Willy Eugene’s Pet Bull

We were all seated in a big booth at the rear of Andy’s restaurant having breakfast. The time was early, way before the rooster crows, and along with breakfast we were havin’ us one of them deep Southern dee-skush’uns. We always eat at Andy’s in the early mornings before we go hunting or fishing. It was located in a small hole in the wall next to the bus stop.

This morning the group is made of Bubba, William Robert (Billy Bob), Uncle Floyd, T-Bone, and me. Of course, as soon as we were seated Uncle Andy joined us at the table. Finally, after a few long minutes Bubba stands and yells, “Nurse! We need some coffee over heah!”

Every head in the place turns to look at this loud mouth redneck dressed in bibs, flannel shirt, boots, and ball cap. Yep, you guessed it; he looked like all the rest of us. Be hard to pick him out in a po-leese line up if we were with him, since we all wore the same clothing. Well, maybe not that difficult since he is a fairly big boy. As soon as Nadine Lucille turned and started toward our table, Bubba sat back down.

“Bubba,” Nadine said as she bent over and poured his coffee, “What is all this shoutin’ ‘bout a nurse?”

Bubba gave her a big crooked grin and said, “Well, when I was hurt in the Vee-it-nam War, the onliest way I could get what I needed in the V.A. horse’pital was to scream fer a nurse.”

“Oh, ya, was a war hero Bubba. I didn’t know that.” Nadine leaned forward until her face was almost touching Bubba’s as she spoke. I know he could feel her breath on his cheeks. I watched in anticipation as white pepper gravy ran off Bubba’s lip and slowly down the right side of his cheek.

Nadine raised her right hand and softly wiped the gravy off Bubba’s cheek. She gave him a big smile, followed with a wink. She then stood, put her hands on her hips and said, “I just love war hero’s.”

I suspect she was going to say more, but then the small bell mounted above the door jingled and an older couple entered. Nadine gave us a big smile and said, “But, I can’t talk right now Bubba Lee, cause here comes Mister Johnson with his old lady. Ya boys need anythang, give me a yell.”

“Speakin’ of luck. Did ya all hear ‘bout what them tore’nad’ders done to Willy Eugene’s place when they blew through heah las’ week?” Asked uncle Floyd asked out of the blue. I thought, who was speakin’ of luck?

I took a sip of my buttermilk, wiped off my mouth with the back of my hand and said, “Nope. But, I thought everyone was safe. I didn’t hear of nobody a-gettin’ hurt.”

“Nobody hurt, but Willy lost his mobile home, a chicken coop and a pretty long stretch of wooded fence line. It’s likely to take him a spell repairin’ it too. They’re still a-findin’ chickens in the woods and from different directions for miles,” Bubba added.

“I heard his rooster crows at odd hours since the storm. He told me hit crowed a little after midnight the other night. He said he didn’t know what time hit was, so he got up and headed to work. Willy said he was half way to work ‘fore he realized his rooster had gone psycho on him,” Billy Bob stated in a voice filled with knowledge.

“Cycle? Ya mean he done taught that rooster to ride a bicycle. Now, that would be a thang to see wouldn’t it Mule?” Bubba asked me with a big tooth-gapped grin.

“Did his live stock get out of it? They all make it?” I asked as I scooped up the last bite of hot pork sausage on my plate.

“Bubba, ya quit now. Ya know ‘zackly what I meant. Yer just a-bein’ stoo-pit.” Billy Bob said in a voice that shook more that just a little from frustration.

“Ev’thang but one dawg. His bagel and his puddle are ok. But, His pet bull didn’t make ‘er. Right now, ev’body is a-livin’ in the barn. They are at least till Willy can get a new used double wide mobile home back up on cinder blocks,” Added Floyd as he looked around the table. I noticed gravy on his chin, but didn’t say anything.

“His pet bull? I didn’t even know he had a bull. ‘Course everybody knows he’s got a few head of old cows,” Billy Bob commented as he put his coffee cup down with a loud bang.

Uncle Floyd pulled out his old brier pipe and placed it between his teeth empty before he continued his story. “Not his pet bull, his pet bull. You know, his dawg. His pet bull.”

“Floyd, they are called pit bulls, not pet bulls.” Billy Bob said.

“Pit bull, pet bull, it don’t pay me no never mind. Y’all know what I’m a-talkin’ ‘bout and I’m a-talkin’ ‘bout dawgs. Ya know, a pet bull is a dawg with a permanent case of PNS,” Floyd said with a deep tone of frustration in his voice.

“He had in-shore-ance didn’t he? And that is PMS, Floyd, not PNS,” Bubba said as he pulled out one of the cheap cigars he smoked.

“I can’t see what he sees in them pet bulls. They are ‘bout as friendly that big city di-vorce lawyer Bubba’s wife had a while back.” T-Bone said with a grin.

“Nope, no in-shore-ance. His mo’bile home was a gift from his momma-in-law and it wasn’t in-shored at all. And, Bubba, I don’t care if it is PMS and not PNS. It don’t matter none to me, ‘cause ya knew what I meant all along,” Floyd commented with a flushed face.

“Yep, them pet bulls is just like lawyers, they both go fer yer throat and the kill,” Bubba interjected quickly.

I looked at my watch and realized it was going to be daylight in less than an hour.