Way back in what Miss Trixie often calls “The Dark Ages,” Ol’ Dutch attended high school in the middle of Kansas. While school was great generally, I must say we were plagued by guidance counselors, whose ages may have approached triple digits, and who were blessed with questionable knowledge and intentions.

You all know the type. They had been in those jobs since Fred Flintstone was running the gravel pits for Mr. George Slate. And because of their long run at a dead end job, their advice oft bordered on a 1940 or 50’s mindset. Which meant that they were telling girls to order poodle skirts and saddle shoes for their debut to whatever college they chose to attend upon graduation and for the boys to prepare to fight the German hordes in Europe. 

So suffice it to say a lot of the advice we got from them was dated and mainly outdated. And it was from this menagerie of old thinking that got Ol’ Dutch into Spanish I and II classes. For you see, the common thought back then was in order to enter a college of any sort a person had to have two years of a foreign language. 

My mom and dad being of the old school mentality fell right into this scheme and even though my dad had taken French, I shied away from that since I had no interest in those snail eating legionnaires nor did I see myself climbing the Eiffel Tower anytime soon. 

I, instead, chose Spanish. Or should I say it was chosen for me due to there being vacancies in Mrs. Doubletree’s class that needed filling to justify her job. That's how they filled your schedule back then. 

What followed was a comedy of errors on both the teacher’s and my part as it appeared that the Unable was leading the Unwilling. I leave it to you to figure out who was who. 

Oh I did get a smattering of words finally mastered and could say “shut your mouth” in Spanish which old lady Doubletree said to me all the time. But I never did learn to conjugate the verbs although I was a member of a congregation. Not the same thing I found out later when I got my report card. 

And although I was an unwilling participant and went to class mainly to flirt with the senior girls, I did hang onto a few key words that have served me well over the last 50 years. 

Why just the other day Ol’ Dutch had listed a nice cattle trailer for sale in the online marketplace and I was suddenly flooded with a plethora of Spanish speaking buyers inquiring about said trailer. 

My sharp as a tack mind (which, according to Miss Trixie, you can step on without getting poked) quickly sought out that old knowledge and I could suddenly see that my guidance counselor Mr. Carpenter had known that one day I would need to speak Spanish and that’s why he enrolled me in that class. 

So here were all these inquiries about the stock trailer and fast as a steel trap, which Miss Trixie says is rusted shut, I conjugated some verbs and diagramed some sentences and soon I had answered each and every one of the questions they had posed. 

I was prouder than a hound dog pup with his first flea but that lasted only until I found out that some miscommunication had occurred and something was definitely lost in the translation. For in my excitement to sell the trailer I somehow had gotten a few words mixed up and had instead bought seven goats, four sheep, half a dozen chickens and a llama. 

So Ol’ Dutch is in a kind of a bind but I think with a few conjugations and several consummations of said animals I can turn this menagerie into a whole herd of animals to sell come spring. 

And while a tad disappointed in the outcome, I do appreciate Mr. Carpenter and all the advice given so many years ago in that mimeograph-smelling office with purple ink splattered about the old copy machine. 

Now if the Oxford shoes, bell bottom jeans and flowered shirts will just come back in style Ol Dutch will have it made. 

Kevin Kirkpatrick and his yorkie, Cooper, fish, hunt, ATV of hike daily. His email is [email protected]. Additional news can be found at www.troutrepublic.com or on Twitter at TroutRepublic