As a Cajun might say, "This is an almost, mostly true story..."
A Yankee was lost on the beautiful, meandering south Louisiana bayou called Blind River, right by Lake Ponchartrain Basin and the Bonnet Carre Spillway. With cypress trees on every side, the Yankee pulled up to the front of the Whitey Duplessis's river camp and hears the darndest moaning and groaning from Bones, Whitey's Catahoula hound dog.
The Yankee asks Whitey, "excuse me sir, what's wrong with your dog?"
Whitey said to him, "Well, there's nuttin' wrong with my dog. Why you ax' dat question?"
The Yankee asked him again, "Whitey, that dog's moaning and groaning is really bothering me. Can you please tell me what's wrong with that dog?"
Old Whitey leans over to the Yankee and says "Well, to be honest, wit' you, he's lyin' himself down on a sharp nail. And you see it's hurtin' him. But it doesn't hurt him quite enough to make him move and get up!"
The point of the story is that like that Catahoula hound dog, I was laying on that "sharp nail" in 2004, and just didn't quite realize it yet.
We were all Catahoula hounds, waiting for the storm.
