I was getting ready to report to probation this morning when I heard a gun shot at Tommy New Yawka’s house. I went right over there to see what was going on. Tommy said he clipped a coyote. He said his oldest son spotted it in the yard and he had all he could do to run to get the gun, load it, and squeeze off a round. I found the blood trail. It was running down on my place toward Purgatory Swamp. Tommy followed close behind clutching the 30-30. Liam---he’s about 11--- was following close behind him, excited as all can be. Turns out the coyote had a collar on. It was one of those Alaskan sled dogs people have nowadays, looks a lot like a wolf, but certainly much too big to be a coyote. I don’t know what Tommy was thinking, if he was at all. You don’t want to think of Tommy as a City Idiot, but there’s nothing else you can say in this situation. The dog’s front left leg was shot off. Tommy asks me if I’d put the dog out of its misery for him. I say I didn’t think the wound was fatal. I say he could be taken to the vet to be patched up. Liam was pretty distraught when he realized this was someone‘s pet. Tommy was looking all pale. The dog stopped resisting me after I talked to it for a few minutes. I used some old baling twine I had in my barn coat to put on a tourniquet to staunch the bleeding. The owners address was on a tag on the collar, in the same neighborhood as that kid I‘m supposed to stay away from, where my beagle was porking that fluff dog the other week. I put the sled dog in the back of my truck and took it home. The guy who owned it looked like he wanted to shoot one of my legs off.
What happened to him? Did he get hit on the road? The guy asks.
It wasn’t me! I can only bring myself to say.
Meanwhile I’m late for probation. A gun that belongs to me was used to shoot a dog. I have blood all over me and the truck. I’m well within a thousand feet of that punk kid’s house, violating the order of protection. I’m thinking to myself I either have to tell Cupid Boy the whole story, or I have to say nothing at all.
That was no easy decision to make, believe me.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
02/25/01
Percy and I found Swami Hard Salami yesterday surveying the grounds of his latest real estate purchase in Newburgh, this Victorian mansion on Montgomery Street overlooking the Hudson. Swami’s hoping to put in 4 apartments. With Hill Country Cornelia’s carpentry help of course. Place looks pretty stately from a distance, but once you get up close you can see the ravages of time. I told Cornelia she can come back and farm for me anytime, joked I wouldn’t work her anywhere near as hard Swami has been working her. Cornelia acknowledged she sure missed being on the land, said she sure wished she had a place to grow a garden.
Swami hears all this talk and gets nervous, his fancy talk mode kicks in. He says to Cornelia, there’s enough yard here, I will let you grow a garden here if you’d like. I assure you, you will be rewarded for your steadfast service with your own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden!
So we all stroll alongside Swami across the side yard as he continues to placate Cornelia with visions of her own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden and I noticed this slightly sunken-in place in the yard, the area of a few square feet.
That’s where the shitter was, I say, bet you there’s a bunch old bottles from the 1800’s down there worth a pretty penny.
I don’t know why Swami was so confused but he says: So you’re saying, they put these bottles worth money into the shit?
I had to spell it out to Swami I was talking about bottles that were worth next to nothing when they were thrown away---I’ve heard it said the ones found in old outhouse shafts are usually liquor bottles husbands tried to keep from their wives knowledge--- but would now be worth a lot to collectors because they‘ve become so rare. I explained because outhouse bottles were buried in wet shit they usually remain intact and well preserved. Now it would just be a matter of digging down and getting them out.
Percy is all ecstatic. I‘m not sure how the digging through ancient human feces part fails to temper his enthusiasm, but he exclaims: digging out this outhouse shaft for old bottles would be the perfect activity for the Mythopoetic men’s group! Wouldn’t you say, Doctor?
I guess maybe that’s the lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden being talked about ---the shithouse shaft. Let’s have at it, men!
Anyway, Phebe tells me today if she goes through with hiring an attorney to fight for custody of Mookie, I better plan to move back into the house and make a good show of it. God forbid the judge ever finds out we don’t always get along so well.
Rocky’s attorney has got us worried about prospects now. He says the fact that Rocky admits to stomping his attacker’s head and neck after the guy had been knocked down won‘t bode well for him. I told Phebe if anything, we should be worried about a new attorney for Rocky before we start worrying about going to trial in a custody case, but of course she says she couldn‘t disagree with me more.
If I talk to a new attorney, it won’t be about your son or grandson, believe me, she says.
Home sweet fucking trailer.
Swami hears all this talk and gets nervous, his fancy talk mode kicks in. He says to Cornelia, there’s enough yard here, I will let you grow a garden here if you’d like. I assure you, you will be rewarded for your steadfast service with your own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden!
So we all stroll alongside Swami across the side yard as he continues to placate Cornelia with visions of her own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden and I noticed this slightly sunken-in place in the yard, the area of a few square feet.
That’s where the shitter was, I say, bet you there’s a bunch old bottles from the 1800’s down there worth a pretty penny.
I don’t know why Swami was so confused but he says: So you’re saying, they put these bottles worth money into the shit?
I had to spell it out to Swami I was talking about bottles that were worth next to nothing when they were thrown away---I’ve heard it said the ones found in old outhouse shafts are usually liquor bottles husbands tried to keep from their wives knowledge--- but would now be worth a lot to collectors because they‘ve become so rare. I explained because outhouse bottles were buried in wet shit they usually remain intact and well preserved. Now it would just be a matter of digging down and getting them out.
Percy is all ecstatic. I‘m not sure how the digging through ancient human feces part fails to temper his enthusiasm, but he exclaims: digging out this outhouse shaft for old bottles would be the perfect activity for the Mythopoetic men’s group! Wouldn’t you say, Doctor?
