Houndstooth Hound Dawg
Jobs slowing down then theses checks done broke me again, time for me and the old man to go back to the ole trade. I told the old man that the tile business gone slow down once you make all your rounds. We ain’t went for a ride since his lady left him, the interior of this car could use a wash. It’s all patchwork in here, from argyle to plaid and tweed. I never brought it up but he caught me staring at the seats for seconds longer, he quickly mentioned that these patterns and wovens were second hand De Pinna. Whatever that means, the only sweater I got says University of Alabama. My hip is a bit warped but i’m stilling weaving around, this job I could still do. I got good tooth, good teeth. You’d think it were four points on them when I bite ya, this muzzle is not from a bear cat and the referees have to bring out a spitzer bullet to see if my bite made it to the 1st down of your side. I’m no sight hound or scent hound, I could do it all. I used to get it done in minutes but i’m old age now, so It’s a Ric Flair iron man match with the prey. The tiling has gotten to the old man, his trigger finger flickers and is the king of the butt shot. We ain’t caught a rabbit in some time, it feel like never. I’ll give him this, his barrel is celtic bronze and it was passed down. Unfortunately, his family tree is the end of lonely street. He could pass it down to me but what good would that do for me? That would be like an insult, I can still catch prey without the gun. I got a sneaky feeling that i’m gone leave before the old man, whether I want to or not. After all, I ain’t nothing but just a hound dawg. Being a Hound Dawg is like being a horse or a wide receiver, to got put these skilled animals down when they are no use no more. I killed so much prey here in these local woods, it’s only time till we take that ride one more time. I’d try to jump out the car window but car windows are like hotel windows to me, just asking for it like the lonely man who jumped. Just deep in the woods, he’s considerate so he’ll find me a new place for me to dwell that is not crowded. A lowland like Scotland; that day I will be more than my usual duotones. We not high classed, there is no retirement because there is no more room. Just work till death or death, just like working in a salt mine. Who am I kidding, the old man ain’t friend of mine but I bet he thinks of me as a friend. I’m his only friend, ever since his baby left. He never showed it but I knew that he wanted to die, used to cry all the time. I was waiting for the local newspaper headlines, surprised he ain’t went like McQueen in ’09. I have the tartan and the scottish bagpipe band ready when that day comes. An abstract cycle i’m in, my job is to take away life instead of giving life in these woods. If you have a tale to tell then you shouldn’t be in the woods when I clock in. I once caught a peacock while wearing a cloak with itchy wool, I should have tape recorded it and sent it to the Herald or the Times to see if they had any scooby snacks to spare.