That Wasn’t Rubbing Compound…

My dad’s body shop was a big old Dodge dealership building nestled in the center of East End, which is pretty much like every other East End in every other town on earth. So one afternoon he sees an ad for a white german shepherd in Little Rock.. and decides our shop needs a guard dog. the ragtag crew of his shop had already went home for the day, so he decides we are going to go to Little Rock and get the dog. And what a dog she was… she adored my sister and I.. she was a huge perfect specimen of a Shepherd with a thick snowy fur coat so white it nearly blinded you and pale blue eyes like frozen tundra lakes. She stood leaning forward, haunches taut, ears pushed forward in alert astuteness as if they were actually antenna relaying her next mission as Awesome Dog. She was magnificent… a dog among dogs. Her name was Bear. My mom fed her sugar cookies out of a ziplock bag all the way back to Monticello… We got back into town late, and so Daddy just locked her in the shop for the night, and went back and picked her up early the next morning and brought her to the house to eat and stuff. Meanwhile, this young black kid who worked for my dad had shown up for work… When we went back to the shop, Cedric met us, washing his hands and really pissed because someone had spilled a whole gallon of Rubbing Compound in a big wet sticky dump right in the middle of the shop floor and just left it there… and that stuff smelled BAD. My Dad said “Cedric, I don’t think that was rubbing compound.” 

When he found out what it really was, which was what happens when you feed a German Shepherd a dozen or two sugar cookies on a two hour ride in a vehicle, he had scooped up with a putty knife into a gallon paint can, poor Cedric had to go home and vomit for the rest of the day.


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