Chihuahua’s from Chihuahua

Dustin raised his beer can and saluted his girlfriend Trudie. She responded by saying salud in Spanish as she raised her can towards him.

They were on their third can each of Steel Reserve and had just finished eating three corn dogs each when Trudie said, “Chihuahua’s from Chihuahua.”

Oh no, Dustin said to himself, here comes another hair brained idea, as he asked her what she was talking about.

Her last make money quick scheme came to her when they were smoking pot and eating Eskimo Pies. Her plan then was to get an ice cream truck and bring Eskimo Pies to Eskimo’s living in remote settlements above the arctic circle.

“We go down to Chihuahua and find a reputable dog breeder that raises Chihuahua’s, buy several Chihuahua’s and bring them back up here to sell. People would pay good money to buy Chihuahua’s from Chihuahua.”

“Trudie why would people in southern California buy dogs that we traveled two thousand miles round trip to bring here, when there are probably more Chihuahua’s in this state than there are in Mexico.”

“Let me think about that for a few minutes,” Trudie told him as she held her stomach and moaned lightly.

“What’s the matter babe,” Dustin asked as Trudie stood up and told him that she needed to use the bathroom.

Three minutes later Trudie called out, “Hey Dustin come here and check this out.”  Dustin went to the bathroom door and asked her what she wanted.

Trudie opened the door, pointed at the toilet bowl and said, “Check this out, my dookie’s look like French poodles.”

Dustin asked what she was talking about and she told him to look in the toilet. Dustin told her, “I played a Doctor on television once, but that doesn’t mean that I’m qualified to examine turds.” 

Trudie replied, “Don’t you get it Dustin. Dookie’s that look like French poodles, that’s a sign. French poodles from France. We could sell genuine French poodles from France.”

“Wipe your butt Trudie and pull up your jeans. we can walk down to the store and get another six pack. Forget about your money-making ideas, let’s just drink beer and relax.”

They were heading back to their apartment with the new six pack when Dustin pulled a can of beer out of the sack and handed it to Trudie. He opened a can for himself and took a sip as they continued to walk.

Trudie took a sip and looked at the label on the can. “Steel Reserve, for the Army Reserve,” she said out loud.

Oh no, here we go again Dustin said to himself, before he asked, “What’s that.”

“Yeah, we buy a car trunk load of Steel Reserve and sell it to the Army Reserve when they drill here at Los Alamitos. Steel Reserve for the Army Reserve. Has a nice ring to it”

“I don’t think I want to get into bootlegging Trudie. We have enough money without your get rich schemes.  Let’s just go home, do the horizontal mambo and not think about plans that rhyme.”

Leroy B. Vaughn is a retired skip tracer and trained observer. He is not the 1950’s hillbilly singer, motorcycle cop from Orange County California or the dentist from Los Angeles, all with the same name. 

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