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ONE CAN NOT LIVE ON PEANUT BUTTER AND WINE ALONE: ADVENTURES AT A CANCELED ROCK FESTIVAL copyright 1996-2006 Robb Strycharz part 20 SATURDAY, JULY 11, 1970 continued IT’S A DOG’S LIFE At the Bus Greg crawled into the Bus to open the side door then came outside to unlock the rear hatch. We unceremoniously dumped our gear inside. There were but four of us now and making room was no longer a concern. What was a concern was finding food... hopefully any food, preferably hot. As we mingled around trying to get up the will to walk downtown, we could not help but hear the desperate whines of dog in the VW bus parked directly behind the Devil. The dog was obviously trying to get our, actually anyone's, attention. On that hot, sunny day, the dog's owners had left the poor pooch locked inside what had become a virtual Volkswagen oven. On several levels the situation blew our minds. We tended to take as an article of faith that anyone cool enough to be at a rock fest was a tad more enlightened than the run of the mill refuse that passed for the rest of humanity. This refuse included even those special few, ultra-ambitious psychopaths, like Nixon, who rose from those ranks to become a mass-murdering president. Billy was definitely pissed. "I can’t believe some fuckin' asshole would do this to a dog." Davey threw in his cynical two cents. "Ya, they're probably gettin' wasted up at the Party while their dog's down here dying." He was probably right. Greg peeked in the back of the bus looking for some sign the owners had left water or food. "It'll serve them right if the dog shits all over their bus." I wasn't sure such assholes would get that message. "They'll just blame the dog and beat the shit out of it." Billy's eyes darted around as if something he'd see might be helpful "Man, we got to do something. At least let's give it some water." Davey looked at Bill quizzically and went into character. "What you sayin' boy. Yous think that there's some trick dog from the big city that kin drink water from a wine bottle?" Davey had a point. We began a search of the Bus, not that we hoped to find an actual dog dish, though stranger things had turned up in the past. But, there had to be something, anything, that could hold water. Nobody expected what Billy actually found. He held up for us to appraise the round object hanging off a strap. "Tell me this isn't Nelson's canteen, or is it?" Greg looked up. He picked up on Davey's line. "Don't rightly know, but I don't think that there dog's gonna drink from that either... Oh shit! I think it is Nelson's." Davey resorted to a sociological perspective. "It's too new and fancy to be one of ours. It's got to be Nelson's... or Tom's." As for myself I only knew whom it didn't belong to. "Greg and I've still got our old Boy Sprout canteens." After totting chlorinated water for 7 years the insides of these ancient aluminum canteens were badly corroded. Greg furrowed his brow and summed up our dilemma. "Ah shit. They can't thumb 'cross country without a canteen. We've got to get it back to him." Billy thought there was an answer. "Maybe he'll notice it's missing and come back down here." I wasn't so sure. After all, who knew how long it might take Nelson to realize he didn't have it. "What if he doesn't notice, that means we have to hike back up there to get it to him!" "Oh fuckin' great." Davey muttered. Any delays getting back and he might miss the Allman Brothers. "Maybe we could drive up." Greg shot that idea down. "Even if the cops were letting any cars through, it'd take us a half hour to drive up." Billy had a dubious brainstorm. "We could tell them that we've got an emergency!" I couldn't resist a comeback. "Hey ya! We tell the cops we're making an emergency wine delivery!" Davey got cynical. "Do you think Nelson left it here wanting us to find it?" I considered the implications. "What for? So we'd have to go back? Don't think so. He just pulled a Conliffe. But, we should leave him a note to tell him we've just gone to town just in case he does hike down." We were unsure if Nelson knew of the busted lock on the vent window. If he did, he didn't need us to open up the Bus. As for the dog, fortunately the owners left the vent window cracked open, and though we could have just reached in, unlocked the door, and let the dog out for a romp, or better yet set it free to seek a new owner elsewhere, we resisted the temptation. "Dogs run free, why can't we?" Oh hell, Billy was preaching platitudes again... or was he just quoting Dylan. "Birds can fly, why can't I?" Quipped Davey.