Dinner, New Orleans style.

How could I not eat at a place with this cool sign?

And the fare was exquisite.

Crawfish and Red Stripe...and corn on the cob (not pictured). It just doesn't get much better.

Skunked!

Well since all of the cool old heads are telling skunk stories over at Chant du Depart (here, here and here), I figure it's time to re-tell one of my own.


It was many years and several good dogs ago. I was on one of my many camping trips and I was staying in a rustic state campground with my faithful, loyal Golden Retriever, Brandon. It some time after dark, and I was walking Brandon around one of the two loops in the campground on our pre-bedtime walk, looking at all of the other campers. I was in the other loop, and this one was filled with bicyclists who were on some long, multi-day ride. Like me, they were all camping here this night, and like me, they had their tents all set up and their fires going, and were undoubtedly looking forward to a nice, relaxing evening under the pines. The campground was at peace. The world was at peace.

Cue the dumb-ass. And on this summer's evening, that would be a much younger, slightly inebriated me.

I was walking with Brandon when suddenly he stopped and went into his "I see something" stance. He let out a low growl, and in the beam of my flashlight, I saw a creature run across the road ahead of us. And because I was young, and a city boy ignorant of things in nature, (and because I'd had a few beers,) I reached down, unclipped Brandon's leash, and gave the fateful command: "Go get it!"

Admittedly I was thinking that it was something that he could just chase around for a bit like he did the neighborhood cats. It never dawned on me that he might actually catch whatever it was. But catch it he did. He grabbed the creature and began shaking it for all he was worth. The threw the creature about ten feet, and before the creature could get back up again, Brandon the formerly gentle and docile Golden Retriever was on it again. I ran over, fumbling for my flashlight. "What is it, boy? What've you got?"
The answer was revealed to me seconds later when he shook it and threw it again and it landed at my feet. I shone the light down on the small black creature, and I immediately recognized it for what it was: a SKUNK!

"Oh, HELL NO!" I yelled. "Leave it! LEAVE IT!"

But Brandon's blood lust was up. My gentle companion had gone all Cujo and he was having this critter no matter what I said. He ran for it again. I recall seeing the skunk shakily getting back to it's feet.

Now until this time, the only skunk I'd ever seen was that French one that used to pal around with Bug Bunny. But even with that sparse understanding of these animals, I instinctively knew what was coming. I backed up fast...then I turned and ran. "Leave it alone, dog!" I yelled. "Leave it!"

The next thing I heard though was a loud yelp. It was anger and shock and pain all rolled into one. And I knew that it wasn't the skunk making that noise. I shone the light and I could just make out Brandon, whimpering and rubbing his face on the ground. And then the smell hit me, wafting over everything like a cloud of mustard gas. Oh, damn...

Brandon came back to me in a few seconds, and as badly as he wanted some sympathy and reassurance, I wanted to keep him at arm's length. He REEKED to the point that I wanted to puke. I managed to get him back to my campsite, and I tethered him to a picnic table and tried my best to wash the skunk off of him with the water that I had on hand. Needless to saw, it didn't come off.

So because he still stunk royally, and because I was worried that the skunk spray might actually hurt him, I left him there and jogged up to the campground pay phones at the junction of the two loops. I flipped through the phone book and found a number for a 24-hour vet. Calling the number, I reached an answering service who put me on "hold" while they rang up their on-call vet. Meanwhile, a group of people walked up and one of them got on the other phone. His call was something like this:

"Yeah, Rudy? Listen, we're are going to be a bit late getting there tomorrow. We've all got to break up our campsites and move somewhere else because some asshole let his dog get a skunk right upwind from us...yeah, we've all got to move in the middle of the night now!"

At this point, the doctor came on the line, asking what the problem was. "Uh, this actually isn't a good time right now, doc..." I whispered, surrounded by angry bicyclists in their spandex suits. "Let me call you back in a couple of minutes."

Soon enough, the disgruntled bicyclists went back to their packing and I called the vet back. He assured me that no harm would come to the dog, but that it was going to take a lot of washing with tomato juice and vinegar-and-water douches to get the stench off. That, of course, had to wait until morning and a trip home. Brandon manged to do ok out by the picnic table all night, and once the sound of all of the bicyclists breaking camp dissipated, it was actually a peaceful night. The next day, however, saw me trying to drive home with this dog in my Ford Fiesta, which, as anyone familiar with that car knows, doesn't really allow for any distance between occupants. But fortunately, the car was a hatch-back. So with Brandon secured sufficient to keep him from either sliding out the back or getting up into the front, I drove home with the hatch open and all windows down.

And we almost made it without further incident, but as luck would have it, I drove past a state trooper, and he promptly stopped me.

