"No Dogs Allowed"
"No Dogs Allowed"
The man walked in out of the rain, what they would have called a soft day in the old country. He was alone except for the dog. The two of them were much alike. Neither of them were of a particular breed and both of them had the dust of many roads on their feet. Rough, uncouth characters, the two of them; that was obvious. Their entrance silenced the lively talk in the pub. It being just after dinner on a weekend, the pub was crowded and loud; but the din abated soon enough so that the only sound was the jukebox changing selections.
The stranger approached the bar with his canine companion in tow. "A cold beer and a bowl of water," he cried. The proprietor continued to stare open-mouthed at him. "Don't you speak English?," the man demanded. "Habla Englaiz? Sprechen Sie Englisch?" The bartender found his voice at last and replied, " N-No dogs allowed." The stranger stared at the man behind the bar, looked at the dog, then looked back at the bartender again. He leaned across the bar, opened his mouth to speak, and was interrupted by a bark. Looking to his left, the man saw that the dog had jumped onto a stool and had dropped a coin on the bar. His mouth twitched, then he smiled. He turned back to the bartender and said, "It appears you have a customer." A couple to his right laughed, and several others were grinning broadly. An old man in the corner spoke up, "Ah, Charlie, where's yer manners at all?" He got up, walked over to the dog, and shook hands with him. "Welcome to New Chicago, sir. I'm Mick, who're you?" The dog barked at him and wagged his tail. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you too. Charlie, a drink for my new friend." Turning to the stranger, Mick said, "And you, sir, welcome to New Chicago as well. Charlie, give this man his beer and stop complaining; you need the money. Sir will you and your friend join me at my table?" "I will sir. The blessings of Jesus and Padraig on ye." The old man looked at him sideways and said, "Don't be startin' in on that or we'll be here all night." With that, he turned and walked back to his table. The stranger grinned and followed. The dog, after giving Charlie a dirty look, leaped down and followed the two men to the corner. The jukebox began again, as a boy from somewhere called Mississippi sang "Jailhouse Rock." The noise of people having a good time soon started in earnest. Things were once again normal.
The man walked in out of the rain, what they would have called a soft day in the old country. He was alone except for the dog. The two of them were much alike. Neither of them were of a particular breed and both of them had the dust of many roads on their feet. Rough, uncouth characters, the two of them; that was obvious. Their entrance silenced the lively talk in the pub. It being just after dinner on a weekend, the pub was crowded and loud; but the din abated soon enough so that the only sound was the jukebox changing selections.
The stranger approached the bar with his canine companion in tow. "A cold beer and a bowl of water," he cried. The proprietor continued to stare open-mouthed at him. "Don't you speak English?," the man demanded. "Habla Englaiz? Sprechen Sie Englisch?" The bartender found his voice at last and replied, " N-No dogs allowed." The stranger stared at the man behind the bar, looked at the dog, then looked back at the bartender again. He leaned across the bar, opened his mouth to speak, and was interrupted by a bark. Looking to his left, the man saw that the dog had jumped onto a stool and had dropped a coin on the bar. His mouth twitched, then he smiled. He turned back to the bartender and said, "It appears you have a customer." A couple to his right laughed, and several others were grinning broadly. An old man in the corner spoke up, "Ah, Charlie, where's yer manners at all?" He got up, walked over to the dog, and shook hands with him. "Welcome to New Chicago, sir. I'm Mick, who're you?" The dog barked at him and wagged his tail. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you too. Charlie, a drink for my new friend." Turning to the stranger, Mick said, "And you, sir, welcome to New Chicago as well. Charlie, give this man his beer and stop complaining; you need the money. Sir will you and your friend join me at my table?" "I will sir. The blessings of Jesus and Padraig on ye." The old man looked at him sideways and said, "Don't be startin' in on that or we'll be here all night." With that, he turned and walked back to his table. The stranger grinned and followed. The dog, after giving Charlie a dirty look, leaped down and followed the two men to the corner. The jukebox began again, as a boy from somewhere called Mississippi sang "Jailhouse Rock." The noise of people having a good time soon started in earnest. Things were once again normal.
posted by spacer01 at 09:37
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