We sat in sunshine on the back porch steps, sipping coffee. Few vehicles were out, but the neighborhood was buzzing. From all directions came the bark of dogs, a choir of baritones, altos, tenors and sopranos. Some people were almost as noisy, and not just children shouted just to be shouting. From somewhere in the distance came the ring of church bells....

It was that time of a Dog Town Sunday morning when cheap beer often began flowing freely. A little early actually, but we'd all survived a once-in-a-lifetime storm. Those with regular jobs might get Monday off, and payday was only a week behind us so Buckhorns and Keystones and Scmidts went butt up, toasting rotting ice and sunshine and liberty. Kids heaped hailstones into ramparts and forts. Hailstones bounced off the heads of friends, sisters and brothers. Cro's screen door slammed. He hustled across his back yard, waiting until he could see us to shout: "The power's on!"