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"Lessons from a Pro"

June 8, 2017

     We'd spent the entire day learning about apples.  Now, it was time to eat.

 

     “Dinner.  Pull up a chair Doolittle, Kretia, Golpher.  We’ll hob nob and chow down.”

 

     “Good, sir.”  Eyeing treats I licked lips.

 

     “Thank you.”  Kretia smiled.  She put her hand on a chair about an oval, oak table.  Inhaling, she then said, “It was an honest day’s work.  I was fascinated, Doolittle and I were, by your lesson today Mr. Gregory, and by all the apples.”

 

     Food was on the table.  The smell was causing my tummy to tingle.

 

     James grinned and reached.  “Yes.  A day’s work was great, wasn’t it?  No apples to dice now, we’ve fried chicken, slaw, and sweet corn to gnaw on.  An honest day’s work begets an honest to goodness, hungry-man’s meal.  I won’t lie to you.  I love fried chicken.  Don’t be shy.”  He pointed.  “Dig in.”

 

     There was no rain-delay for us.  In a flash, we all put our paws on fried chicken, sundries, and on an ice-cold drink. 

 

     Doolittle took a bite.  “Ohn,” he mummed.  “Chicken is good.”

 

     “Um.  Yum.” 

 

     I heard slurping sounds.  In part, they were my own as I drooled, sometimes slobbered.  Turning left, James eyes bulged as his toothy grin bore into chicken.  He spoke as he chewed.

 

     “Chickens has backbones.  Chickens is country.  I’ll eat off the backbone at any ballplayer’s club.  Grease is good.  Too, I’ll be honest again,” gabbed James.  “I mean, I suppose there’s a place fer fine dining and manners; but if a good meal goes without a few mums, yums, burps, and pleasant groans, it wouldn’t be normal to me.  I’m just being honest.”

 

     “Ooouurr.”  As Jinx might purr, I nearly howled as I could connect.  My sloppy pink tongue was lapping up heaven.

 

     Doolittle and Kretia (whose, slanting, eyes looked cute and whose long, silky black hair tied to a pony tail to her back, looked super) she peered my way while my tail wagged.  Chuckling, she turned to James.  “Mr. Gregory, Mr. Funnyman, do you have a lesson in honesty, backbone, country, and a club?”

 

     My fairway friend winked, took one more bite of steamy fried chicken, chewed, swallowed, inhaled like a blowfish, and then nodded.  “Illegal drop, stealing second base, facemask and school lunches, you bet I do.”

 

     “School lunches?”  We each squinted.

 

     “I’ll shoot straight, tell the truth,” James went on.  “Lesson number two: honesty backs a country.”

 

     Lesson two from a pro, we were about to be schooled.

 

(Image of James Gregory, Golpher, kids around table eating fried chicken, corn, cookie, slaw, drinking cold drink)

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