“Where are you off to?” I said to Bill Meadows, who was walking in the hot sun.
“I’m on my way to see Mr. Curtis. Do you know him?”
“I’ve known him for over twenty-five years,” I said. “Mr. Curtis lives up in the Boca del Rio area and he hauls things for people. I hire him every time I can.”
“I don’t know how I did it but somehow I managed to offend him the last time he worked for me,” Bill said. “Now, I need him and he won’t even answer my calls. I’m going to his house to apologize and bring him a quart of rum.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” I said. “Hop into the cart and I’ll drive you over.”
After we got the rum I drove over to Mr. Curtis’s house. As I walked up the steps a big Labrador retriever mix ran up to me and started barking his head off.
“Does your dog bite?” I asked, before coming up on the porch.
Mr. Curtis said, “No, Mr. Dennis. My dog don’t bite. Pull up a chair.”
In the meantime Bill got his bottle of rum and started up the walk to the porch. The dog growled and barked.
“Are you sure your dog won’t bite?” he asked Mr. Curtis.
“I’m sure.”
Bill reached down and patted the dog on the head and said, “Good doggie.” The dog growled again and latched onto Bill’s ankle until he managed to kick him off.
“I thought you said your dog won’t bite,” Bill complained to Mr. Curtis as he limped up to the porch.
“That ain’t my dog,” Mr. Curtis said.
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