Things That Happen When I'm Minding My Own Business

A few years back I was living in a very old rented house across the street road from the Little Toe River. Yep….that’s the real name. Lord only knows why they named it that but I suspect it’s because the damned thing is barely deep enough to dampen your little toe in places but…who knows? While it’s not much of a ‘river’ it was and is a really good trout stream and is very popular with fly fishermen.

One fall afternoon I was sitting on my front deck with my dog/best friend Barney minding my own business and enjoying the brisk afternoon when a car came around the curve and pulled off the road next to my driveway. I watched curiously to see who would emerge from the car as I tried to prevent Barney, a 130 lb Rottweiler/Lab mix, from tearing off the deck and licking our visitor to death. As we sat there, the door opened and a little old man wearing full body Orvis fly fishing regalia stepped out of the car and went to his trunk where he began unloading his fishing gear.

As he stood there sorting out his gear after giving me a barely noticeable wave, I heard another car approach and recognized it as the black Jaguar belonging to my landlady Susan. She rarely came by unless she was desperate for a partner to play a round of golf or trying to escape her husband Bill….a retired NYPD cop and an asshole of gargantuan proportions.

She knew that I hated playing golf with her so I rarely answered the phone when my caller ID told me that she was calling so…she would simply show up at my house and bushwhack me.

Susan was somewhere in the vicinity of sixty years old and had only taken up golf a few years before and as a result, she was one of the worst golfers I’d ever seen up close. At the time, I was about a twelve handicap (pretty decent) and she was absolutely inept yet extremely dedicated to the game. I would tee off on a par three, land my shot on or near the green then watch her hit the ball (or miss it entirely) fifteen times before she finally reached the green!

It was painful to watch.

I could usually tell by the way she walked up the rose lined walkway whether she was there to beg me to play golf or fix her a really strong drink. I watched carefully as Susan got out of her car and stormed up the path to the deck.

Thank God!!

No golf today….the lady was in a drinking mood.

I could see her eyeing the little old fly fisherman suspiciously as she braced for Barney’s inevitable attack. For some reason Barney LOVED Susan and she loved him but she was always concerned that he would bowl her over and ruin her designer outfit.

As she reached the gate leading to the deck, I mischievously released Barney and he bolted towards her.

“Ron!” she squealed. “You are a dirty sonofabitch!”

Much to our astonishment however, Barney bolted past her as though she wasn’t there and ran immediately to where our unknown angler was standing. I was shocked as I watched Barney run to a spot about two feet from the little man where the giant dog abruptly stopped and simply sat down in front of the man. I had been watching Barney and hollering for him to come back so I didn’t notice it immediately but as I saw Barney sit down, I looked at the man and saw that he had not taken his eyes off of his gear sorting task. He had to have heard me yelling, Susan shrieking and Barney’s huffing and puffing as he lumbered toward him but he never stopped what he was doing. A couple of seconds after the dog had sat down beside him; the little guy looked down at Barney as if he had just noticed him.

“Well then….who might you be?” he asked in a clipped British accent.

Barney hopped up and put his paws on the bumper of the car and the man proceeded to pet him as he looked up at the deck.

“What a magnificent animal.” He stated with an amiable grin.

I laughed and walked to the railing.

“Please don’t let him think you referred to HIM as an animal.” I chuckled. “Let’s just pretend you were talking about Susan here.” I said pointing to my dour land lady.

He gave Barney a shove, shut his trunk and strolled up the walkway with Barney on his heels.

“May I approach the cottage or will this fellow make an appetizer of me?” He asked cocking his head toward Barney.

I waved him up to the deck and he climbed the steps.

“Barney?” Susan snapped. “Hell, you would have to cover yourself with raw liver before he’d bite you! He’s a woosey!”

“Well…..he DOES put forth a furious image doesn’t he?” He laughed.

“Yeah….you really seem terrified don’t you?” I laughed. “How the hell did you DO that?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“How did you make him stop like that?” I asked. “I’ve seen him knock people over trying to say hello.”

“Oh that.” He said nonchalantly. “I have no idea how that works but apparently, dogs love me.” He said simply. “Always have.”

Susan and I looked at each other.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“On the other hand…. trout absolutely loath me.” He said dejectedly pointing across the road to the stream. “I can’t catch a trout to save my ass.”

We all laughed at this and he introduced himself as David Thornton from England. He explained that he was ‘on holiday’ in America and was newly arrived in our county to try his hand at fly fishing for native, brown and brook trout.

“I’ve been told that almost anyone can land a trout in this river.” He stated hopefully. “Is this your place?”

“No, I’m only renting the place from this lady.” I explained.

I introduced Susan and myself.

After making our introductions, he asked if he might try his luck in the river for a few hours but efore I could say a word, Susan spoke up.

“This is private property sir.” She said rudely.

I looked at her disapprovingly.

“Susan…the man just said that he can’t catch a friggin’ fish to save his ass so….what’s the harm?”

She shot me a nasty look.

