I really needed to be off the street.  Just out of TDC, I was supposed to have a stable life and income still staring at ten years of probation with the vengeful state of Texas.  I was crashing at a dance club on 6th street, in a large closet, with loud heavy beat music going until four in the morning.  And, too, having no one to go to, separated by no personal choice, depressed to say the least, and trying not to smoke any weed because of the probation; a course I was soon to give up on.  I mean, I am going to smoke and they can do whatever, which they did.  So when I got a chance to stay in a more peaceful/normal enviornment, I took it.  Of course, I hadn't been invited to move in; only to make use of the place when Jay, an old friend, was out of town.  But when he came back to find me still there, he said for me to take it over and pay the rent.  It was a basement apartment in a house on Garden street, in East Austin just north of the river.  It's an area which is lately Latin and black mostly, but which was originally inhabited by a German-American population.  

In fact, no black people lived in east Austin until after 1954; they stayed mostly in Montopolis, which was a seperate town from Austin until the city annexed it in the early 60's, I think, when Bergstrom was built and used as an active base by the Air Force.  Anyway, as it turned out this house was owned by the ex-wife of an old friend. It seemed like a great deal.  There were dishes and silverware, pots and containers already there and in place. The bus could be caught a block away on Holly that went near the UT art dept. where I had a good deal of work, although if I missed the 10:30 I had to walk all the way home.  The middle of the night on the eastside can be a bit dicey, but I never had any trouble.  Oh yeah, once this drunk Mexican came up and tugged at my beard asking was it real, so I did the same for his nose; then we were friends and I had to drink a Bud with him.  The 
neighborhood actually inspired me to write some poems about it.  You know, the 
yards were all beautiful and taken care of and you could always smell fresh tortillas.  It was a basement apartment with the entrance in the back of the house; the yard was fenced and she had a German shepherd there, which helped dissuade would-be burglars.  

The bathroom had an old-style bath-tub on ornate legs.  The worst part of  it was 
that the house was quite rat infested.  I found the best thing to do was to feed them; 
I put a whole carrot on a plate by the stove expecting to see it nibbled away by bits, 
but it was all gone in a few hours.  I never saw them get it at all; what wonderful, 
though villified, animals!  So one of the first nights there Suzy shows up thinking 
something may have happened to me. True enough, she did, but besides that I was ok.  

So she decided to take me out to dinner and insisted on buying me a lid of pot; 
she was, at that time, a drug counselor, and what the hey I could use it even though 
I could have used a good fuck more.  So all right we had a good time and she split.  
The next afternoon here she comes with daughter Spring; she's holding a puppy 
and the kid has a tiny kitten and they want me to take over these animals which they just got even though they already knew the apartment wouldn't let them have them there. There is no sense at a juncture like that to even bother breaching the notion of rational thought. Against all better judgement, I ageed to take the pets; maybe they would come to deal with the fucking rats.  Well, this poor bedragled little kitten was barely there at all; the puppy was maybe five weeks, black, skinny and needing nourishment.  The kitten wound up disappearing in a few days, but not before shitting all over some needed papers and clothes; the dog was trained pretty quickly.  

