Your compiler’s college buddy, Earl, who grew up on a farm in east central Georgia, is one of the world’s great storytellers. Earl’s tale of his aunt Macie and a rabid dog is among the most memorable your compiler has ever heard, and contained one of the best Southern phrases he’s ever come across. Allow Earl to narrate the story: “Daddy’s sister Macie and her husband, Uncle Hap, lived in a house that sat perpendicular to Main Street on its east end, and which thus faced directly down the main drag through downtown Wrayton. One day Daddy was in the hardware store on Main Street, not long after Uncle Hap had died, when a warning came about a rabid dog spotted wobbling through town. Daddy grabbed up the phone and called Aint Macie to tell her what was happening and to warn her to stay inside. “Everybody was ducking for cover and trying to figure out where the benighted beast was, when somebody hollered out, ‘HIT THE G.D. DECK! MISS MACIE’S STANDIN’ ON HER PORCH WITH A RIFLE POINTED RIGHT DOWN THE G.D. MIDDLE OF MAIN STREET.’ About that time, the rabid dog staggered out from between a couple of buildings and stood trembling in front of the hardware store. The men in the store were cracking the front door in order to try to get a clear shot at the dog without shattering plate glass windows, when the boom of a gun thundered down Main Street and the dog fell dead from a bullet that hit him between the eyes. “The shot came from Aint Macie’s gun. …
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