“Well…it’s MY property!”

I looked at Mr. Thornton and winked.

“She’s my wicked land lady Mr. Thornton but she’s not all that bad. She seems to have forgotten that this is MY property as long as the rent is paid up so go ahead and fish your heart out.”

Susan started to say something but thought better of it. She grinned and nodded toward the front door.

“Do you have a drink in there?” she asked.

I looked at Mr. Thornton and laughed as he brought his hands up in front of his face like a begging dog.

I could only assume that he too wanted a drink.

Even Susan had to laugh and I invited them into the house.

Susan was quite familiar with the bar and helped herself to an ice cold bottle of Vodka while I asked David what he desired.

He watched as Susan slammed a straight double shot without so much as a grimace and he winced.

“Dear God….did we have a rough day darling?” he asked with a straight face.

I almost fell off the barstool.

In fact, Susan could drink a Russian sailor under the table but, she didn’t like being called out on this fact so…she got a bit indignant.

“No…not a rough day…..a rough LIFE!” she growled.

I couldn’t stand to see her make an ass of herself so I stepped in.

“Susan….I’m sure that Bill (her asshole husband) has been a jerk today or your tee time was canceled or maybe your tanning bed blew up on you but please….as long as you are in MY house….I’m gonna have to ask you to be polite!” I was deliberately yanking her haughty chain which honestly….she enjoyed.

She looked at me and then at David as she poured herself another double.

“You know…” she looked at David. “He’s a real asshole sometimes but he’s right….I should be polite. I don’t do polite very well because I really don’t like people.”

Without missing a beat, David looked at her and grinned.

“Oh dear….what a shame….and I’ll bet they just love you!” He said with a snide look.

I liked this little dude!!!

Mr. Thornton had asked if I had any single malt whiskey and I had to inform him that I didn’t. He then asked for scotch and again, I had to break the sad news that I didn’t. Before he could ask and be disappointed again I reached under the bar and in two seconds, displayed my entire stock of liquor. A bottle of Jack Daniels, half a bottle of Tequila, a drop of Rum and the quickly disappearing bottle of vodka that Susan was apparently intent on ridding me of as soon as humanly possible.

He asked for Jack Daniels on the rocks…straight up.

I poured his drink, grabbed myself a beer and walked back to the deck hoping they would follow me.

They did.

We all found a chair and sat down in silence. After a few seconds, Mr. Thornton began asking about the trout stream. He asked about the type of flies he should use, where to fish and what type of trout he was likely to catch. He began spouting names of flies and types of larvae and insects and…well, he wouldn’t shut up so I interrupted him.

“Canned corn or dry dog food.” I said.

I had to laugh at his expression.

“Pardon me?” He asked.

I repeated myself.

He looked at me as though I’d spoken in tongues.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I explained to him that the river in front of my house was a release point where every couple of weeks, a big truck from the state hatchery pulled up and dumped hundreds of farm raised trout into the stream. Hell, the trout in my part of the river were damn near tame. You could almost grab them with your bare hand but canned corn or dry dog food would do nicely.

It took him a few moments to digest this information before he finally spoke.

“Not very sporting is it?” He asked. “Where is the challenge?”

“The challenge is trying to keep more than one of them to jump on your hook.” I chuckled. “Actually, it’s almost like they turn themselves in or commit suicide…not much of sport really which is why I don’t fish much.”

“Damned disappointing.” He remarked.

After he digested the news, his face lit up and asked me how far up the river he had to go to find the wild trout. I told him that he would have to hike about a mile upstream to a small waterfall but I also informed him that it was a pretty rugged hike up the mountain to reach the best spots.

He was as eager as a kid.

“Well….that’s precisely what I’m looking for!” He almost gushed. “Will you show me where to go?”

I told him that I would show him the trail but that it was too late in the day for him to set out because he would get caught in the dark before he could reach the area. I also told him that I wouldn’t advise him going alone due to the rocky and rugged nature of the trail. Of course, this led him to ask me to act as guide for him.

I told him that I couldn’t guide for him tonight or the next day but that I would show him the trail head and if he was dead set on going it alone, it would be easy to follow the trail in daylight.

This idea thrilled the hell out of the feisty little dude.

Susan, who had been sitting there listening to all this was now on her fourth or fifth shot of vodka finally spoke up in a slurred voice.

“Yer gonna climb that mountain to catch a damned fish when all you gotta do is just go across the road over there and invite one of those slimey sumbitches to jump in your fucking basket?” She asked incredulously. “That’s just plain stupid!” She added.

Mr. Thornton and I laughed like hell as we watched he stand up shakily and wave her hand as if dismissing both of us as morons.

“Go on….break your friggin’ neck for all I care!” She spat. “I’m goin’ home to my asshole husband.”

With that she staggered to her car and drove away.

We looked at each other.

“She’s quite the charmer isn’t she?” He asked.

“Oh yeah…and you caught her on a good day.” I laughed.

To Be Continued……