Michael Reno Harrell. Singer, songwriter, storyteller.

Hey Y’all,

Sonny “Red Dawg” Carter
        Sonny Carter and his twin sister, Sissy at one time owned an entire city block in my home town. The parcel consisted of about eight acres between 6^th and 7^th North Streets just a quarter mile or so west of the county courthouse. They had inherited the property from their mother who became the sole title-holder when her husband Alvin Dwayne Carter, Jr. died. He had inherited the property from his father, also Alvin Dwayne, Sr. who had inherited it from his father, Dwayne Alvin, who had gotten it from his father, whose given name no one seemed to remember. The ancestor’s forename was most likely on some faded scrap of paper somewhere in the catacombs beneath the old courthouse, but neither Sonny Carter nor anyone else had any reason nor inclination to dig up the information. That was to change.

      You see Sonny’s great-great grandfather and great-great grand mother were buried on the property just a few feet from the back steps of the house. The honeysuckle draped headstone read simply and incorrectly “Cartar”. It must be left to conjecture whether the stone carver or the client had misspelled the name. At any rate, I suppose you’ve surmised that the Carters had been on (and in) that piece of ground since before the town was a town. Once the burg incorporated, it was decided that it was inappropriate to inter one’s relatives in the daylily bed outside the kitchen window. The “Cartar” graves having been grandfathered in, so to speak, were not subject to the ordinance.

      Sonny and Sissy (those were, by the way, their given names) detested one another. The feud had started over a dog when the twins were twelve and a half years old and escalated steadily as time passed. It seems their father, Alvin Dwayne, Jr. had thought he could kill two birds with one stone by giving the two siblings the same puppy. This seemed to him a good idea at the time, seeing as how it was Christmas and seeing that Alvin Dwayne, Jr. had blown his entire pay check from the cedar chest factory on two packs of Camels, a quart jar of bootleg liquor and one hand of five card draw. And he had conveniently stumbled, literally, upon the mangy little mutt on his way home from the VFW hall.

      Also, he had unwisely stolen a cast iron skillet of hot cornbread along with a practically new braded pot holder from Mrs. Minnie May Wilson’s counter. He had slid open her kitchen window and snagged the goods right from under her poor old nearsighted nose. The highly inebriated Alvin Dwayne, Jr. had stolen the frying pan of cornbread thinking to give it as a holiday gift to his wife. Mrs. Carter (who had, herself, been liberally imbibing her self bottled blackberry wine) didn’t appreciate the thought nor the gift and upon receipt of her husband’s offering, cracked Alvin Dwayne, Jr.’s skull with the utensil.

      The dog, startled by the thump of Alvin Dwayne, Jr.’s body slamming into the hall tree, bit Sissy on the ankle. Sonny laughed. Sissy then hit Sonny on the head with the self same skillet that her mother had dropped Alvin Dwayne, Jr. with there in the hallway, the dog ate the corn bread, Alvin Dwayne, Jr. went to the funeral home, Mrs. Carter went to jail, Sonny went to the hospital, Sissy went to the juvenile facility and the puppy went home with the arresting officer where it was promptly named Muffin and became the darling of the policeman’s invalid wife.

      Sonny was never quite right after the blow to his noggin and from the time he regained consciousness he insisted that folks call him Red Dawg and felt an abiding urge to point his right arm, all four fingers extended, in the direction he was walking, causing strangers to assume he was blind and for them to insist that they help him cross the street. He never again wanted another dog.

The above is taken from a short story written for an upcoming book. Watch for it.

See ya out there,
MRH

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