It is good to be back from the road, or maybe better said, I am just getting over the feeling that I should have just kept going. Re-integrating into life in Arlington took a day or so- and I was plodding through some desk-work when I got an e-note from Short Hair Mike, who reminded me that it was Old Jim’s sixty-ninth birthday.

“Do you want to chip in for a gift?” he wrote.

I responded that of course I did.  “I was class of sixty-nine myself,” I wrote back. “I will slip you some cash at Willow later on if that is OK”

He said that was fine, and I asked: “What are we going to get him?”

“Well, you know he uses that bulldog cane, right?”

“Sure. He is a dead ringer for the fierce head of the dog carved into the handle.”

“Well, I found something better than that.”

“What is it?”

“A cane made out of a bull’s reproductive organ.”

“No shit,” I wrote in wonder. “How on earth do they do that?”

“Easy. Take a bull’s dick, hang it over a pipe with the big end up and let it dry like a stick.”

“Works for me.” I hung up and went back to trying to craft a weekly report on a week where I had been mostly elsewhere.

I was surprised to get a call later from Old Jim himself a little before five, wondering if I would be stopping by the bar after work. He was thinking perhaps he might eschew his usual spot at The Amen Corner if I wasn’t going to be there.

I thought he might be a little sensitive about the birthday, and I responded that “I am back, Jim, and have missed the place. Of course I will be there.” I did not mention that Short Hair Mike would be there with pretty Jamie, and the Lovely Bea was excited, and Jon-no-H and John-with would be there along with Jim’s long-suffering but beautiful spouse Mary. Behind the bar, Katia and Jasper and Tinkerbelle were fortified for action.

Tracy O’Grady and Kate Jansen outdid themselves. There were platters of duck-tacos, a delicacy that Jim had been clamoring for since they appeared briefly a month or two ago, and the layer cake was a fantasy of whipped cream and luscious sensual icing.

We sang happy birthday, of course, at least once, and the crew from the Fish and Wildlife Service joined in.

Jim scowled in happiness. “Happy birthday, Dude,” I said.

Jim tapped the bar with the bulbous stainless steel handle to the cane. “This is just what I needed,” he said with delight.

“Yep,” said Short Hair Mike. “We saw that and thought about you immediately.”

“You dicks,” said Jim.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com