Some wool shows are tougher than others.
A couple years back, my wife and I were manning a booth at a wool show. We noticed a man standing just inside the entry door.
He was over six feet tall and probably weighed 300 pounds plus change. He was built like a retired NFL lineman and dressed, head to toe, in black motorcycle gang leathers. As he stood by the entry, he was taking in the lay of the land.
Neither my wife, nor I, are quick to jump to conclusions about a persons appearance. However, by mutual consent, we watched a man who was massively out-of-place among delicate wool garments and fabrics. One of his legs weighed more than some of the ladies spinning wool nearby.
Slowly the man made his way around the room. He’d stop at a booth, ask a few polite questions, then move on.
He’d moved quietly through the whole show and ended up in front of our booth. The first words out of his mouth were...
“Can I say ‘Hi’ to your dog?” he rumbled.
Sitting underneath our table was Tango, our lead stock dog. He’s a full-blood Australian, a quiet dog that’s the backbone of our canine helpers. Much to the dog’s dismay, he was in town getting socialized. He doesn’t like loud noises or surprises and he doesn’t much care about the rest of the human race.
The biker must have seen the dog’s rear end sticking out from our side of the table. My wife and I were so surprised by the man’s question that we were stammering our replies.
To our astonishment, the big man dropped to his knees and stuck his head underneath our table. He was face to face with Tango. From our side of the table I could see the dog’s rear end stand up in surprise.
Surreptitiously, I stood up in case I needed to do a quick surgical removal of a dog’s teeth from the large man’s face.
Neither of us is sure what happened underneath the table, but man and dog quickly assessed each other and decided they were the best of buddies.
Slowly at first, Tango’s stub tail wagged back and forth. Soon his entire rear end was shaking in canine joy.
I glanced at the other side of the table and saw the man’s great leather clad butt was waggling with the same pleasure as the dog’s. If the motorcyclist had had a tail, it would have been moving at sub-sonic speed also.
My wife and I shared a glance over top of our bouncing table while man and dog played underneath. We knew how close we’d been to a wreck.
Reluctantly the buddies under the table separated and the big man got to his feet in front of our booth.
“Thank you,” said the man who loves dogs. “You’ve got a good one there.”
“We know,” we said, sagging with relief that everyone was in one piece.
The large man headed for the door, fired up his Harley, and roared off to wherever he was going.
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