Still Hunting

I ain't sure I c'n git this report done an' up th' road. Things has been movin' s' fast, my head's still spinnin' like a '48 Ford pickup in a red clay rut in a hard rain.

After that crazy ol'sow bluffed me out'a th' woods back over there 'round th' 'Chafalyer river, I kept on walkin' th' back roads lookin' fer some kind 'a sign a' wher' I was at. Jist 'bout daylight th' third mornin' or so, I stumbled into a li'l ol' town that had a great wide creek runnin' th'ough it, with a statcher a' some woman sittin' on th' bank 'a th' creek under a long-limbed ol' live oak tree, lookin' like she thought somebody was comin' down th' road.

Soon as I strolled in, I could tell somethin' was goin' on, and I wad'n' sure I orter hang around t' see what it was. Th' whole place looked difer'nt a'nuff I thought I might'a done an' made it t' France fin'ly, so I decided t' hang around an' see if I could find out where th' truffle mines was at, so I could start gittin' signed up fer th' work. It wadn'n' long 'til things started 't move, so I figgered I'd run up on somebody an' git some directions. While I was sittin' there gittin' my bearin's and decidin' what t' do, I seen a slim li'l ol' sow walk up from th' bank 'a that wide creek and start t' eye me, like she knowed I was a stranger. I didn't offer t' run off, so she come on over t'where I was at and sniffed th' air like she thought I might 'a smelt kinda rank after wallerin' th'ough that swamp fer two days an' nights.

"Commo sa va, M'sieu?" she said. Well, I didn' know what she was talkin' about, but she wadn' talking no langwidge I reck'a'nized, so I figured I was sure 'nuff in France. I figgered t' try out my Pig Latin, which I hadn' used in a long time, but most all hawgs anywhere can understand. So, I asked her, "Is this here France?", in Pig Latin, a' course. "France? Why, non M'sieu. If you so confusion, you must have passed a real bon temp at ze party last night. Are you le politicien for le Mardi Gra parade?"

Hmph! I snorted back, "I ain't been to no party. I'm huntin' France, to get a job rootin' truffles, you goofy female. And, yes, I am a politician, fer sure. I'm the duly elected Pork Commissioner a' Loo-z-ana, but it ain't no full time job." She giggled, "Ahhhh, oui, M'sieu, oui, oui, oui! It was un veritable bon temp party, non? But you'll feel better, yes! If you ze politicien, just wait here one minute."

Well, next thing I knowed, a couple 'a rowby ol' boys had done grabbed me by th' hind legs an' th'owed me up on th' bed of a bran' new bright red pickup truck covered with flags an' stuff, an' a long sign that said, "le Commissionaire du Cochon, du les etat la Louisianne." Well, I was stuck, and rode up an' down th' streets 'a that li'l ol' town with ever'body hollerin,' wavin', dressed up like plum fools. When that truck got t' th' end a' th' last street, I managed t' leap off an' hit th' woods, headin' east quick as I could trot, right on a'past a sign that said "St. Martinville." An' I'm still lookin' fer France.

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