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The 10 Tobys (all of my grandfather's dogs were named Toby) scratched at our door one weekend, which was unusual. Grandpa's farm was two miles down the road and his dogs didn't visit without him. One had Grandpa's Falcon pipe in her mouth; we recognized the duct tape and copper wire that had held it together since the Nest of Skunks Catastrophe of 1964.
My dad held the pipe and looked at me. "Let's go see what your grandfather's gotten into." We piled the Tobys in the back of the pickup and rambled down the road, calling out for Grandpa when we pulled up his driveway. We heard him cursing and carrying on out back and ran around the house and inside the barn, where one of Grandpa's hands waved a fist from under a pyramid of toppled hay bales.
"I told you that beam wouldn't hold a load that size," said my dad.
"Get me out, I got dogs to beat," said Grandpa.
"What did they do?"
"When the hay bales came down, I had one hand free, this one right here," (he waved it around from under the hay), and instead of pulling me free, the dogs stole my pipe right out of my fingers and ran off. I've been under here for 20 minutes without a smoke. I'm telling you, them dogs are getting a talking to they won't like. Are they out there? Where's my pipe?"
"You were going to smoke under a 6,000-pound pile of dry hay, in a barn full of hay? That doesn't sound smart. Seems like the dogs did you a favor."
"I could smoke in a full industrial gasoline tank. I've become fireproof over the years. Are you going to dig me out of here?"
"I dunno, you seem pretty tame and it's a nice change. Anything broken?"
"Just go. Leave me now. I'll get myself out. Where are the Tobys? I want my pipe." He waved his hand around again.
We heard him cursing and carrying on out back and ran around the house and inside the barn, where one of Grandpa's hands waved a fist from under a pyramid of toppled hay bales.
"Your pipe is safe. They brought it to us and we knew you'd never be without your pipe if you were able to crawl, so here we are."
"Well now you can go away again. The dogs are smart alright. But you'd have known even without the pipe. They don't like my new tobacco and we've been having a disagreement about it. Can they hear me? There's nothing wrong with Prince Albert, you mangy ungrateful curs! How'd you like me to change your names to Fluffy? They took the pipe because they're opinionated, and I want it back."
"Give us 10 minutes and we'll have you out of there, then you can smoke your pipe."
"No. I like it here fine; I don't want help. This is exactly where I planned to spend my afternoon. Just give me my pipe and leave me to my suffering."
I had the pipe in my hand but didn't want to give it to grandpa. He'd burn up from stubbornness under that gigantic pile. One of the Tobys took it from me, though, and ran off 20 yards to keep it safely away while the others started dragging bales of hay off the sides of the pile until revealing Grandpa, mad as a hive of insulted hornets but unscathed.
A Toby brought the pipe to him. "Since you got me out," he said, addressing the Tobys, "I'll forgive the pipe abduction, but it best not happen again, and let there be no more indignation about my new tobacco." He lit his pipe with anticipation but seemed disappointed. "Y'know, it isn't that great. Think I'll switch back to Granger."
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I'm 81 and smoke a pipe to relax several times a week. My grandfather smoked cigars (born in 1884 passed in 1982) when he retired at the age of 65 the dr said he would not make 70 unless he quit,, at age 71 he said to hell with that and smoked until he was 98 regards his name was Frank Liming a telephone pioneer