At this point in his narrative, Woodruff who was obviously overcome by the memory of that horrible night,,,or perhaps the mammalian pheromones of the interviewer, but certainly his lack of liquid refreshment, croaked for another beer and trotted to the head. After what seemed like forever to the other two patrons waiting in line, Woodruff emerged looking fresher and less frantic.
Plopping into a chair closer to Ms. Petty, Woodruff popped the tab on his beer and continued his story. “Let’s see,,,,The truck cab was warm enough to melt the snow in the canteen and soon Bubba had a drink of water while I concentrated on the Buckhorn beer. I drew the line at opening the last can of Spam, though. I explained to my buddy that there should be something for breakfast and later I would be glad I did.
Patting my full belly, I belched and swept up the few crumbs that Bubba had missed (very rare) and gave them to him. Bub was also showing signs of satiation and was sprawling across 2/3 of the truck’s bench seat. He had a hard-on, an eclipse-the-sun monster that signified his happiness, I think.
Bubba was softly snoring when I woke from a nodding doze. All of a sudden I realized that with the windows and doors sealed the two of us had a very good chance of suffocating in the truck cab. We needed fresh air! I turned to the rear window and pushed the slider open about 6 inches. That was all the half-frozen snow compacted around the window would allow, but it should be enough I figured.
Of course, the mini avalanche of snow that was immediately behind the window opening fell into the cab. Since Bubba had decided to sprawl across 2/3 of the seat, being the hog he usually is, it didn’t bother me at all when the falling snow woke him with a surprised yelp and the rapid shrinking of his heroic hard-on.
Scooping as much of the snow as I could into the canteen, I left it to melt and brushed what was left onto the floorboards of the passenger side. Digging a little with the old hunting knife, I stuck it as far as I could reach upwards through the snow. I was hoping to reach fresh air about two feet over the cab’s roof so I stretched and twisted upwards while ignoring the snow filling my jacket’s sleeve and freezing my wrist.
My first attempt worked as I could feel the cold draft of the night air as I withdrew the knife. “Ahhhh, ” I thought out loud, “what do you think, Bub?” He must have been pleased with the fresh air because he returned to sprawling across the truck seat happily snorting and eventually snoring like a champ.
Thinking all my problems were over, I made myself comfortable. After brushing the snow off the seat there was just about enough room to stretch out myself for a well-deserved respite from the events of the evening. Bubba grunted and almost jumped awake! When he wakes suddenly from a deep sleep like this I know there are only a couple reasons why.
- He had a bad dream
- He farted
I was praying that the strange and unbalanced dinner might have given him a minor doggie nightmare because I knew (or thought I did) what one of his notoriously smelly farts could do in the confines of a truck cab. Wrongo, wrongo! Even though it was inaudible, what I’ve come to term as “silent but deadly,” the stench that filled the cab had to be some kind of record setter for potency. Sadam Hussein used less noxious gas to kill the recalcitrant Kurds.
Through tearing eyes I found my snot rag and wet it down, tying it bandana-style over my nose and mouth. Bubba seemed to be totally immune to his creation and was soon sprawled again, snoring and farting,,,,,,AAAAARRRRRGH! I couldn’t sleep,,,,as a matter of fact, I could barely breathe. Searching frantically for an extension to my knife or anything to enlarge my fresh air supply, waves of dizziness swept over me and I realized I was going to pass out!
I awoke again to the reek of stale dog farts with Bubba snoring steadily next to me. This went on for several hours, alternate periods of waking and sleeping, the passing out must have been caused by holding my breath too long. Oh! For the love of fresh air! How much would I suffer before this night was over? Gagging, the sauerkraut and Spam threatened to make their presence known again, but I held them down, arm wrestling the retching reflex by force of will alone. At last, I fell into a fitful sleep filled with visions of Spam and sauerkraut dancing with cans of Buckhorn beer and oddly fierce-looking animal crackers.
At this point Woodruff signals for another beer and notices the growing crowd of more than 5 people (mostly drunken loggers) who are crowding around the interviewer, jostling for the best position to look down her open blouse. Woodruff, with a smirk, cracks the beer and with foam running down his chin guzzles most of it then continues his narrative:
My dreams of demonic animal crackers doing the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” ended abruptly with a jerk of the truck that rolled the slumbering Bubba onto the cab’s floorboards and forced an unhappy meeting of my head and the sliding back window. We were moving! In a matter of moments we were rolling backwards in a cloud of displaced snow, coming to rest finally on the freshly plowed shoulder of the highway.
We had been pulled out of our wintry, white tomb by an over-sized tow truck used by the logging outfit to pull heavy equipment out of mudholes and such. The owner/operator is a good friend and cribbage-playing partner of mine and right now she was busy sweeping the remaining snow from around the doors and windows. Not wanting to spoil her efforts by offering to help, I delayed emerging from the truck until she was done.
By this time Bubba was frantic to get out and was barking his greetings to our rescuer or perhaps he was berating me for not immediately opening a door for him. For whatever reason, the moment I opened the door he leaped over me to escape. Of course, since he is not a small dog and also not known for his good manners, he managed to knock me half way out the door upside down into the snow. This opened the laceration on my forehead which promptly stained the surrounding snow crimson while a pair of strong hands pulled me the rest of the way out of the truck.
Our rescuer, Katie, was at this point unable to control herself any longer and began that familiar donkey braying that was her version of laughter. Finally, gasping for breath, she managed to explain that she had seen the back end of my truck sticking out of the snowbank as she cruised the highway looking for accidents. It had been no problem hooking on and pulling us out, but being prepared to provide first aid for the the victim(s) instead she was met by a frantic Bubba and a disheveled, bleeding me with the raccoon-like double black eyes.
While we looked over the truck for damage and re-tightened the chains on the load, I explained what had happened the night before. When I got to the near-suffocation by dog fart point of the story, Katie was once again braying like an orphaned donkey. I looked around to see where Bubba had gone then pointed him out to Katie who was wiping her eyes. He was happily treating her truck tires to his own idea of a doggie car-wash and seemed to be determined to initiate all six.
Woodruff waved for another beer and indicated that the interview was over. The crowd of drunken loggers had by this time grown to more than a dozen and were taking turns “accidentally” spilling beer on the the interviewer whose outrageous mammalian characteristics were wetly displayed by her beer-soaked blouse.
Read Part one of Miraculous Winter Survival here
- Confessions of a True-Blue Beer Geek (esquire.com)
- Fish And Beers: Double Post (boodandfeer.com)
- Beer! (definitivedescriptions.com)
- Why Society Needs To Raise a Glass (hashtagbeer1.wordpress.com)