Under an Irish Moon

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
An easy read if you like little fables about a real place.

Submitted: June 13, 2017

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Submitted: June 13, 2017

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In Ireland's country Kerry there is a narrow winding road that passes by a landscape of small farms. It pleasurably weaves its way through villages, towns, and eventually becomes lost in a city. But this story is not about that road, it is about one of those towns, its pub, and those that frequent it.

In the town of Dingle is a nicely sized pub called Dick Macks. And as usual, for a Friday evening, people are drifting in to enjoy a few pints, maybe some music, and some enjoyable conversation; one of which is already underway.

Oscar Sanders is talking to Mary McCormick about the local butcher's new barn.

Now apparently the bartender, Shamus O'Toole, has heard something that he doesn't particularly like, or he just wants to start a lively debate; and with Shamus interrupting someone, you never know which.

Shamus hollers, "Oscar, you son of a Leprechaun, that is a lie as bold as I've ever heard!"

To which Oscar replies, "Oh is that so, Shamus? Well I'm here, living and breathing, to tell you that you can't call a Irishman a liar, they are not one in the same!"

Several people sitting within ears shot vigorously agreed by shouting, ("Hear, Hear!"), and raising their glasses over their heads.

So Shamus asked, "And why is it that you can't call a Irishman a lair?"

Oscar fired back with, "As my dear sainted Mother used to say," ("A lair deceives for gain, but a Irishman is just weaving a tale."). 

By then everyone in the pub was listening to the two old men bantering, and most agreed with Sanders assessment. But that was to be expected, after all, most in the pub was Irish.

Then Shamus said, "Next, I suppose, you'll be telling me that a Irishman can't be a thief."

Oscar replied, "In regards to that I'd tell you the wee tale my Uncle Preston once told me, and it goes something like this.

One misty morning a Irishman was passing by his neighbor's house when he smelled a fresh apple pie that was set near the open window to cool.

Being very hungry and without a meal he promptly took his pocket knife from his pocket and cut the pie in four parts. He removed one part of the pie for himself and then replaced the rest of the pie back where he had found it. 

Now I ask you, Shamus O'Toole, was that Irishman a thief?"

"Well of course he was a thief! He made-off with the pie, didn’t he?" Shamus bellowed, laughing as he said it.

Sanders replied, "Not so, a thief would have taken the whole pie, but the Irishman just borrowed one piece."

And so it is on a Friday night, in a Irish Pub, under a Irish Moon, the stories flow like the ale.

 

 

D. Thurmond / JEF --- 06-13-2017


© Copyright 2017 D. Thurmond, aka, JEF. All rights reserved.

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