At the Dog Bar

The sign over the entry proclaims in eight-inch blue block letters: "DOG BAR & GRILL." A blue circle surrounding a St. Bernard, welcomes both big dogs and little dogs. The rainbow band across the center reads "Est. 1980." Along the bottom it announces the location: Cuchara, Colorado.

On the deck, Christmas tree lights criss-cross under the rafters, and the white plastic outdoor speakers play country music that cries out for someone to "mend my broken heart." Hanging baskets of red petunias with a background of blue sky punctuate each bay above the wooden rail. A mixture of pizza, burgers and beer hangs in the air. Dogs on leashes curl under tables, heads resting on paws with eyes alert, tilted upward.

The place is packed with the Memorial Day weekend crowd of locals, bikers and tourists. The only available table is crowded against the wall next to the door in the third bay. It takes a lot of scrounging and some polite questioning, "Is this chair taken?" to furnish and seat four adults and a two-year-old.

The two-year-old stands in one of the chairs looking over the back, "Hi, hi, hi."

Her mother speaks, "If you don't sit down next to your daddy, we'll have to put you in a high chair."

The child answers, "My daddy, si down."

The tall, gray-haired woman at the opposing table, next to the rail, gestures with her left hand as she talks with the man and woman across the table, and with regular pauses, brings the cigarette to her mouth with her right hand, then tilts her head back and blows smoke into the wind.

The blond waitress with the Marilyn Monroe lipstick stops by with a tray under her left arm, order book ready, and with her right hand pulls a pencil from its place above her ear. She nods to each person in turn, around the table, and jots down the culinary medley: pizza, chicken tenders, onion rings, fried dill pickles, draft beer and sodas.

A group of bikers, at the circular table in back, stand, peel green backs from money clips, stuff them under the edge of a plate and stride by in shiny black leathers causing the deck to vibrate with the sound of heavy studded boots. A waiter descends on the empty table and clatters dishes, glasses, and silverware together on a tray, wipes everything down with a damp cloth, and transports the loaded tray over the heads of the unmindful crowd and through the door to the kitchen.

Mother-daughter conversation continues after the blond waitress delivers the food. "Chicken or pizza?" Answer, "Yaeh!"

Traffic continues back and forth; voices and laughter rise and fall. A credit card satisfies the bill and chairs scrape back across the board walk as the four adults make their way through the thinning crowd with the small girl in tow. She waves goodbye to anyone who looks.