Dancing Butterball

THE DANCING BUTTER BALL. Willow's groomer told me this morning that her sister is now blind and she finally listened to some of her advice and acted. That was to get a seeing-eye dog to help her. She went on to say that her sister and her husband live on a farm in Ohio. He is always working on the farm and just doesn't want to take time away from working on the farm to give her a helping hand so the seeing-eye dog is working out fine. That reminded of another farming couple in New Jersey. At one of the many neighborhood bars between where I was stationed, NAS Lakehurst, New Jersey, and Lakewood, New Jersey, one time returning from the movie theater in Lakewood I dropped in a "Dew-Drop-Inn" kind of joint. Back in the mid 60s the bars and lounges had video juke boxes, I sat at the bar and ordered a beer. Next to me was a middle-aged lady quietly weeping. I looked at her and might have asked her was she OK. She told me it was her and her husband's 25th weddding anniversary. He was a chicken farmer and would not dance with her. He resented having to take the time off from the farm to take out to celebrate. He sat beside her, looking straight ahead, listening to ever word we said, and occasionally glanced at the person talking. Finally, I leaned over to him, and saying in a joking manner to "Come on, dance with your pretty wife." He turned around and glared at me and said, "You dance with her Butterball!" I laughed like he pulled a good one, and said, "Oh no, I'm not the dancing type.... ha ha!" He stood up to show me his enormous size, pushed his ball cap back to get a better glare on me, and said, "Dance Butter Ball! Dance!" I looked at my watch and said I had to run. I hit the parking lot running. My lesson for that day was not to meddle in other people's business.