We spent the last two days of our excursion in Napa, and finally we had an enjoyable, trouble free time, with the exception of The Director doing her best impression of Lucille Ball on Day 7.

It seems that while we were meeting and tasting with the winemaker at a certain high profile winery that shall remain nameless to protect the guilty party, she wandered off, only to return some time later looking VERY nervous.

I excused myself to go to the men's room, gesturing for her to follow. When I asked her what might be the problem, she took me to that area in the facility where the big stainless steel fermentation tanks were, and lo, there was a hi-lo with its tines imbedded firmly in one of these. It seems that she had wanted to relive past glories of the time when she was gainfully employed on the night shift, working on the fork lift, but had failed to negotiate a tight corner efficiently. There was a slow but steady stream of greenish-gold liquid coming from the two punctures in the tank, spreading in an ever increasing pool around it.

Now, on one hand, this should be considered to be no great loss, since it was only Napa Valley Chardonnay, and was destined to become just another of the fat, low acid whites that are virtually indistinguishable from most of the others in the neighborhood. Big deal.

However, there ARE some people who actually enjoy this kind of swill, and the producer DOES have a rather significant financial commitment to their program, so it was felt that a hasty departure might be in order.

We made some excuse about having left the bath water running at Bree's, and exited as quickly as we could without (hopefully) raising any suspicions. We then got out of St. Helena as fast as I could drive. Fortunately, the only Police car in sight was engaged with several inebriated tasters who should have been spitting and dumping as they hit every stop up and down Highway 29.

We continued on back to Cloudy Bay without incident, arriving shortly after dusk. We were greatly relieved to be back at the ranch without retribution for The Director's faux pas, but just as we were getting out of the rental car, out of the shadows jumps this madman, wearing an old hockey goalie’s mask and brandishing a wine thief.

It was Jason.

The Director swore as Bree pulled her away quickly. I was the target of this Friday the 13th nightmare, and I was ready for him. I reached for the mace that I always keep in pocket, but as I was backing up to set myself, I fell over one of three recycling containers full of empty wine bottles that were put out for the next day's pickup. I hit hard and the mace went flying. My foe was on me in an instant, and though I fought with all my strength, I was losing the battle to his berserker fury.

Just as he was about to perform a crude medical procedure with the thief, Turdley, KJ and K-mus hit him harder than the linebacking corps of the San Francisco 49ers. Sue had seen what was transpiring, and had rushed to release them from the kennel.

The Dobermans tore into him pretty good before he finally was able to get away from them, but as he was running down the road, they continued to nip at his backside, removing large patches of denim and smaller patches of flesh. Bree gave a loud whistle and two of them returned, but KJ, who is especially aggressive, gave one last lunge.

I'll never forget the blood curdling scream the maniac made.

We retired to Chateau Bree/Backman, and pulled a few corks from some special bottles. The boys were given a special treat, and again slept in our room.

They're truly magnificent beasts, and everyone should have at least one.

B