One of my favorite stories from the now-under water section of the river bottoms involves a man nicknamed "Coon Dog." No, that is not his given name, and no, I have no idea what his given name actually is.
A tradition at the local tavern, Murray's White Elephant, was that every year, Coon Dog would ride his mule through the bar. I shit you not.
He'd often stop, from the mule, mind, and ask an attractive young lady- "How'd you like to run off with an old man, a bag full of money and a spotted mule?" Strangely enough, he never had any goers.
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