The Ballad of Madison Montana Sky

The Ballad of Madison Montana Sky (Non-Fiction)

Written by Nathan Truzzolino

My sophomore year of college I worked two jobs. I was the family housing manager at the university I attended which included basic maintenance for three offsite buildings a mile north of the main campus. I lived on-site and it was free rent which was honestly great for a broke college kid. The job was pretty nice too, it fit my personality. I’d go around the property and make sure the place looks nice during the school year and in the summer months I would run a small crew that would cut the grass, move furniture in and out, clean the apartments, plant some flowers, paint the kids playground equipment, screw around on the riding lawn mower and harass the cute summer school nursing school residents the rest of the time.

The second job I had at the time was as a part time bartender. I slung drinks at a cocktail/wine bar called Hops. It was a nice, higher-end bar that was located inside a hotel on the flats of Butte. In my novel (Middle of The End, go buy now!) I use this bar as the prototype for the bar Muckers that the main character finds himself having a nice dinner in.

I worked a few Friday night shifts and maybe some random Wednesday or Thursday nights, mostly though I was the Saturday daytime guy. The weakest shift ever in terns of fun and tips. This lady, I can’t recall her name, trained me and when I say train, I mean she showed me where some stuff was and how to clock in. She didn’t show me jack on how to make drinks, what the different wines were or how to use the small fryer in the back to cook some bar food. Nothing. I remember this time this old lady sitting at the bar asked what kind of White Belgians we had on tap and she may as well asked me to whip my dick out, thats how embarrassed I was from not knowing shit from shinola. I was 20 years old when I started the job so the drinking I was exposed to was cheap beer and paint-thinner quality vodka and that was about it. I had no fucking idea what Blue Moon with an orange slice was let alone a Long Island Ice Tea. Don’t even get me started on wine. Yeesh.

My biggest fear though was fudging up the till. That thing was older than Betty White and would loudly beep randomly like it was about to detonate. I did eventually learn some tricks from the cool as fuck bartenders Dan and this older fella named Steve who was a country club socialite who needed an excuse to get the hell out the house once in a while. He wore pressed slacks, leather loafers, expensive 80’s golf polos and thousands of dollars in gold rings and bracelets. Damn he looked cool. He would take orders from people like they inconvenience him and they loved him for it. He looked like Evel Knieval was happy to be friends with him.

I ran both jobs and school pretty well for a while. I had been dating my girlfriend for about 18 months at that point and things weren’t too bad.

One summer night, I am at my apartment cooking dinner and drinking a beer with my girlfriend when I get a call from a fellow bartender at Hops, who we will call Troy, saying I needed to get down there ASAP.

I had maybe three conversations total with this Troy fella since I had been working there so to get a call from him was already strange enough.

“Why what’s up?” I ask.

“There is a lady passed out at one of the keno machines.”

And before he can finish the sentence I knew what he was going to say next.

“She said she’s your Mom.”

From time-to-time, my Mother, on her off days, would come visit me at the bar, grab a beer and go sit at 1 of the 7 keno machines we had in the back end of the bar and she would play until my shift was over then we would go get dinner or she would simply stay while I went home.

My Mom, God bless her cotton socks, had a drinking problem and occasionally would get fucked up on complementary beers while playing the machines and I would have to either go get her or she would eventually sober up enough to drive and make her way home.

This summer night was one where I had to go get her. My girlfriend, who already wasn’t super impressed with my Mom, was pissed off I had to leave and rightly so. A 20 year old man shouldn’t have to take care of his mother this way.

By the time I had gotten downtown from my apartment which was way uptown; peeing distance from the Big M, Mom was somewhat coherent and now causing a scene. Troy the bartender was irate and I guess looking back on it, I don’t blame him. I am sure the other customers were ran off by Mom’s behavior and if I was in Troy’s EE wide Payless shoes, I would probably be mad too. But still, it’s my Mom douche bag, calm your tits alright?

