Still looking

Obviously, I must be getting closer to the end of the internet because good dog jokes seem fewer and farther between. I feel as if the bottom of the barrel has been reached, and I can only share the few dregs remaining.

In one of the little towns north on the highway, Len runs his bar-and-grill-and-swap-meet (I swear to St Bernard!). Anyway, Len was behind the bar one sweltery, dusty day late last summer, doing his level best to help folks stay cool, serving frosty mugs of beer, some of the best mojitos in central Texas, and his signature margaritas. Len allows no sweet-and-sour in the place, so each margarita is made with fresh-squeezed lime and sugar. It takes a little longer, but oh, is it worth it!

The bar is full, the juke box is playing, folks are dickering over the treasures at the swap meet, when the door swings open and a three-legged dog strides in. All eyes turn, and the whole bar falls silent.

The dog's eyes are hard, and his voice has an edge on it when he says to Len, "A whisky."

Len doesn't even ask if it's a call-shot - just grabs the jug and pours a shot. The dog lifts it with his lone front foot and slams it back. "Another," he growls as he slides the glass across the bar.

From somewhere deep within, Len summons the courage to ask, as he pours, "Probably none of my business, sir, but what brings you to these parts?"

"I'm looking for the man who shot my paw."


Edited 5:11 p.m. to correct typo.