The trooper put his trooper hat on and got out of his car. About half way up, I could tell that the skunk smell was hitting him. He paused, then stepped out into the roadway away from my car as far as traffic would allow.

"I stopped you because your license plate is on the tailgate and it can't be read. But I think I know why your tailgate is open," he said.

"Yeah, my dog kind of got into it with a skunk," I told him.

"OK, the next time you drive the car, make sure that your tailgate is closed. And for the dog...lots of tomato juice and vinegar."

I got the dog home without further incident. He didn't come clean as quickly as I'd have liked, and the smell lingered on him slightly for a couple of weeks, all the more so whenever he got wet. And the Fiesta never did stop smelling like skunk.

And that was the last time that I've ever let one of my dogs off a leash so that he could go play with some harmless woodland creature. Oh, hell no...never again.

Oh, the humanity!

Made it to the airport for the flight home. While cleaning out the rental, I found one last can of beer that I'd somehow overlooked earlier. I jammed it into a cargo pocket and trudged into the terminal, thinking all during check-in how good it was going to taste. Since busting the top and chugging it right out in the middle of the terminal would be bad form, I adjourned to the nearest men's room to partake of my beverage in the relative privacy of one of the stalls. But alas, the beer was not to be enjoyed, for as I pulled it from my pocket, I lost my grip on it and it fell to the floor and rolled away under the divider. I'm not sure where it wound up but I heard it roll for what seemed like a long time, and of course even if I could find it again ("Yo! Anyone see a beer?"), the idea of putting that can to my mouth just didn't have the same appeal that it did a few seconds prior.

So please...a moment of silence for my can of Coors. It deserved better, and so did I, dammit.

Thirsty?

If Lisa Newsome of Baker, Louisiana offers you a beer, you'd do well to just say no.

Case of beer concealed under woman's skirt, Zachary police allege
by The Associated Press
Wednesday September 02, 2009, 2:00 AM

Grocery store cameras caught the woman taking a 24-can case of beer from a cooler, stashing the 20-pound case between her thighs by pulling up her housedress, pulling her dress back down, and waddling out of the store. But it took a while to identify and find her.

Lisa Newsome, 42, of Baker, didn't deny anything when she was arrested Monday, said Capt. David McDavid of the Zachary Police Department.

"She wanted to demonstrate it ..." he said. "I told her, no thanks, I wasn't into that."

She was booked into the East Baton Rouge Parish Prison on a theft charge, he said.

"We weighed a case," he said. "It was 20 pounds."

The theft was Aug. 22. McDavid said police learned the woman's identity last week and located her Monday afternoon.

Casey Rayborn Hicks, spokeswoman for the East Baton Rouge Parish Prison, said she did not know whether Newsome had an attorney. Newsome remained in jail Tuesday in lieu of $1,000 bail.

According to another report,

McDavid said Newsome has been arrested 40 times and has several convictions. Her arrests include felony theft, possession of cocaine, and writing worthless checks. According to Newsome's wrap sheet, she's even operated under several different aliases.

"Dude, you gonna drink that?"

Sigh...

OK. New rule at Lagniappe's Lair. It goes along with the existing rule against loaded guns or magazines in the gun room. This one is: No canned beer in the refrigerator.

Why do I add this new rule, you ask? It's simple. As one who only drinks bottled beer and looks down on the purchasers of canned beer as the equivalent of wimps, girlymen and the French, I just don't keep any in my fridge.

Well I didn't until some nice people (spa`siba) gave me a case of Labatt's in cans for the holidays. Now the thought was nice and the beer good (American beer in cans gets used for target practice) so I've been enjoying them and am down to the last few.

However, the problem arose when one of those beer cans infiltrated the shelf containing the Slim-Fast canned meal substitutes that I drink when working out. (Yeah, I know...Slim-fast and beer. Great combination. But it works for me.)

I opened the fridge about an hour ago to grab a Slim-Fast, and since I'm not used to other canned beverages in the fridge, I simply grabbed the first one my hand hit, without looking at it.

Now this would not be a problem save for the differing instructions regarding the opening and consumption of said beverages. What does it say on the Slim-Fast cans? That's right: SHAKE WELL BEFORE OPENING.

You see where I'm going with this, don't you? Steve Wonder coulda seen this coming.

So without looking at the can in hand, I shake it hard a few times them pop the top. FOOOOSH! Beer all over me and the kitchen. Lagniappe is looking at me as if to say "What the hell are you doing now?"

So we have a beer wasted and I had to clean the kitchen and change clothes so as not to smell like beer on my drive to the gym. And a new rule against canned beer in the refrigerator...as soon as the rest of this case is gone.



Lagniappe says: "No ammo in here, and no canned beer in the refrigerator!'