We dig living in the country. Rolling hills. Dirt roads. Mr. C. Cow owns a pick up truck. What we’re not into is country music. I’m not a big fan of singing about our dirt roads or how my pick up truck makes me slightly more attractive to others. Mr. C. might be, slightly, more interested than my non-interest because I have heard him singing about dirt roads while in the shower. With this said, we just visited a country-western bar.
It wasn’t a planned trip. More like a stop at a gas station next to the bar trip. As I’m pumping gas, I lost track of Mr. C. Cow. When I finished paying, I noticed a cow wearing spurs walk into the bar. I don’t know how many cows own spurs (I didn’t even know Mr. C. had any!) so I had to chase after him.
Having stubby little otter legs, chasing isn’t a quick thing to do. It’s more of a creeping movement rather than a rapid follow. By the time I made it in through the saloon doors, Mr. C. Cow was country line dancing with a duck. If you’ve never seen a duck country line dance with a cow then you haven’t really lived!
I wasn’t too surprised that Mr. C. Cow knew how to country line dance. I’ve seen him shimmy, electric slide, electric boogie, and boogie electric woogie. Country line dancing was right up his alley. The surprising thing was the fact that Mr. C. owned spurs. I didn’t even know he knew what spurs were. We’re talking about someone who thought a ten gallon hat had to hold that many gallons in liquids to earn the name. It doesn’t and my living room rug can show you just where all of the liquid goes. A cow who thought the phrase “Hold Your Horses” was a literal thing. Country line dancing….not a surprise. Spurs….super (and dangerously sharp) surprise.
I’m gong to let Mr. C. Cow have some fun dancing. I’ll just get a drink from the bartender, take a deep breath, and make a mental list of spur rules if he’s going to wear them around. My living room rugs can’t take anymore abuse.
Mr. C. Cow was on the phone yesterday and all I could hear him talk about was “the craft scene”. I wasn’t trying to listen in or anything. He sometimes makes it hard to not overhear his conversations because he’s a loud telephone talker. What was a “craft scene”? Is that where all the hip kids go to knit hats and do the origami thing? Why am I always the last to know about something neato?
It wasn’t until later on during the day that I found out “the craft scene” had nothing to do with making throw pillows or boxes out of popsicle sticks. Mr. C. Cow was talking about craft beer. I should have known better because the last time Mr. C. used glue he got his hoofs stuck together.
Mr. C. Cow’s telephone conversation got me thinking about combining crafts with craft beer. Make marionette puppets out of cardboard tubes while having a pint. Maybe sip on a stout while making a solar system out of styrofoam balls. (Crafty and educational!) As long as we make sure Mr. C. doesn’t glue his hoofs to a beer glass it might be entertaining!
Next time we go to a brewery I’m taking my arts and crafts kit with us. Maybe others would appreciate making yarn dolls.
Mr. C. Cow and I have been making our way back home for the past few days. Bishop had a really great idea for a new business to open next to the equipment company (Not telling you yet!) and needed some help moving stuff around. I’m pretty good at hanging things on walls BUT only if Mr. C. lets me stand on his back. If I don’t then the stuff gets hung halfway up the wall. Knowing this fact Bishop still asked us to help. He’s nice like that.
On our way home the road became a bit too slick and the rain too heavy for us to travel any farther till it let up.
We ended up parked in some sort of alley next to the garbage from the local businesses. Not the nicest of smelling places to park a camper but, when you have no choice, you sometimes end up parking in unfortunate areas.
We were lucky, as it was really late, that there was at least one joint open to grab a bit to eat (and maybe a cocktail) before the rain went away. Their open sign was like some sort of lighthouse beacon saying “Come out of the rain and into a dry martini” or whatever a lighthouse beacon would say if it was attached to a bar.
Now…I’m more then happy to dry my giant hair and enjoy a cocktail. Mr. C. Cow likes neon signs and was happy to stare at them inside the bar while waiting. What we didn’t expect while doing this whole happy/dry/cocktail/neon sign thing was a bartender that just happened to be a mime. How does a mime bartend? Wouldn’t he get stuck in some box behind the bar? How does he answer a question about the beer selection if he doesn’t speak?
We were lucky that we didn’t have any questions about the menu or drink selection because he did a lot of hand jive wall climbing action instead of speaking. I shouldn’t really say anything mean and I won’t because he was a wonderful bartender. Efficient in his drink pouring and service. I guess mimes need to work because a mimes got to eat.
The rain was steady and didn’t look like it was going anywhere for a while. Mr. C. Cow was happy to count the number of neon signs the bar offered and I was just fine to eat cocktail peanuts and watch him shake it on the dance floor. (A cow can’t live on neon sign counting alone. Sometimes you have to shake it on the dance floor).
Hopefully the rain will let up soon. Bishop needs us!
The weather started to get a little rough and our camper kept swaying back and forth in the winds. Rather than blowing over we decided to stop for a drink and maybe catch a movie. One can only listen to the exciting farm tales of a cow one hundred times before you need a break. I don’t think I can listen to the story about “Fran the goat” one more time.
I was a little worried that we had made a mistake in stopping at a place that didn’t scream “classy cocktail bar. I’m assuming that they don’t even wash their glasses. To my not-so-surprise they only served warm beer and frowns. I tried smiling a few times at the bar patrons but they looked like they would rather eat me then smile back. I smiled so much that my face hurt as I slowly backed out the front door.
The movie theater wasn’t any better. We tried to see something that sounded like a spy movie but it wasn’t. I kept having to cover Mr. C. Cow’s eyes throughout the whole thing! I always thought the title was about someone passing undercover secrets. Boy…was I wrong!
Rather then go back to the bar of a million frowns we waited the weather out in the back of the camper. As we were pulling out I thought I saw something crawl across the road behind us. It was almost as if it was a…..it was probably just my imagination.