It

It's the Pitts:
No shirt, no shoes, no scoundrels

Sept. 30, 2000

By Lee Pitts

Old man Geezer took his dog, Butkus, everywhere. The pooch bided his time under Geezer’s chair at the auction market, waited patiently in the barber shop and even walked down the aisle with Geezer in his one and only futile attempt at marriage a few years back. What the ex-Mrs. Geezer discovered too late was that the old man’s love and affection were reserved solely for his dog.

Not that Butkus was all that adorable to look at. He was a cross between a Pit Bull and a Boxer, had only three good legs, his ears had been chewed off and he had a face that resembled a gnarled cedar root. But Butkus was well behaved and had been a loyal companion for 10 years.

During those years the daily ritual of man and dog included lunch at the Chili Hut. So it was with some trepidation that the two approached the newly remodeled cafe that had been reopened by unfamiliar owners from the city. The first two things that made Geezer a little uneasy were the coffee shop’s new name, The Continental, and a sign in the window: "No shoes, no shirt, no service." But it didn’t say anything about dogs, so Geez and Butkus limped on in. They were met by the new owner, a thin, balding man who looked liked an accountant, and another new warning that read, "Please wait to be seated."

"I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in here with your dog," said the owner.

"But I've been eating here for 10 years and no one has ever seemed to mind."

"This establishment is under new ownership and no dogs allowed."

Geez started to argue but instead had a rare flash of brilliance. He went home, found one of his ex-wife’s green scarves and wrote on it with a marker. Then he and Butkus returned to the Continental where he waited outside for the new owner to be distracted. Then he and Butkus snuck in and camped in their old familiar booth.

Immediately Geez could see other changes in the coffee shop. The weekly livestock report had been taken down along with the postcards sent from regular customers when they were away on vacation to exotic locales like Scottsbluff.

The new cloth napkins were folded to resemble an excited peacock’s tail feathers and fake flowers had replaced bottles of Tabasco® on every table. Instead of a new layer of grease added to the menu there were French words like "Bernaise" and "quiche." Croissants replaced corn bread and lentils were now being served instead of beans.

"Hello, my name is Mary," said the waitress, ignoring Butkus under the table.

"Hi, Aphis, you’ve waited on me for years. I never knew your name was Mary."

"Are you ready to order?" said Mary in a tone suggesting her new status.

"Let’s see," said Geezer, "Taco Tuesday, Waffle Wednesday, Spaghetti Sunday, today’s Monday so I guess I’ll have the macaroni."

"We don’t have specials any more," said the waitress formerly known as Aphis.

"Well then give me a burger in a basket and chips," said a dismayed Geezer.

"We no longer serve that either. Would you like a hamburger steak instead?"

"I guess so," said a dismayed Geezer. "And put the hamburger steak between a couple pieces of bread would you? With maybe a bag of chips on the side?"

Geezer had almost choked down his last bite when the owner caught sight of Butkus, quietly cleaning up crumbs beneath the table.

"That’s a dog!" the flabbergasted new owner gasped.

"Well aren’t you perceptive," said Geezer sarcastically.

"I told you, we don’t serve dogs in here," stuttered the red faced owner.

"Listen pal. I’ve tasted your mystery meat and I wouldn’t bet on it. Besides, there’s not a whole lot you can do about it," said a proud Geezer pointing down to his Pit Bull/Boxer companion. Butkus was now sporting a green scarf wrapped around his broad shoulders with these words written on it: "4-H Guide Dog in Training."