Mountain Cowgirl
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- Joined
- Mar 19, 2021
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I was reading that the Wienermobile has been renamed the Frankmobile.
If only I had known the correct pronoun back in the day. I could have saved myself from the wrath of BC's, humorless, old, cranky, and alcoholic judge.
I found my original story of the event, that was published in a country living magazine along with some of my other cliff hangin adventures.
The Dog
Back in the 1970s, while waiting for a range fence job to be approved up the mountain from my place, I took a job painting a house for an old couple in town.
Anyway, as I am painting away happy as can be, and I see a car pull up, a very short guy (about the size of Danny Devito) in a suit gets out with a briefcase, opens the gate to the neighbor's yard, walks in and halfway down the walk is suddenly rushed by a yapping Dachshund. He starts backing up and the dog rushes him, leaps up, and bites him in the crotch, and the dog's teeth get hung up on the guy's pants fly. The guy starts yelling and beating the dog with his briefcase, finally knocking the little yapper off. The dog staggers around and finally takes off yapping at a very high pitch.
A very heavy unkempt lady comes out and starts cussing at the guy who quickly retreats to his car and takes off. The police arrive and question me as to what I saw. I tell them my story and give them my contact info, then I go back to painting.
A few days later I am served with a summons to appear in small claims court. The lady was suing the salesman for the vet bill (checking the dog over) (the dog was found to be uninjured) and the salesman was countersuing for damage to his pants. The judge back then, Old Earl, had no sense of humor and didn't care much for young, unmarried, independent, working ranch women.
After I told the court what I saw, referring to the dog as a small dog, the judge said to me in a gruff sarcastic tone, " Well if it isn't too much trouble or inconvenience for you young lady, tell us what breed of dog you saw attack the salesman?"
"Well I am no expert on dog breeds," I said sweetly, "but I am guessing it was a Weiner dog."
BAM BAM BAM went the gavel and I was scolded and threatened by old Earl to never disrespect his court like that ever again.
If only I had known the correct pronoun back in the day. I could have saved myself from the wrath of BC's, humorless, old, cranky, and alcoholic judge.
I found my original story of the event, that was published in a country living magazine along with some of my other cliff hangin adventures.
The Dog
Back in the 1970s, while waiting for a range fence job to be approved up the mountain from my place, I took a job painting a house for an old couple in town.
Anyway, as I am painting away happy as can be, and I see a car pull up, a very short guy (about the size of Danny Devito) in a suit gets out with a briefcase, opens the gate to the neighbor's yard, walks in and halfway down the walk is suddenly rushed by a yapping Dachshund. He starts backing up and the dog rushes him, leaps up, and bites him in the crotch, and the dog's teeth get hung up on the guy's pants fly. The guy starts yelling and beating the dog with his briefcase, finally knocking the little yapper off. The dog staggers around and finally takes off yapping at a very high pitch.
A very heavy unkempt lady comes out and starts cussing at the guy who quickly retreats to his car and takes off. The police arrive and question me as to what I saw. I tell them my story and give them my contact info, then I go back to painting.
A few days later I am served with a summons to appear in small claims court. The lady was suing the salesman for the vet bill (checking the dog over) (the dog was found to be uninjured) and the salesman was countersuing for damage to his pants. The judge back then, Old Earl, had no sense of humor and didn't care much for young, unmarried, independent, working ranch women.
After I told the court what I saw, referring to the dog as a small dog, the judge said to me in a gruff sarcastic tone, " Well if it isn't too much trouble or inconvenience for you young lady, tell us what breed of dog you saw attack the salesman?"
"Well I am no expert on dog breeds," I said sweetly, "but I am guessing it was a Weiner dog."
BAM BAM BAM went the gavel and I was scolded and threatened by old Earl to never disrespect his court like that ever again.
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