I left Sonja and the Hammer in the sunny parking lot and walked through the racetrack doors to make my bets. I made my bets with confidence, I am hotter than Henrik Sedin. When your equine gambling instincts are going right you cannot do much wrong, and I walked straight back out into the sun without saying a word to any of the crazy motherfuckers inside, just nodded at the racetrack pigs and undressed the girls behind the reception desk with my eyes.
When I got back to the car the dog was looking at me out the window with her tongue hanging out. I love my dog. Too bad women did not hang their tongues out like that all the time. Sonja, tongue tucked in her mouth, asked, "How many of them are going to win for you today?" I shrugged and told her, "I always think they will all win but that has not happened for a while. If two of the five come in for me we will not be drinking wine from a fucking box tonight."
From the track we drove to Punk Rock. I had checked the tide tables before we headed out and knew we could expect a small strip of beach for the three of us to enjoy ourselves on. The dog chased sea monsters; we chased what comes out of my flask (Glen Breton) with a few beers.
There were lots of people with the same idea as us. A family from Japan, already in town for the fucking Olympics, admired the Hammer respectfully. As long as the Japanese keep buying our lumber, I will keep forgiving them for kissing Hitler's skinny white ass.
Another family, this time from the Ukraine, approached the Hammer more informally. Their daughter, cute little Hunky gal, gave herself to the Hammer like a gift when I told her my dog was friendlier than shit. She buried her face in the Hammer's fur and my dog reciprocated with moist kisses. Are not many things that feel better than seeing your dog make somebody's day.
We went to a pub for lunch. Place was packed. American football was being played on the big tvs. Nobody was watching it. I love my motherfucking country. I had a few pints of cream ale; Sonja hit the hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps. We were about as loaded as the average RCMP on his day off as we headed back out to the sunshine and the car.
Stopped off at the racetrack on the way home to see how I did. Hit two of five. That is the goal of every horseplayer - 40% winners. Keep it up and you are a professional gambler. One of the two was 12-1.
When I told Sonja the news she told me, "Let's go to the liquor store." My favourite sentence in the whole wide world.
At the liquor store check out I noticed a lady behind me in line had a bottle of Forty Creek along with a basketful of alkie-pops. I complimented her on her taste in rye. She told me, "Only rye I drink. When I turned forty all my friends bought me a bottle. I had a whole tableful of Forty Creek."
Not only did the lady have good taste in rye, she had good taste in friends too.