Of course the Mudcat Storybook would be dedicated to Joe Healy and to J.J. Reneaux, the Cajun storyteller that passed just a few days ago.

Here's a story that my father used to tell every Halloween – and of course, he swore up and down that it was all true . . .

During World War II, my dad was in the Army, stationed at Los Alamos, New Mexico. That's right, the place where they put together the Bomb. Anyway, since he had been a policeman in Waco before he was drafted, he was assigned to 'dog', as he called it, one of the 'fellas' working at the facility. Now, this wasn't really a covert activity, since the 'fella' knew that my dad was following him any time he went off the base. In fact, my dad said that the two of them got to be downright friendly and even shared a few drinks at the local watering hole. My dad even knew this guy's lady friend to say hello to.

One night, my dad said this fella started drinking pretty heavy and early, which wasn't like him at all. It was as if there was something terrible on his mind – he sat at the bar, knocking back the whiskies, and muttering to himself about 'having to be there soon.' My dad was getting pretty nervous, because of course, he was going to have report this behavior to his superiors, and he didn't really want to get this guy into any more trouble than he seemed to be in already.

Suddenly, this guy jumped off the bar stool and lurches out the door. Dad followed him and sees him drive off down the road. So of course, Dad follows him. The fella was weaving all over the place and then suddenly drove off the main road into the desert. My dad was right behind him, thinking he was going to be bringing a dead drunk back to the base if this guy didn't calm down. The guy's car slammed on its brakes and so did Dad. Dad saw a woman come out of nowhere, open the car door and get in. The guy took off again into the desert, with my dad right behind him. After about ten minutes, the guy slammed on his brakes again and stopped. Dad stopped too, but something told him to stay in his jeep.

Nothing happened. This fella and this woman just sat there, not even talking. After a few minutes more, my dad figured it was time to go talk to them and get this guy back to the base. As my dad started to climb out of the jeep, he saw the two heads in the car in front of him slowly turn around and stare at him.

He never would say what he saw in that car that night. But he did say that he spent a few weeks peeling potatoes and picking up cigarette butts out of the sand, because he refused to 'dog' that fella ever again.