I guess maybe that’s the lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden being talked about ---the shithouse shaft. Let’s have at it, men!
Anyway, Phebe tells me today if she goes through with hiring an attorney to fight for custody of Mookie, I better plan to move back into the house and make a good show of it. God forbid the judge ever finds out we don’t always get along so well.
Rocky’s attorney has got us worried about prospects now. He says the fact that Rocky admits to stomping his attacker’s head and neck after the guy had been knocked down won‘t bode well for him. I told Phebe if anything, we should be worried about a new attorney for Rocky before we start worrying about going to trial in a custody case, but of course she says she couldn‘t disagree with me more.
If I talk to a new attorney, it won’t be about your son or grandson, believe me, she says.
Home sweet fucking trailer.
Monday, April 11, 2011
02/24/01
Phebe complained Betty was calling too much wanting to see the baby. She told me I ought to take Mookie out to see her today. She said maybe Betty would stop pestering us if she had a visit with the baby. So I called up Percy and he agreed to take a ride over to Newburgh with me and Mookie. Percy said he wanted to go out to Newburgh anyway, see if Swami Hard Salami might change some of his dosages. Got to see Hill Country Cornelia as it turned out. Betty was back on her feet and looked plenty alert and energetic. I couldn’t see what would stop her from taking the baby back. So I just gave Mookie back to her. Phebe was enraged later when she found out what I did. This was not at all what she had in mind. She couldn’t believe I would think to do what I did. The lady looked all better to me. I’m still not sure what Phebe’s point is.
I’m back living in the trailer after that scene.
So much for the good life in the manor house. It was fun while it lasted.
Good fucking gracious.
I’m back living in the trailer after that scene.
So much for the good life in the manor house. It was fun while it lasted.
Good fucking gracious.
02/23/01
Phebe got to go in with the lawyer to see Rocky for a few minutes. I had to stay with the baby. I wrote Rocky a letter, told him to hang in there. Turns out the guy Rocky killed has no history of violence. He was in on burglary charges too. I’m thinking this might make it harder for Rocky to argue self-defense than if the guy had a known history of violent crime. Apparently Rocky told the lawyer about me forewarning him about getting jumped in jail. The lawyer later called me and asked me more about it.
Phebe flipped out when she heard about the whole thing.
What, your son’s life isn’t worth a thousand dollars? She says. Why didn’t you talk to me about getting the money? Now we have to worry about Rocky spending the rest of his life in jail---being known as a murderer.
If you paid that guy once, there would never be an end to it, I reply. He’d be back every month for more. And he wouldn’t stop until he had every last penny of ours.
There’s no arguing with her.
Phebe flipped out when she heard about the whole thing.
What, your son’s life isn’t worth a thousand dollars? She says. Why didn’t you talk to me about getting the money? Now we have to worry about Rocky spending the rest of his life in jail---being known as a murderer.
If you paid that guy once, there would never be an end to it, I reply. He’d be back every month for more. And he wouldn’t stop until he had every last penny of ours.
There’s no arguing with her.
Monday, April 4, 2011
02/22/01
Phebe asked me to go to Newburgh with her to bring the baby back to his grandmother, but apparently Betty’s not recovered well enough from her diabetes attack to care of the baby again. She grew lightheaded and fainted with Mookie in her arms. Luckily we we’re right there to catch her. She wasn’t too keen on having the baby go away again but Fauntleroy reassured her it was for the best--- that it was obvious she needed more time to get strong. So Phebe and I brought the baby back home again. It was kind of an awkward thing. I was going to head back to the trailer when Phebe says:
Where do you think you’re going?
I say, I’m going back to the trailer, that’s where.
She says, Oh, no you don’t! You’re gonna stay and help take care of this baby. I’ve already taken off as much work as I can. You’re gonna have to stay here and watch the baby while I go to work.
Where am I gonna sleep? I ask
In the fucking bed! Where else? she says
Don’t ask me what happened next. If the baby wasn’t sound asleep it would have never happened that way. But me and Phebe just started going at it on the aforementioned fucking bed. I had had some good wood sported too. And then the phone fucking rings. The voice of Rocky’s lawyer comes on the answering machine with terrible news. That was the end of that.
Rocky got jumped in jail. Guy snuck up from behind and tried to club him in the head but Rocky sensed something. He had a second to react and the guy missed. Rocky turned the tables and fractured the guy’s skull, then stomped his throat and neck. The guy lived for a couple hours afterward. Rocky’s attorney is trying to argue self-defense. Might have Rocky testify at Grand Jury. We’ll see how far that goes. They have him in solitary now.
With any luck we’ll get this knocked down to manslaughter, the attorney says.
Where do you think you’re going?
I say, I’m going back to the trailer, that’s where.
She says, Oh, no you don’t! You’re gonna stay and help take care of this baby. I’ve already taken off as much work as I can. You’re gonna have to stay here and watch the baby while I go to work.
Where am I gonna sleep? I ask
In the fucking bed! Where else? she says
Don’t ask me what happened next. If the baby wasn’t sound asleep it would have never happened that way. But me and Phebe just started going at it on the aforementioned fucking bed. I had had some good wood sported too. And then the phone fucking rings. The voice of Rocky’s lawyer comes on the answering machine with terrible news. That was the end of that.
Rocky got jumped in jail. Guy snuck up from behind and tried to club him in the head but Rocky sensed something. He had a second to react and the guy missed. Rocky turned the tables and fractured the guy’s skull, then stomped his throat and neck. The guy lived for a couple hours afterward. Rocky’s attorney is trying to argue self-defense. Might have Rocky testify at Grand Jury. We’ll see how far that goes. They have him in solitary now.
With any luck we’ll get this knocked down to manslaughter, the attorney says.
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