I retrieved Mom from the chair next to the gambling machine and I begin to walk her to a table next to the door. Before I can get her up on her feet I see something I’ve never seen on a keno machine before.

It was a jackpot. A real, to honest jackpot.

In the game of Keno, you select a group of numbers from two sheets of numbers running from 1 to 99. A gambler can play 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 numbers on a card. The more you pick the worse the odds but higher the return.

Mom had selected seven numbers and he has hit on all seven of them. These machines, sanctioned and regulated by the Montana State Gaming Commission, are only allowed max pay out of $800 per game. Sitting at the bottom of the screen flashes a small $800 in green letters.

I cashed out the ticket and brought it over to Troy after I sat Mom at the table. Troy rolled his eyes and paid me out in $50’s, knowing I would have to give him one if I was to tip him and goddammit I had to.

He smirks at me and says thanks. What a pony-tailed asshole. If I saw him today I would tell him he was lucky he got that amount with way he spoke to me on the phone. That would be the last time I see that man and thank god for that.

—

A big reason why my Mom was boozing so hard was because of some tragic and traumatizing family deaths, both by suicide. My aunt, my Mom’s sister had killed herself while living with us for a short spell. This was shortly after my aunt’s son, my first cousin Natiel, had shot himself as well. Tension between my Mom and Dad was at an all time high and the drinking started to get out of control for my Mom. She had a lot of hurt and pain. Life was not kind to my Mother in a lot of ways and she coped with it the best she could. She was a functioning alcoholic for a long time until my Aunt killed herself. Then the drinking got really bad. She even voluntarily went to rehab for a few weeks over in Billings but nothing stuck. My Mom was a saint who would do anything for anyone, the poetic justice is the one person she couldn’t help was herself.

This is the chapter in my Mothers life where the drinking in public phase started to get a tad out of hand. I had a lot of resentment towards my Mom for acting this way. She made a fool of herself when she did this and she made me embarrassed to be seen or associated with her. I know that sounds shallow and it kind of is, but when you are 20 and trying to make a life for yourself, you shouldn’t have to be constantly apologizing for and babysitting your Mom.

The reason my Mom was so resentful and mean towards my Father in that period of her life is she believed it was mostly his fault my Aunt killed herself. She thought it could have been prevented which after some long days in therapy I found was not true. My Aunt came to Butte to live with her parents and they eventually kicked her out for bad behavior, drinking to excess and eventual attempting suicide in their home.

My aunt then came to live with us for a hot minute. This was in the Spring and every April we planned a big fishing trip over to Eastern Montana to go paddle fishing. I wasn’t going this year since I had the responsibility of school, working at the family housing complex and making terrible mixed drinks at the bar. So my Aunt was going to have the house to herself because Mom, Dad, my Sister and my Dad’s parents were all going.

My Mom had asked me to stay at the house with my Aunt to babysit an adult. This pissed me off to no end. Here I am a 20 year old, hanging out with my Aunt who wants to just get fucked up, complain, cry and cause trouble for my life. I agreed to it but I didn’t take the task too serious. They had mentioned the suicide attempt so my Dad had hid all the guns and bullets in our house to make sure there was no issues with that.

I was getting ready to go to my friend Keith’s house. He and his girlfriend had just brought back a puppy from Texas named Daisy Romo (RIP) and I was going over to go see her. I told my Aunt I was going out. She was in a good mood and asked if I needed her to buy me some beer. I was visibly annoyed by this question and by her cramping my style in general. I was short with her. I was cranky. I was an asshole. I said no and walked out of the house. That would be the last time I see my aunty Kim alive.

I will come to regret all of this for a very long time.

My Aunt eventually found my Dad’s pistol in its hiding spot and after a long time searching found the matching bullets. My aunt then took my Mother’s Buick, drove out to where her son was buried and shot herself on his grave.

