A friend tells about back in the 1930's when his father was a preacher in some mountain communities in western N.C., his dad and mother went to visit a family who lived in a cabin on the side of a mountain. As they started up the long steps to the high front porch, the woman of the house came out of the door, walked across the porch, kicked at the hound dog who was lying at the top of the steps, and said, "Git out, Preacher!" The guy's parents hesitated, but deciding that the woman was actually talking to the dog, and not to them, they went on up the steps.
Later, during the visit, they got up enough courage to ask the woman, "Is your dog named "Preacher?" She replied, "Yes, the neighbors named him that because he ate all their chickens."
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