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Paddy, Paddy, Paddy;
The lengths you won't go to chalk up some more lemon point's!
I am so happy TB didn't cause any damage, and the whole works managed to bond you closer with your local fire fighters, along with new folk for you to shine, as you serve them up some decent goods to put a good chew on.
I enjoy reading of your exploits, and yes even your trials and tribulations too!
Send TB my best regards, pat Shaddy on the head and when TB isn't looking maybe slip him a nice treat and blame it on me.

Rusty.

Well, I’m up early this morning.

The smell of smoked fried shrimp is slowly being overcome by the smell of sourdough.

TB’s going to lay out quite a spread for the brigade that makes it back here for breakfast.

From some of the snoring sound coming out of the tack room, I fear that some of ‘em might not have left. It’s probably Newt; he seldom misses out on TB’s sourdough trail cakes.

Some of us cowboys like to lay a fried egg or two on top of a stack of cakes.

I like my trail cakes wide; wide enough to accommodate two fried eggs.

I don’t care for a tall stack of cakes that are just going to fall over and not properly support a fried egg.

A lot of folk like their eggs over easy. No me; make mine basted. Some folk call this putting a blindfold on the eggs.

I always say basted just to make sure the cook don’t cheat and steam those egg eyes shut. I don’t care for water on my egg. I want those yellow eyes basted shut, proper like.

And to go all out, it’s nice to have a choice among some Jimmy Dean hot sausage and thick bacon, extra crispy with a little char to it.

Yep; its starting out to be a fine morning. We will have to have fried shrimps more often!

Did somebody say “grits?” GRITS means “girls raised in the south.” TB is a true grits.

Paddy

Nothing much a doing here today, my hunting partner hasn't picked me up today, so I guess I am having a day off from hunting today.
All the elk have gone to ground hereabout's, all tracks and sign show them going into the roughest deepest canyons in this area. Even able bodied hunters shy away from those canyons.
I'm treating myself to a short stack of hot cakes, and making muffins with the remaining batter.
Nothing special, maybe add a flavoring to the hotcake batter, and I'm good to go in making snacks to go with my coffee.
I like my eggs sunny-side up steamed shut as you say, served on top of the griddle cakes, and a respectable pile of home made bacon on the side of the dish.

Rusty.

I'd belly up to a side of thick, crispy fried bacon with you, pardner.

I can't count the times I've had to send bacon back at a greesy spoon, after I've ordered it "extra, extra crispy."

It will be served and the first thing I do is pick it up to see if it goes limp. And if it does, I send it back to the kitchen.

The waiter often tries to blame the cook for not getting my order right.

When that happens, I’ll call “Time OUT!” right then and there.

“Pardner, I didn’t talk to the cook. I gave my order to you. Why, you’re the one who brought me limp bacon after I ordered extra, extra crispy!”

I won’t tolerate poor service from a surly, lazy or inattentive waiter.

I’ve been know to cut off my own nose, and just get up and leave. Next time I come in, I get much better service. Oh sure; I can forgive and forget when I can get good service.

You got to let ‘em know what your expectations are without equivocation.

“Come on honey, aren’t you coming with me?”

“Nope, you dug your own grave again on this one Paddy. Go sit in the truck; you’re not going to ruin my breakfast too!”

And that’s another way I’ve learned how to miss breakfast and lose a lemon credit!

Paddy