I have not always been old—neither has Joe Morgan, but he’s always been older than me.  It’s a comfort to me each time I see a man who is my senior in vintage, so Joe is a man to watch closely, and try to last as long.

Joe, howsomever ain’t always been old.  He was once a “barefoot boy with cheek of tan” who dwelt in the rurality much as I did out on Poverty Knob.  Wages for me was ten weight gravy and a semi-warm place to sleep.  I never wore the bottom out of a pocket due to coin erosion.

My informant told me that Joe sometimes did chores for a housewife in the area and his reward was most likely the designation of good boy.  Eggs, back then were less than a dime a dozen.

Anyways, he was surprised by a newborn litter of puppies on one of his Good Samaritan treks and the housewife offered to allow him pick of the litter, as reward for his thoughtfulness.  He was overjoyed, but his choice was chancy at first sight.  Included in that litter was a three legged specimen, and he was also the runt of the bunch.

I was not informed of the name Joe bestowed upon his selection, so we shall refer to him as Tripod in this brief narrative.  He, like the tripod, featured a three support apparatus.

Tripod reached weaning age and Joe took him home, and was as proud of him as he would have been of a six legged dog.  He kept him curried, watered and fed.  Tripod learned to compensate for his lack of support, and was a topic of conversation in the neighborhood.  Joe may have also been a topic of conversation too for his selection of a dog, but both of them paid scant attention to the idle gossip and the ties betwixt a boy and his dog seemed to strengthen as time rolled on.

Joe and Tripod were invited to participate in a nocturnal raccoon safari, along with pedigreed, blue ribbon specimens of dogdom around De Leon.  Smirks were common upon the vestiges of the rival owners, when Joe loosed Tripod to compete in the prestigious gathering and the pack lit out like a covey of quail on the spoor of the elusive prey.

When the hunt was over and the “treed” tally was completed Tripod was the surprising winner of the get together.  It was not, howsomever, a surprise to Joe, and when his training regimen was questioned he petted Tripod on the head and testified that he did not have a formula, but he had a theory of why Tripod was the star of the show.

“First off, since he ain’t outfitted like all the other dogs, equipment wise, he did not feel obligated to water all the trees,” Joe stated.  “He was here to tree coons and that’s what he did!”

You’d have to subpoena me to learn the name of the informant of this story, but there’s always a chance that he will suffer guilt in the sweet by and by, and willingly fess up, but don’t bet your bottom dollar on the possibility.

In that event, maybe Joe Morgan will sate your appetite to know.

¿Quién sabe?

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp