rare dogs

Charlie and I were visiting the Nantahala Outdoor Center in NC. It was an awesome day outside, the dogs were playing in the river along with a few kids when some guy came over, lit a cigaretta and leered at us. Charlie and I were sitting a little close having beers. I noted the rudeness of his cigarette as I could smell it and the way he was looking at us. I knew we were in Eric Rudolph land and despite most visiting that place, were tourists like ourselves there could still be others that would lynch someone for being gay – or have perverted thoughts of kidnapping two women and having their way with them. It was why I always carried a sharp knife when I was in the mountains and camped. I was about ready to flip the spring assisted one out and start cleaning my fingernails at the same time giving him a crazy look when he took off.

“That guy gave me the creeps.”

“Me too, baby.”

The next day after I bored Charlie and the dogs out of their minds watching me fly fish from the bank we drove up to Sylva, NC and had lunch at this café’ – who happened to be owned by two lesbians from the town we live. It was a small world, after all. When we walked up I asked the woman standing in front of the door greeting everyone if it was a dog friendly restaurant. It was – in fact, she was one of the owners and photographed dogs as a side business. Sadie and Bailey practically had an entire photo shoot before Charlie and I even got our beers. People in the restaurant came out to say “Hi” to the dogs,  people on the patio with us were petting them. While I was glad it was gay and dog friendly I was also thinking, “So much for having a romantic little lunch with my girl.”

I was also getting annoyed with all the “What type of dog IS that?” mostly of Bailey but Sadie did get some of that, too. I’m sorry, excuse me while I finish chewing the bite of tuna wrap I had in my mouth, wash it down with my Left Hand – Fade to Black beer (btw, excellent) before going into a long explanation for the 45th time that day of “Well, she’s part this that and the other and we think blah, blah, blah.”

Later that day we had passed a flea market and decided to stop. We were trying to walk the dogs through it when practically every 5th step it was the same question – and, worse – most of the people asking didn’t have all their teeth. I was getting really creeped out and annoyed all the same. I also noticed that some of the booths contained hundreds of bottles of lotion for sale that were probably ten years old. I started to realize that most of these people were probably hoarders trying to clean out their houses and sell stuff off.

“Let’s get out of here!”

“I’m with you, hon. I’m tired of being stopped and asked what Bailey is.”

We were in the car at this point travelling on down the road when I said, “I mean – I want to say ‘Fuck if I know! – they could be a rare puke-a-no.”

“Yeah, let’s just make up a name.”

“How about fuke-a-no, meaning, F*CK IF I KNOW!”

We cracked up after that. Later, we sat around making up stories of what to say if anyone asked again we’d say they were rare Fuke-a-no’s that came from Sylvan valley. If they asked if Sadie was the same I’d say ‘Yeah, but that one is just a hybrid of the fuke-a-no crossed with a puke-a-no from the same valley.”

So, here’s a picture of our rare dogs – The Fuke-a-no and Fuke-a-Puke-a-no:


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