LORENZO'S SONG
There lives along the Llano river a sheep rancher named Lorenzo Hogbothem. (His ancestors were Hogbottoms, but because of much fun made of that worthy name, they changed it.) Anyway, on a cool and misty morning, Lorenzo was sitting on the back porch of his Llano shack, contemplating his future, (which isn't very attractive, since Lorenzo is the poorest and ugliest sheep rancher on the face of the earth.) the fog was just lifting, and Lorenzo was thinking of going out to his pasture to count his sheep, (which was totally unnecessary, considering he didn't have any), but he likes to pretend to count them anyway. His other thought was about Minny Coup, (whom the other Llanoians call "Chicken Coup" behind her back, and who is also the poorest and ugliest woman on the Llano. But I won't go into that!) So, off went Lorenzo out to his pasture, sporting his tattered bib-overalls and an old, battered, Texas Stetson. He stopped on the path that he had followed since the time that he learned to walk, (which was late in his development, around six or seven years old), and from somewhere in the recesses of his bibs, he drew out a twist of black, gummy, chewing tobacco. He bit of a healthy chew, (more than usual), and after spitting in the same spot he always spat in, proceeded on. As he rounded the bend that the river takes past the old, broken-down sheep-dip barn, his eye caught sight of something moving stealthily along the lower bank. Now Lorenzo, like most Llanoians, is quite naturally inquisitive, (seeing that nothing new ever happens along the Llano), proceeded to investigate--whatever he saw was never clearly discerned...
It was about three days later, when Clem Dunnaway, Lorenzo's nearest neighbor, (I say nearest if twenty miles is near), found Lorenzo wandering along the river bank, making a strange whimpering sound, and drooling tobacco juice down his jaw, and onto and saturating his bibs. Now Clem, never having much education, (except Llanoian common sense), decided that Lorenzo needed to go to the hospital. Clem, taking Lorenzo by the hand, led him back to his shack, and shoved him into the back of Clem's dilapidated F.O.R.D. (found-on-the-road-dead), pick-up truck, and proceeded to the hospital. After many stops and starts, (because the fuel pump consisted of a tube from a rusty can into the carburetor, which needed attention periodically), they chugged to the hospital.
In the barber shop, (that's what they call the hospital along the Llano), Zeb Knotheaad, the barber-doctor, examined Lorenzo from top to bottom, inside and out, up and down, and scratching his head, said, "Cain't find nothin' a wrong wit 'em!" About this time, Lorenzo, coming to his senses, and seeing he was surrounded by faces all too familiar to him, tried to say something. But because of the size of the chew in his mouth, could only gurgle, and warble, and spit tobacco juice into the air, and all over the faces of his fellow Llanoians. After a few more repetitions of this event, Lorenzo finally got out a long, juicy syllabication, which dumbfounded the denizens of back-water Llano. He stuttered, "B-b-b-bi-b-b-bi-big..."
Those in the barber shop-hospital began urging Lorenzo to get it out all at once, but no matter how hard he tried, he could only spit and stammer. The whole room was becoming a spittoon. But the concerned among Lorenzo's neighbors urged him all the more. Finally after a Herculean effort, blurted out, "I-I-I-s-s-sa-a-a-a-b-b-bi-big-big-f-fo-foot!"
"A big foot!" said his fellow Llanoians in unison.
"Well, that's the darnedest thing I ever heard!" said Zeb, the barber-doctor. "Everybody on the Llano gots big feet--all ya gots ta do is ta look at them big boats on Lorenzo ta knowed that!"
And they all laughed themselves silly, and spat tobacco juice out into the middle of the street.
Lorenzo went back to his shack on the river, and never again spoke of seeing whatever he saw on the river bank on that ill-fated, misty morning along the Llano....
more later...
