by Byron Edgington
And, like boys the world over, we had a dog. Unlike most boys, we got ours drunk almost every night.
Of an evening, after the flying was done and the war closed down for the day, we’d retire to the ‘O’ club. Soon the sound of snapping beer tabs filled the dim room, and suds flowed like water. Georgia Peach, Tony Lowe seemed to be in charge of Smokey’s entertainment, and vicariously of ours.
Cheap drunk. Hair of the dog, one might say.
We waited for the intoxicant to work its magic on ‘ol Smokey. When it did, and his little peepers yawed out of trim and then shut down, we’d roar with laughter at the animal’s almost too perfect imitation of the likes of us.
|Byron Edgington/101st Airborne Ret.|
[Excerpt from From Chapter 11 of "The Sky Behind Me, A Memoir of Flying and Life" ©2012 Byron Edgington]