A tale from the Grapevine

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A tale from the Grapevine

Postby Karl R » Sun Oct 11, 2009 1:18 pm

Copyright © The AA Grapevine, Inc. (May 1961 vol. 17 no 12 ). Reprinted with permission.



Toper's Tale of the Month
EPISOT No. 4: Bullfighter
YOU can say lots of nasty things about booze, and undoubtedly you have, or you wouldn't be reading this. I've said my share, too, but right now I want to make a confession. I have one kind word for whiskey.

Whiskey cured me of my fear of animals (and I was an animal-prone dame). Not the legendary type of animals that come in varying shades of lavender and pink, but a real live, growling beast. I refer specifically to a certain flabby-jowled, drooling, muscle-bound, hyperthyroid, leering, beetle-browed English bulldog.

This diabolical brute belonged to a neighbor and had taken on himself the task of being my personal bete noire (or bete brindle). Every time I came home that bullying bulldog would defy me to pass, growling at me and baring his wicked teeth. I always beat a retreat, scared out of my wits. It got so bad I used to take devious, roundabout routes home, trying to avoid him.

Came a fateful Saturday afternoon. It was pay day so, naturally, I had stopped off at the tavern for a brace of double snorts. Then I had picked up a bottle for a cozy little evening of solo drinking.

In my alcoholic euphoria, I'd forgotten the bulldog and walked past his habitat. As usual, he came out growling, expecting me to turn pale and tail, as I had always done. I was so surprised that I dropped my precious jug and watched its golden juices seep into the dirt.

This was more than I could stand. I was so mad that I forgot completely that I was afraid. I hauled off and gave that burly brute a terrific kick with my pointy-toed, high-heeled slipper. It caught him smack in the middle of his ugly face.

He gave a dismal howl and ran--the big coward. I had to rush back to the boozery, of course, to refill my stock of Dutch courage, but the bulldog didn't know the difference.

He never bothered me again. I wish I could say the same for whiskey.


A. C. T.
Lexington, Kentucky

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K.
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