Almost sixty years ago my father took me with him to go look at a bird dog over on the Sac River bottoms, now dammed up by Lake Stockton since 1970.
If you’ve watched the movie Deliverance that was about the level of civilization there.
The man with the bird dogs wasn’t home. His wife (not exactly a supermodel) directed us to a certain spot on the river.
There a bunch of river dwellers were having a coon on a log contest.
There was a raccoon on a log in the river, and dogs would swim out and attempt to pull the coon off the log and drown it. The coon seemed to be winning. The dogs would swim back a bloody mess.
There were men drinking whiskey right out of the bottle and beer right out of the can, and some women too, whose clothes fit too tightly. They were gambling and cussing loudly, right in front of those girls.
I started crying, and said Daddy that coon is going to kill one of those poor dogs!
He said he’d come back later to the man because he had to go milk and on the way home Daddy taught me tolerance about river rats and their ways.
He said if you don’t like a coon on a log contest go someplace else.
Today those coon on a log contests are as much a crime as cockfighting all over the USA.
The problem we smokers have is other folks look at us, and think of us like we are sinful and wicked.
They really don’t care what our pleasures are, since they don’t find pleasure in them.