That Went Much Better

Just when I thought I coudn’t love Tonk more than I already did, they went and made friends with Dawg, and then busted out an accordion.

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And is it just me, or are they getting just a teensy bit more raucous every time, and the crowd getting rowdier? I loved it.  The crowd loved it.  Julia even danced with a Backslider. It was great.

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They did a long, rainy set, and it was my perfect summer night at Sadlack’s. Nobody wanted them to leave. Nobody wanted to go home.  I just plain love those guys.

Fletch did, too.  After our disastrous outing on Thursday, which left me with aches, pains, a series of leash-shaped bruises, and emotional distress, I wasn’t sure how he’d handle a show.  We had a whole bunch of things working in our favor.  For starters, Raleigh people know how to behave around a dawg. It makes a world of difference.  Also: Fletch loves Sadlack’s. Fletch loves people in general, and the more the better; Fletch loves honky tonk; Fletch loves noise; and Fletch loves to scooch his way into a crowd and and snuggle on people’s feet.

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He proved me to be a giant liar about everything I wrote last week, by behaving like a model citizen and a puppy school valedictorian.  He mostly sat on my feet watching people go by, except when he fell asleep under the dart boards. He did turn over Gregg’s beer and then tried to drink the puddle on the ground, but thankfully there wasn’t much left.  That was as bad as it got.  He wagged and snuggled and kissed all over people, then hopped in the car and fell asleep in the back seat before we got as far as Cameron Village.

We may survive Dawg’s adolescence over here, after all.  It’s going to take a lot of honky tonk, though.  I’m okay with that.

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2 Responses to That Went Much Better

  1. Tracy says:

    Now now, truth in journalism requires you to report that he not only tried but, in fact, wholly succeeded in drinking the puddle on the ground. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. : )

    • Axis of Cool says:

      Ah! Fortunately, we here at Carolina Gypsy are not real journalists, so our relationship with facts is a little more nebulous. We endorse embellishments, hyperbole, half-truths, understatements and overstatements, and poetic license (although it’s all at least mostly true.)

      Fletch has been turning over beers and diving into the puddles since the week I brought him home at nine pounds though. Fact.

      I owe Gregg some beer.

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