Country Club Dog

There is a country club in Thomson, Georgia that is open to the general public each Friday.  A delicious buffet of southern delights waits at the far end of the dining room.  Fried chicken, catfish, savory meatloaf, creamy mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese and a big pan of bacon sits steaming.  Corn bread and tiny homemade biscuits top off your plate.  Of course, there is the dessert table laden with a few choices and a crystal bowl of freshly whipped cream.

When I turn left off the main highway and then navigate the gently curving road, food is not on my mind.  As I make my right turn and catch a glimpse of the green golf course, I wonder if my friend will be at the door.  I carefully park on the horseshoe drive and walk up the path toward the front door.  It's a cold afternoon and the front porch is darkened with shade.  There is no sign of my friend.  I choose a table by the double windows and happily locate my usual door greeter lounging in a sun patch on the putting green.  I don't blame the old yellow dog.  It's much nicer in the sun.  He rolls on his side, exposing the thick fur, whitened with age on a belly longing for a good rub.  I sip my glass of unsweetened tea, "Yankee Tea" as it's referred to without the pounds of sugar, and wonder if I could get away with calling it a day.  

As I head to my car, I stop to take a picture of the old yellow dog who is still sunning himself at the edge of the green.  He suddenly looks up and I comment to my lunch companion that I think he is posing for me.  He continues to focus in my direction but his gaze is on something behind me.  I forgot my jacket on the back of my chair and the waitress is briskly walking it to me.  Clutching my jacket, I give a brief wave to the dog.  Until next time, I think and head back to my car.