Haven’t been to the Dry Gulch Steak House and Saloon in way too long. They’ve got a giant wooden cowboy out front – very tempting to lift your leg against him, but I’ve never given into that temptation, except maybe once, which might be in To Fetch A Thief – and a cool patio out back, where the nation within the nation is very welcome. Right now, for example, the bartender is saying, “Customer just sent back a plate of steak tips – medium, and he asked for medium rare. Think Chet would be interested?”
“Nah,” says Bernie.
And then there’s lots of laughing, not sure why.
“Love when he does that,” says the bartender.
Does what? Standing up on my back legs, maybe, front paws on the bar? Oops.
Soon after that I’m at the edge of the patio with a nice plate of steak tips. Medium? Medium rare? I like them both, also rare and well done. And raw, come to think of it. Bernie says I’m not a fussy eater. I glance over at him between bites. He’s checking his watch.
“Wonder what’s keeping Colonel Bob?” he says.
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