The Raft and The Dog Lady

Section 1. THE RAFT
Alright peoples, it's about that time to let the world realize the potent creativity of my mind. I was sitting outside Chris Bundicks house with Tim and of course Chris when we started to discuss work. Work led to lack of parties, fun and hobbies. This must change!

I looked over at his roommates fishing boat in the middle of the front yard and a few questions came to mind.

1. How can we legally drink on a boat?
2. Is it legal if the craft has no motor?
3. Where can we get a craft without a motor?

The solution is A RAFT. Robinson Crusoe, Tom Hanks from Castaway, Huck Finn. They all did it...why can't WE?!

So the Raft must meet a few of our requirements before we take it on it's maiden voyage into Lake Bryan.

The Raft must be large enough to support a keg, a couch, and however many people we bring.
The Raft must have a mainmast/flagpole. Further stipulations demand that this mainmast fly our posse's colors (my boxers) at all times during the voyage. Once the brave venturers are hung-over the colors may then be lowered to half-mast.
The Raft must carry upon it one item which does not belong (in the grand sense of normality) anywhere on a lake. (NOTE: This item has been selected. A bicycle. The thinktank has concluded that said bicycle can control the rudder and the back tire can be fitted with paddles.)

The adventure will be spectacular.
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Section 2. THE DOG LADY (Too long of a read you say? I'm a grown-ass man I do what I want.)

Ok, at this point I think it's fair to say that my coworkers are freakin' PUNKS.

So on a particularly rainy afternoon I head to work on my bike. My coworker Chris, an FNG from Lexington, TX and I are the only 2 hydrotechs (bikewasher/minion of the Harley beast) working. Well things are going greaaaat, it's nice and lazy with almost no customers. Too bad there is far too much in store for Felipe.

J.R. the service manager comes out to the bay and tells me he has a wonderful job for me. Easy peasy delivery of a motorcycle to a nice lady. While Eric is giving me directions to the destination and I'm having him clarify them, I overhear somebody say something about a "dog lady." This becomes important.

So I load up the motorcycle in the pouring rain in the dealership's parking lot and pull around to the front for last words on the route.

"Is a 1/4 tank enough fuel to get me there and back?"
"Yeah, you'll be fine."
"Here's the gas card for fillup when you come back."

Senor Deleon heads out on this fateful trip down a backroad towards Iola.

Out about 20-30 minutes I follow the directions while listening to some older country and I think it's a great day to be paid for driving and listening to music. "It must be close" says I. Road left, road right, road left, road right. "This is waaaay out here" says I.

I find a county road and take a right onto it. The road was dirt but is NOW mud. Now going at an agonizing 15mph I'm sliding all over the place with a trailer and an old jankety not-worth-$400 bike. The truck, the trailer, and the bike are all covered in mud. Apparently Grimes county likes using crappy wooden bridges on their county roads because that's the kind of crap I drove over. Of course the good ol' boys don't like taxes to pay for these county roads so the bumps are more crevasses than anything. I hit a few of these pitfalls and jostle the trailer pretty good.

The bike is sitting at a dangerously awkward angle. The bike is too heavy to readjust and I have no other helpers so I just throw another few ratchet straps on that bad boy (or bad "girl" considering it has a sticker on the bike that says "Beyond Bitch") and we're good to go. Of course I got soaked down to my underwear doing this by the rain.

I notice that there are no houses on the road in my directions. What the deuce. Seriously? So being a problem solver I go back and retrace my steps. Nope. I followed them to a T. Well shoot, I have no cell phone, I'm below an 1/8 of a tank of gas and the gas card can ONLY be used at Sams Club. I somehow find a house which is NOT the correct one and finagle a phone call from a nice couple to the dealership. Eric at the dealership gives me the womans number and I call her.

The woman answers the phone and she sounds like straight up ivory trash. Something something left here, follow the junk pile there, something about a gate...
Aight lady, you're not helping because I can hardly understand you.

I get off the phone and the couple is giving me odd looks.
"Nobody lives over there except for the family at the Morning Star Ranch."
So they start doing the whole contradictory old wife-husband thing and at some point one of them mentions "The Dog Lady."

Oh I get this now. She must own a kennel. The couple knows exactly where she is. So I get the directions and vamoose, I jet.

