My dear wife Pat and I just love to camp out at Benbrook Lake. Since my off days are Thursday and Friday, we have the whole lake practically to ourselves. So, usually every Thursday morning, we load up all of our camping equipment and drive out to Holiday Park for two fabulous days of fun in the Sun -- just me and her, our three dogs and Butch, our very on pig-tailed monkey.
It seemed that Butch attracts attention wherever we go, and Benbrook Lake was no exception. When campers spotted Butch, they had to come over and take a closer look at him.
To be safe, I kept Butch on a 25-foot chain. It didn't seem to bother him at all, in fact he had no problem being around these strange people. Rather, he seemed to enjoy everybody's company.
Several people asked me what kind of monkey he was. With a straight face, I told them he was a "Railroad Monkey."
"Really?" asked one woman, "What does he do?"
"Well," I said, "When I put his safety glasses and ear plugs on him, along with his bump cap and gloves, he's just the right height to couple air hoses without bending over." That seemed to satisfy her curiosity.
One man who had come over to inspect Butch a little closer was drinking Sangria wine. He asked me if he could give Butch a drink from his bottle. Before I could say yes or no, Butch grabbed the bottle from his extended hand.
I really believed that after he tasted the wine, he would throw the bottle on the ground, but I was wrong. He really enjoyed the taste of cheap wine. To make matters worse, he refused to give the man back his bottle.
It wasn't too long before I had a drunk monkey on my hands. In his inebriated condition, he felt that everyone who got close to him deserved a big hug around the neck. And, they had better watch out for his monkey kisses. That much alcohol had made him hilariously romantic. Yes Butch was having a really good time.
He was hugging Pat's neck for the umpteenth time when suddenly he passed out and went limp in her arms. She carried him to his cage and laid him down inside it.
In a few hours, he would be waking up. Now, if a hang over affected Butch like it used to affect my drinking buddies, then I didn't want to be anywhere near him when he woke up. I figured it was a good time to go fishing, and I did. (Camping Trip to be continued.)
Duce is the nom-de-plume of Carman J.W. Vance at the Crest Yard in Fort Worth.