Speak, Memory (More Clearly)
Lt. Stine changed his mind, came with us – me, Bernie, Suzie – to the Dry Gulch Steakhouse and Saloon after all. Has the Dry Gulch come up yet? Maybe in Dog On It? Or possibly Thereby Hangs A Tail? So much to remember! But the point is it’s a great place and they like me and I like them. At first – this was on the patio, the tiles nice and cool underneath me – I was so busy with the steak tips that I missed a lot of the back-and-forth, but it was all about the petroglyph thieves and Bernie asking them nicely to stop and then the knife came out and after that did the fur fly! Whatever that means, since I was the only one with fur and it remained on me the whole time, completely intact – and kind of thick and glossy, if you don’t mind me tooting my own horn. Whatever that means. How else would you play a horn? Not that I can, of course, but I love the trumpet, especially when Roy Eldridge is playing. Bernie says they called him Little Jazz, can’t remember why. But I almost can. It’s very very close. Do you ever get that feeling in your head?
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