So I follow the directions and get to a black nondescript mailbox. I take a right into the driveway and I can't go any further because their's a crushed gate in the middle of my path. What the hell... I hop out, again getting soaked, and move the gate over. It's getting dark about this time mind you, and this trip and this story have taken way longer than expected. I start driving onto this property and it's a freakin PASTURE. This "driveway" is freakin long. As I creep along a dog runs past my headlights. Hmmm. Then 2 dogs. THREE dogs. Then I see nestled in the back of the property is a small copse of trees. There is trash everywhere. Old mattresses, a fridge or two, dog food bags, you name it.

And then I see her. The Dog Lady herself. This is no kennel. There's dogs EVERYFREAKINWHERE. I pull through another downed gate and have only 2 inches of clearance on each side for the trailer.
There are about thirty dogs in the front yard. I'm not exaggerating!
I step out of the truck---into a pile of wet, oozing dog crap. The first thing she says is "You want a dog? I got 22 more in the house!" HELL NO. This woman is a white trash mexican with black fingernails, black eyeliner, and a black shirt with a skull and crossbones.

So I undo the bike from the straps. They're jammed. After more pushing and pulling and a bloody finger I get'em undone. Bastids. She doesn't want the bike right there next to the trailer, noooo she wants me to push it all the way next to the house. The house is a shack with no power and an A/C unit hanging half out of a window. There are two dogs peeking up over it. The place reeks of feces and wet dog. It was awful. So finally I get the dang bike over to where she wants it and I'm like sweet, I'm outta here. Nope. She wants to chat. She talks about her lack of boyfriend and I'm thinking oh God, Dog Lady wants a companion. Well it ain't gonna be me! That's what you've got all these dogs for!

Then she talks about getting arrested a day ago. She was installing her "security system" which I can only assume is a shotgun with string attached to the trigger, when some sheriffs deputies show up. She's setting up this system and she says to me that she had her two guns on the hood of her truck.

As she says this she pulls out a 38 SPECIAL WITH A LASER SIGHT. Yes. She starts waaaaaving it around saying "How dem cops sposed to 'rrest me for deadly conduct!? I know wheres I'm shootin' cuz I got this laser to show me fer!" As she says all this the shiny bright light passes my chest MORE THAN ONCE.

Dear God, can we postpone my death until tomorrow? I don't wanna die at gunpoint by the Dog Lady in Podunk, TX!

So finally I escape from the clutches of conversation with Dog Lady and her 52 dogs (one of whiched is named Angelina Jolie) but not from the home. I get payment from her first and she overpays me by a few bucks. Thanks for the 3 dollar tip for driving through hell. I must make a daring and skilled escape. Oh wait, there's no room to turn around in your driveway Dog Lady. I have to back out of a space with only 4 inches total of clearance. Thanks for waving me up to your front door! >=( So I back out and in the middle of backing out her driveway is so muddy I get STUCK. I'm PISSED. But of course Customer Service is Number Oooooonnnneeeee! YAY. Finally I just slam the gas and somehow the tires catch. Almost jackknifing, I get that trailer backed up into an ideal locale with the removal of a few T-posts and a wire cattle panel. And then I'm GONE. I fly down that pasture as quick as my trailer will let me. The smell of dog crap and wet dog permeates my clothes and the interior of the truck. My mirrors are covered in mud. But that's ok, because I'm never lookin back!

After a quick stop for a can of dip (thanks for the tip Lady!) I have to still make the journey back home. On an 1/8 of a tank of gas. I says to mes, theres no ways in haell you gone do this Phil. (Figured I'd go a bit redneck on that sentence.) So crusing at a steady 55mph and SPUTTERING on the way to the pumps at Sam's Club, I make it. Of course I have to go to the bathroom really badly and the dumbass working the pumps is smoking reefer in the bathroom. Ass.

It's 6:50 by this point and the way things were running back at the dealership, we probably loaded up bikes 20 minutes ago. So I race over there with a full tank of gas, and of course I'm sliding around a bit due to the water on the road. The urgency is necessary when you have to micturate like a madman.

So I arrive at the dealership not a moment too soon (in fact 2 hours late) and Eric asks:

"Did you have fun!?"
"IF YOU EVER SEND ME TO PODUNK, TX AGAIN I'LL KILL YOU DEAD!"

This is how my story ends. Long, winding, unruly, and maybe a bit strenuous to read. But who cares. This is my blog and I do what I want. Catch you later homies. Until I post again I'm goin to Fitzwillys with my main man C-Thuggin.

Word to ya mother.