And then I started to notice how fast this dog was beginning to grow. It was amazing 
how much bigger he would be every day.  I named him Maverick, and he lived up 
to the name.  I had a really pinched income to be raising a giant dog, fortunately he 
would eat anything I was eating; including brocolli, sweet potatoes, bread, 
you name it.  And I just better not come home with chocolate doughnuts without one 
for him.  Of course, like many dogs, he enjoyed a stout hit of weed now and then.  
He was so much bigger every day, I sat up all night once just to watch him grow.  
He filled his huge puppy belly to the bursting point and went to sleep.  I sat and 
smoked and watched carefully all night as the belly slowly turned into chest and 
the legs lengthened a half an inch. So in about three months I had this big gangly 
good-natured puppy big as a Dane, which he may have been, with maybe some Lab 
in there as well.  He stayed pretty thin but looked healthy anyway, and, outside of 
the fact that he ate clothes off the line, mostly mine, fortunately,we were doing ok. 
All of a sudden one day I was told that the basement apartment was going to be 
renovated-- in two days!  I got in one of those panics you get in at first when a crises comes up.  I did have some cash, but not enough for regular rent and bills.  But I 
have some wonderful friends, and a few of them are still alive.  There was a house 
on Mary street which was shared by a number of people, mostly with music and 
song-writing in common.  Jubal Clark had the front bedroom until he moved out 
a month later and I moved into it.  Blaze Foley lived in a room made from an 
original back porch.  He had a crazy and playful approach to home decor, and he 
liked to make toys and stuff for little kids of friends.  In another room and in an 
attic room were Richard de la Vega and his sister Letti, and his girlfriend, Beth.  
I think that was the regulars, but it was a magnet for songwriters, and, when they 
were in town, you might find Richard Dobson or Townes Van Zandt there as well, 
along with any number of folks into music and song (you notice I separate those, 
and for good reason).  Of course, I had to bring the dog with me.  And for the 
most part, things went ok, except Blaze got pissed at me for letting the dog crap 
in the front yard; I mean, it  was a big front and besides there was only a few feet 
of grass in the back and Blaze's window were right there, but he insisted that that's 
where dogs should go. I guess I should be glad for that because a few days after I 
moved in we had other guests, Townes I think, sleeping on the couch. That's cool, 
I just slept in the front yard in my bedroll. And it turned out well that it was 
waterproof; because a downpour started coming down at 6 or so.  About two hours 
later I awoke to the sound of laughter, of which, of course, I was the object. The 
rain had flooded the yard with a few inches of water; there was no way for me to 
get out of the sleeping bag without getting wet.  It was Townes and Jubal and 
Blaze, and maybe Rich Minus all sitting on the front porch drinking beer at 8 in 
the morning.  Well, that's ok, I don't give no fucking shit because hell I'm dry, 
and never drink beer in the morning.  It was a short time later that I got a bank 
loan, this was 87 I think, and bought a 72 New Yorker, and an interesting electric 
guitar, the two-octave neck going through the solid body, brass fittings and tuners, 
with a pretty good sound and natural sustain.  Downtown one afternoon I met 
up with Bill Narum who introduces me to his friends from France, Jacque and 
Jezebel.  They do a show where he plays lead and she plays bass and he programs 
an electric drummer, which he was good at.  Bill had run into them, I think in 
Toronto, and told them about Austin and its possibilities for them, so here they 
were.  And they had a gig, but needed more entertainment.  Well, I have been 
entertaining from moment to moment, and I could use the dough, so I said let's 
go do it.  They were freaked when, half-way there, they realized that I intended 
to jam with them, and we took Blaze with us to open or add to the whatever.  
And boy did it work; we played for a bunch of beach-hippy-blue-collars with 
whom I became longlasting friends and played more parties and weddings for 
them. And they even dug Blaze though he was from another world from theirs; 
he had a way of winning over any audience with his genuine and generous 
spirit shinning through his songs and performance.  He had an almost operatic 
baritone voice, and had sung lots of gospel music with his family in Georgia. 
So soon after I am late for a gig after working at UT all day (that's another 
story) and I can't find the dog to put him in my room, because he's cool there 
and won't get into trouble.  I had just gotton him back from old Dr. Stallworth, 
who had said I shouldn't expect the animal to live, he was so sick, but who with 
his veternary magic had him ready to go home all well in three days!  So I see 
him sleeping under a parked car by the house, but he won't come out when I 
call.  Well, I get angry because I am going to be late and I hate that(in anyone!).  
So I tell this group of hispanic kids that if they will get the dog out for me I'll 
give them ten bucks.  So they do, they shlep him out, I give them the money, 
and I quickly grab the dog and pull him into the house and stick him in my 
room and split.  I wonder why the dog wouldn't mind and if he  was sick again, 
so I came back right after the show to check on him.  When I opened the door 
to my room I saw not one, but two huge dogs!  I had paid those kids 10 dollars 
to grab someone else's giant black dog-- a wonder I didn't get my head bit off.  
Blaze had found Maverick later and put him in my room.  At least they had 
gotton along and done no damage.  I was embarrassed once again, though I 
can claim a visual deficiency others claim it's mental.  Some time later I rented a room to use for an office; I wasn't supposed to keep the dog there but did some anyway.  I could leave him at the house sometimes, but they didn't want to be responsible for my dog.  Actually, I was planning a trip to Nashville with him to go after publishing deals, but trouble in the family kept me in town.  When I went to Mexico to do a music video with Hank, Debbie D, and the De la Vegas, the dog disappeared from the place I left him.  I think my friends gave him away, thinking they were doing me a favor.  I saw him once again, in the back of a pick-up.  He looked happy so I let him be.  For some strange reason I always think of Maverick when I remember Blaze.  
I miss them both.