Saturday, August 5, 2017

Little Devil and that mean old mongoose.

Little Devil heard the mail order houseware salesman before he saw him.  He ran out to the big Buick 8, ready for a stick of candy from the fat man.  But the salesman had something else in the back of his car.

A mongoose.

The mongoose became incensed when it saw the rooster embroidered on the back of Little Devil's jeans.  That thing chased the boy all around the yard, chased him until the mongoose got tired and went to hurt some water to drink.

When the dust settled, we could all hear Uncle Dog laughing from his bed in the front room.  Uncle Dog had been bedridden since grade school, when his lady love shot him, and the wound had been slowly killing him since.  He bled little by little from the wound.  One would think it would infect and then kill him, but that would be merciful.

It was some bad mojo letting him live and suffer, and now the bitter old man was laughing at his little nephew.

We didn't order any dinner plates that particular day, but we did catch the mongoose around back drinking rainwater from a discarded milkglass gravy boat.

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