“ You do all the time”, I chimed in. Anyway, the last thing we wanted to deal with was an angry owner who might return while his dog took off down the road as we waved goodbye. While everyone else searched the Bus I scoured the parking lot. There, in some tall weeds, I found a small cardboard box. It might just work. As I held it Greg poured. Remarkably the box not only didn't disintegrate, but actually held water without leaking. The dog didn't care about the crude contraption. It desperately lapped the water up; slobbering over us concerned bystanders in the process. When the dog finished one box Greg refilled it. The dog drank on as if each lap might be his last. When it seemed satiated, we stopped. Billy brought up the next obvious point. "Hey, what if the dog is hungry too?" Greg thought about what an inadequate assortment of supplies we had. "What are we gonna feed it, peanut butter?" "Hey, what about the apple butter?" I couldn't resist the dig. "Best get rid of it before it goes bad." Davey, too couldn't resist. "I thought it already was bad. What would we save it for? "Billy urged us to look. "One of us has got to have something." He had a point. We all began digging through our packs, rejecting unlikely items like white bread and canned peaches... that is until Davey pulled from his sack a small can and held it up. "Last chance. Anybody think they'll want any of this? I don't." It was Underwood Liverwurst spread. We unanimously declined. Beggars can't always be choosers, but I wouldn't have pillaged that from home when I left. "Sounds gross, but I bet it'll make great dog food." Indeed it did. It was less devoured than inhaled. Seconds later, it was all gone and the dog lapped at and sniffed the box looking hoping for more. There was none. Satisfied that we'd done our good deed for the day and that the dog would now be OK, (though I can't say the same for the owners if we ever bumped into them) we bid the dog ado, closed up the Devil Bus, and began the slow shuffle downtown. Somewhere there had to be, if not a fast food burger chain, at least a greasy spoon diner, a sandwich shop (with a selection that went beyond peanut butter) or a cheap restaurant. We soon found what we were looking for... a small deli, at least I thought it was what we were looking for, but then on closer inspection I wasn't so sure. On the window a small sign boasted that the deli carried Hebrew National Foods. Hebrew? You mean there were still Hebrews? I thought they went the way of the Old Testament. Guess it was one of those surviving, unexamined remnants of my early Catholic indoctrination that survived intact. "Man, we're not going kosher, are we? And what is kosher anyway? It's not like we're Jewish. Will they even serve us?" Davey was a defiant survivor of Catholic schools. “You asking if it's a sin for them to serve us or for Catholics to eat here?" It was all academic hair-splitting anyway, like how many angles danced on the head of a pin. It's not like any of us gave a shit about religion anymore anyway. Inside we scanned the odd assortment of items on the menu board behind the counter. Burgers, not even Hebrew burgers, were mentioned. "Hey, at least they serve hotdogs, I can deal with that." Davey's eyes brightened on reading a sub-menu. "Check out those hotdog toppings... they've got sauerkraut!" Greg surprised me by agreeing. "Ya, sounds good. Think I'll get it too." In disbelief I turned to look at Dave and Greg. I didn't think anyone, except old Polish folks, went out of their way to eat sauerkraut. Well, I wasn't back home with my folks, so felt free to pass on the fermented cabbage. But, the thought, (or was that the promise?) of coffee sounded good... even though it surely wouldn't pack the necessary caffeine punch of Joey's invention: Super Coffee. He had gone where no mortal had gone before; turning coffee from a harmless beverage into a digestive-deforming, toxic sludge. As the caffeine and calories hit our bloodstreams our collective mood began to change. Things were looking quite a bit brighter. So, this was what it was like to eat kosher. Like the hot dog’s whose life we saved, we too would live to see another day... this time saved by hot dogs. Hell, I do remember even sensing a bit of spring in our steps as we walked back to the Bus. But there was more to the transformation: there was even talk of... staying another night! Maybe our final farewells to Nelson and Tom were a bit premature. That food was responsible for our speedy resurrection only confirmed what we already knew. "Guess one can't live on peanut butter and wine alone." Davey chuckled. "Ya, one can only try."
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