PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

July 27, 2000

Ihr liewe Leit:

   Wie gsaat, der Buhneschtiehl (der Thomas Hess Harter, 1854-1933) hot aa ebbes vun de Hundsdaage zu saage ghatt. Do sin en paar Linye vun seim Schtori “Die Hundsdaage”:

   Die Hundsdaage. Sie kumme alle Yaahr un bleiwe sex Woche. Yeklicher Hund hot sei Daag, un deel hen zwee. Viel Mensche hen Hundsdaage, un net yuscht allee wann der Hundsschtann am Himmel iss, awwer es gans Yaahr rum.

   In fact, schier eenichebber hot sei Hundsdaage. Der Bauer hot sei Hundsdaage wann er sei Weetze gut in der Bodde geduh hot un expect en groossi Aern, awwer en hadder Winder friert em raus, un was net rausgfrore iss fresse die Micke. Der Dokder hot sei Hundsddaage in der Nacht wann eens vun unserer Ketzer am Barrig grank watt wu ihm schunn dreissich Daaler schuldich iss,un er muss eischpanne un darrich der Dreck un Felse rauskumme un ihn dokdere.

   Der Lawyer hot sei Hundsdaage wann nimmand schunnscht sie hot – sell iss wann alles recht geht unnich die Leit, wann ken Raawes, ken Mordes, ken Schtehles aageht. Dennoh hot er nix zu duh fer die Deihenker vum Galye halde. Die Parre hen ihre Hundsdaaage wann sie an en neier Blatz kumme un ihre Gemee finnt aus ass der Wind sie net fiedert un die Wolke sie net gleed.

   Der Buhneschtiehl hot sei Hundsdaage verhandelt zu der Palli sidder ass er sei Temperance Pledge uffgschmisse hot. So nau hot die Palli zwee Hund ihre Daage. Der anner Daag hot sie em Hullerbeck Watt gschickt er daerft mir ken Licker meh gewwe, un dennoh bin ich gange un bin gaar wetters voll warre yuscht fer sie zu schpeide. Ich hab gsaat sie het ken Recht mei “Freiheit” weckzunemme. Of course ich heess es Freiheit awwer die Fact iss ich hab kee Freiheit meh. Die Schpinn vun Abbeditt hot mich in ihrem Weeb un ich bin fescht.

   Es aerscht waar yuscht ee Faade um mich rum un ich hett lossreisse kenne, awwer ich hab gemeent es waer ken Gfaahr, un hab gelacht iwwer Leit wu gsaat hen die Schpinn deet mich am End fescht weewe. Alle whiskey Jigger waar en Faade vum Weeb, un heit bin ich alles iwwerschpunne.

   Ich hab die anner Nacht die Saufgichdere ghatt un ich hab en groossi Ratt gsehne am Offerohr ihre Faasnacht Kuche uff ihre Schwans feddle. Sie hot dennoh en hinner End vum Schwans ins Maul genumme un iss widder es Rohr nuff – Kuche un alles. Wann sie noch oft kummt dann geht der Buhneschiehl emol mit ihr es “Rohr nuff.”

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

   As we were saying, Boonastiel (actually Thomas H. Harter, 1854-1933) also had something to say about the Dog Days. Here are a few lines from his story “The Dog Days”:

The dog days. They come every year and stay for six weeks. Every dog has his day, and some have two. Many people have dog days, and not just only when the Dog Star is in the sky, but the whole year long.

   In fact, almost anybody has his dog days. The farmer has his dog days when he has put his wheat well into the ground and expects a large harvest, but a hard winter freezes it out, and whatever isn’t frozen out the flies eat. The doctor has his dog days in the night when one of the rascals on the mountain gets sick who already owes him thirty dollars and he has to hitch up the horses and has to come out through the dirt and rocks to care for him.

   The lawyer has his dog days when no on else has them – that is when everything is going well among the people, when there is no robbing, no murdering, and no stealing. Hen he has nothing to do to keep those devils from the gallows. The pastors have their dog days when they get to a new place and their congregations find out that the wind does not feed them and the clouds do not clothe them.

   Boonastiel traded in his dog days to his wife Polly since he gave up his temperance pledge. So now Polly has dog days for two dogs. The other day she sent word to the innkeeper Hullerbeck that he may not give me any more liquor, and then I went and got doggone drunk just to spite her. I said that she had no right to take away my “freedom.” Of course, I call it freedom, but the fact of the matter is that I have no more freedom. The spider of appetite has me in its web and I am caught fast.

   At first it was just one thread around me and I could have torn free, but I thought there would be no danger, and I laughed at people who said that in the end the spider would weave me fast. Every jigger of whiskey was a thread of the web, and today I am spun fast all over.

   I had the delirium tremens the other night, and I saw a big rat coming down the stove pipe and stringing over a dozen of Polly’s Fassnachts onto her tail. Then she took the back end of her tail into her mouth and went up the stove pipe again – donuts and all. If she comes often then Boonastiel will once go “up the pipe” with her.

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf