One day while traveling through the Texas panhandle, headed north out of Pampa, I saw a sign on the gate in front of a ranch house: "Talking Dog for Sale".
Knowing what practical jokers ranchers can be, I thought to myself, "Now this oughta be good." I pulled over.
I was well past the sign before I managed to come to a stop, so I turned around, drove back to the gravel driveway, and (seeing that the gate was open) I drove in and pulled up to the ranch house. When I rang the bell, the rancher (whom I could see at the end of the shotgun hallway sitting at one of those 1950s-style metal and Formica kitchen tables) hollered through the screen door, "The dog's in the backyard -- just wonder around and look 'im over."
I went around back and saw a black Lab just lying there with his head on his front paws.
"You talk?" I asked.
"Yep," the Lab replied.
"So what's your story?"
Without lifting his head the Lab looked up and said, "Well, I discovered this gift pretty young and I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA about my gift, and in no time they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping. I was one of their most valuable agents eight years running.
"The jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger and I wanted to settle down. So I signed up for a job at the FBI doing some undercover security work, mostly wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings there and was awarded a batch of medals. Had a wife, a mess of puppies, and ... well ... that's all in the past and now I'm just retired."
The dog (still with his head on his paws) closed his eyes and went to sleep.
I was astounded and just sat there staring at him for maybe five minutes. Finally I went to the back door of the ranch house and knocked. I could see the rancher just a few feet away from me still sitting at the kitchen table watching the weather channel on a tiny TV set. I spoke through the screen, "How much you want for that dog?"
"Ten dollars."
I said, "That dog is absolutely amazing. Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?"
The rancher looked over at me and smiled a big tobacco-stained smile, "Did he tell you about his experience in the CIA and FBI?"
"Well ... yeah, he did."
The rancher spit into a Dr Pepper can, "Well, he ain't all that amazing -- he didn't do any of that shit."
Knowing what practical jokers ranchers can be, I thought to myself, "Now this oughta be good." I pulled over.
I was well past the sign before I managed to come to a stop, so I turned around, drove back to the gravel driveway, and (seeing that the gate was open) I drove in and pulled up to the ranch house. When I rang the bell, the rancher (whom I could see at the end of the shotgun hallway sitting at one of those 1950s-style metal and Formica kitchen tables) hollered through the screen door, "The dog's in the backyard -- just wonder around and look 'im over."
I went around back and saw a black Lab just lying there with his head on his front paws.
"You talk?" I asked.
"Yep," the Lab replied.
"So what's your story?"
Without lifting his head the Lab looked up and said, "Well, I discovered this gift pretty young and I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA about my gift, and in no time they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping. I was one of their most valuable agents eight years running.
"The jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger and I wanted to settle down. So I signed up for a job at the FBI doing some undercover security work, mostly wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings there and was awarded a batch of medals. Had a wife, a mess of puppies, and ... well ... that's all in the past and now I'm just retired."
The dog (still with his head on his paws) closed his eyes and went to sleep.
I was astounded and just sat there staring at him for maybe five minutes. Finally I went to the back door of the ranch house and knocked. I could see the rancher just a few feet away from me still sitting at the kitchen table watching the weather channel on a tiny TV set. I spoke through the screen, "How much you want for that dog?"
"Ten dollars."
I said, "That dog is absolutely amazing. Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?"
The rancher looked over at me and smiled a big tobacco-stained smile, "Did he tell you about his experience in the CIA and FBI?"
"Well ... yeah, he did."
The rancher spit into a Dr Pepper can, "Well, he ain't all that amazing -- he didn't do any of that shit."
6 comments:
Iv'e been to Pampa and don't remember no talking dogs except maybe of the prarie variety.
JDP
I knew the dog was lying. If it had really worked for the CIA it would have never mentioned it.
No one likes a liar. I wouldn't have wanted the dog either.
So...didja get him?
Piper--
Nah, I can't abide a dog who laid there and lied there.
BagBlog--
Good thing I always tell the truth.
Jerry-
Good point -- no way he was telling the truth.
JDP--
I guess talking dogs in Pampa just don't cotton to you.
That dirty lyin' son of a bitch...sorry, couldn't resist.
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