We have a lot of gods at the Bridge. There is the Big Guy. He's in charge. But there are a lot of other souls who say the god they worship is the one true God. To see the Big Guy you have to climb to the top of the highest mountain where he contemplates his creation from above the clouds. You can walk right up to a lesser god.
One day I became a god. I didn’t mean to, all I wanted was a good pretzel. To get the delicious ones you have to go to the Norse land. I got sidetracked on my route and ended up wandering into a valley surrounded by mountains. There was a big stone hammer blocking my way.
I put my little teeth on it and moved the hammer out of the way.
“She lifted the hammer,” a woman, who had been walking her yak, yelled. “Hail the true Thor!” I turned around searching for the new deity. There were a dozen peasants gathered around me. “We must adore her for she is the one true Lord,” an elder exclaimed. Oh boy.
I tried to tell them that this wasn't necessary. There was some mistake. I just wanted a pretzel. But once a Norse man gets an order, like an overly trained dog, their fidelity cannot be broken.
They were genuflecting towards me. Then a large, handsome, blonde man with muscles that a girl could go for pushed his way through the circle and demanded an audience with me. He got down on one knee so we could speak privately.
“Little dog what are you doing?” he asked. “Lifting the hammer is my thing. My brother is the god of mischief. My father is the one-eyed raven coated god of us all. I was the guy who could lift the hammer. You took my gig.”
I apologized and told him I meant no offense. I suggested I try to lift the hammer again, fail, and then he could say I was a false god and I could get my pretzel.
“Gadzooks, now that’s a plan,” he said agreeing. We walked back to the circle. He challenged me to pick up the hammer. I put it in my mouth strained a little bit and lifted it in the air. Damn! The thing was like a twig. I could not fake being unable to pick it up. Norsemen were weak! People cheered and proclaimed I was the true Hammer God.
“Fine,” Thor yelled. “You think I need this crap from you people? Every time you want to remodel a cave you call old Thor. Come knock down a wall for us. We want to make a sunroom. Well, forget it. Call the damn little dog next time.” He began to walk away sadly.
Despite his ravings, I could tell he would very much miss being the hammer god. The position meant nothing to me. I just wanted a pretzel. I told my acolytes that I, a mere dog was not worthy to rule them. They cried no. Who could blame them? I am an awesome god.
“I am going to leave Thor in my steed to wield my hammer,” I told them. Thor, who had been silently weeping while slowly shuffling away, stopped.
“But dog Thor where will you go?” one of my worshippers asked. I promised I would go on a quest to bring them the most excellent mead and grog in the land. I would travel to strange lands — first, the mysterious world of old Milwaukee. Then into the mountains of Coors Country. Finally, I would go into the deepest depths of Anheuser’s Busch. I would return riding a magnificent beast known as the Clydesdale. Then there would be a feast with beer and grog for all.
They chanted my name. Thor came over and picked me up and put me on his broad shoulders. I held my paw up to silence them. I said I must leave immediately. They even gave me my little horse to ride. I crested a hill then stopped and looked back at them. “Dilly Dilly,” I yelled.
“Dilly Dilly,” they replied.
Then I rode away to get a pretzel. In a few months, I would arrange to have a few kegs dropped off in their area. Dog Thor always keeps her promises.
And that is how I became a Norse God.
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