reed Point.
Daphne: What shall I play on the Juke? Lorde or Alan Jackson?
Clay: Whatever you want, Darlin’?
Daphne: Oh and I brought some pears if anybody wants some.
Sonny: I’ll take two. I like to drizzle a little balsamic on them and sprinkle with a little blue cheese. Thanks!
I had fun last night. Different people have different ways of having fun. And most people have various ways of having fun. But one of my favorite ways of having fun is a lively discussion of something or other. In that respect, I should have been born French where I could go out to a cafe after work and philosophize with friends over a nice bottle of wine and some oysters and good bread. We could talk about anything but the weather unless it was about how the weather might influence our moods or our art. We could talk about who could call themselves writers and who couldn’t. Or who was an artist? Or was all life and thus all art futile? Continue reading →
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Posted in Low Places, Montana Life, Social Commentary, The Grand
Tagged bars, fun, leisure, Montana, The Baffler, work