I just love the smell of the coffee pot brewing over hot coals in the early hours of the morning and the sudden splash as a Large Mouth Bass slaps the surface of the water.
Butch also enjoys the early morning hours at the lake. He likes to go for walks. And so, that's just what we do When I let him out of his cage, I secure a 25 foot leash to his harness. He is now ready to explore parts of Holiday park that no Rock Ape has explored before.
Butch is in no big rush. He takes his time as he turns over broken tree branches, small logs and rocks. He inspects everything minutely. Nothing gets past his eyes and nose.
Monkeys have a keen sense of smell. Often I will hide some food for him in one of my pockets. In a matter of seconds, he has sniffed it out.
During our walks, I meet and chit-chat with other campers who are also enjoying the weekend away from home. Butch will invariably walk over to the person and raise his arms up for him or her to take him. A, They will. Then he sniffs their clothes, hair and skin until he's satisfied about who they are.
People always ask the same questions about Butch. And I always give the same answers, so I decided to spice up his life a little.
A man we met on our walk had been up all night long fishing and drinking. l He said he had caught five fish and he proudly displayed them for me. His voice was thick and he slurred his words. He kept looking at Butch in an odd way. Finally, when Butch didn't disappear, he asked me about him. This is the story I told him.
I said that I was a railroad inspector and that Butch was a special task force monkey trained for a very special job. I really had his full attention then. As German Shepherds are used by the police force to sniff out cocaine and other illegal drugs, so Butch was specially trained by the railroad to sniff out illegal aliens out of boxcars.
I told him that in the past six months, Butch had sniffed out 42 illegal aliens and two carmen who accidently got locked inside of a boxcar destined for Sweetwater.
I held my breath after that story, but I could see the guy watching Butch and slowly nodding his head in comprehension. Sure, perfectly logical to him now. Without further adieu, Butch and I took our leave from there.
The rest of the morning walk was uneventful. I'm sure Butch didn't mind playing the part of a special agent for the railroad, and it gave me a story to tell pat when we got back to camp.
(To be continued next month.)
Duce is the nom-de-plume of Carman J.W. Vance at the Crest Yard in Fort Worth.