This is a funny story as to how I became addicted to cowboy crack. When I was a young boy of 13 I began to get into trouble at school, as most of us do. My parents were at their wits end, and had though about sending me off to school. When they decided to instead send me to live with my grandparents in TX.
To me this was not being a punishment, but a summer vacation. I could smell the fresh baked cinnamon rolls, and taste the home made ice creme my grand mother would make when we would come down for a visit. Boy was I ever wrong.
My grand father would wake me early to tend to stock, and other chores around the ranch. This was not the picnic I thought it was to be. I noticed my grand father would always take a pinch as soon as he hit the floor from his slumber. He would follow the same routine day after day. Wash up, and down to breakfast, still with this chew in his mouth. Though this is something I still to this day have not been able to master, nor do I ever think I will, he would eat his breakfast with the small pinch still between his cheek and gums. The off to work we would go.
One day I got brave enough to ask him what it was that he was putting into his mouth every morning. His reply, which I should have left it at this, was, "It’s grown folks business, and never you mind what it is." By this time my grand father’s healthy was starting to fail him and his doctor give him strict instructions to lay off the gin which he had been so fond of for the better part of his life. He took to hiding bottles of gin all over the house, which my grand mother, would find, and discard without saying a word. He too would say nothing to her of the matter, as he knew he was to be without.
One day I got my lucky break or what I thought was one. We were out tending to his hogs, when he stopped his old beat up Ford down the troll line. Reaching into the troll, he brandished a bottle of gin, took off the cap wiped it on his shirt, and took a drink. He then turned to me and said, "That’s between you and me." He then reached into his pocket, and told me what the tin was all about. He showed me how to snap the can, and take a pull. I chewed all summer long, hinging it from my grand mother.
I dropped it after I turned 15 and my grand father died, and thought I was out of the weeds until I went to college in NM. After I started running with my rodeo buddies, I picked up the habit again.
3 comments:
I'd a bet you were a single man. There are few things which would find me single faster than dippin'.
To each their own though.
BTW take a close look at your profile and see if you can spot the misspelled word.
With your kind permission may I take a stab at dip, with my readers?
Toad,
thank you for the advisement on gentleman.
In fact I was not single during my college years. I had several girlfriends, and one I almost married.
I’m glad I didn’t, or else I would not have met me wife today.
Yes feel free to ask the question to your readers.
My husband also has been chewing since he was 13. He quit once a few years back and he was awful to live with. He started back, and while I know it's not good for his health, the stress from not doing it was bad for him added to the fact that we were all ready to kill him!
I noticed you're from Arkansas. I'm originally just across the AR line into the SW Missouri, however have lived near DC for the past 8 years.
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