The Montana Game Wardens had to inform my Mom of what happened because where they were fishing there was no cell phone reception. I was woken up at my parents house by knocking on the door. It was the cops. They said to come get my Mom’s car. My girlfriend, who worked mornings at a small coffee hut on Montana Street, saw my Mom’s car on the flatbed tow truck drive by. She knew before I did.

My Mom never forgave my Father for that, or maybe she did and never told me. She blamed him for it all which was unfair and damaging to their marriage. She blamed him for not canceling the trip. She blamed him for not hiding the weapons better.

I of course blamed myself. I was a complete ass to my Aunt. The guilt engulfed my entire life like a black hole.

It took me years to get past that, to understand that my Aunt was going to find a way, some how, anyway, to kill herself. It was her mission and she wouldn’t stop until she did it. I was so mean to her, that part still hurts, but I don’t blame myself for her death. Still, it was an expensive and costly lesson in humility, empathy and compassion.

My Mom never got to that place, the place of forgiving. She never stopped blaming herself and others for my Aunts death. Or maybe she eventually did but somehow I doubt it.

That was the spark that caused the continuous carpet bombing of alcoholism that overpowered my Mothers last ten years of her life.

That was the reason why she was at my bar, drunk, passed out with $800 sitting in front of her. She was trying to drink away the pain. The guilt. The sadness. The depression of her only sister dying on her watch. Drink away the memory of identifying her body. The memory of seeing the Game Warden drive down to Slippery Anne camp ground, knowing they were coming for her. To tell her the news. She knew it before they stepped out of the truck. That is why she was at my bar that night.

—

“The ad in the paper said they would be ready in a week and that they were $500 each.”

So, since I was really really really mad at my Mom for pulling the anti-Irish Goodbye at my bar, I pocketed the $750 she won. I told her the next day about it. She didn’t care. I am sure she was embarrassed and ashamed so money wasn’t really an issue for her at that time.

Also for a multitude of reasons I quit the bartending job. I blamed my Mom for it at the time but deep down inside I knew I wasn’t cut out for it. I liked the job plenty but when you are 20 years old all you want to do is be on the other side of the stick drinking the beer, not serving it.

So what to do with $750 dollars…

I did what all young dumb and broke college kids do.

Buy something irresponsible.

Buy something irresponsible and expensive

Buy something irresponsible and expensive and have to travel to a far away location to retrieve it.

A farm in Havre Montana was selling pure bread AKC certified Labrador Retrievers for $500 each and three of the seven had been spoken for already.

I phoned them and they said the rest are available in a week. They told me where their farm was located and said to come up next Saturday.

I was going to go purchase myself a dog. A new best friend.

The issue was. . .

The place I am living, the apartment that is reserved for the family housing manager, doest allow dogs. My girlfriend, she couldn’t take in a dog either so that wasn’t an option. So…

Ah fuck it, I’ll hide her! No one will know.

(Spoiler alert, everyone knew)

So Friday rolls around, one day before I am to leave Butte for Havre.

Havre is 267 miles away or about 4 hours drive time if you are cruising fast. I was ready.

(I was not ready at all)

The night before I invited friends over to my apartment for video games and beers. What ended up happening was a night full of Nintendo Wii Bowling was condensed into an hour, leaving a huge vacuum of time for nothing but drinking. We played beer pong, did shots of alcohol, sang karaoke and told lies til’ the sun came up.

I was beyond hungover and sick when my alarm went off the next morning.

I wasn’t going. I couldn’t go. I was way too sick.

Then I rolled over in bed, looked at my window to see the sun peeping through the blinds, trying their best to exacerbate my headache. Then I thought of that puppy. Holding her in my arms, loving her, buying her all the little puppy things she will need. Even hungover I wanted that. God damn I wanted that puppy.

Ah shit, fuck it! I’m getting up and I am going.

I showered fast, threw on some old clothes and jumped into my 1997 red 4 door Ford Escort to drive 4 hours north to Havre.

I made it to Elk Park before I pulled over to throw up. Elk Park is basically a snot rocket shot North Butte. I wasn’t going. I had to turn around.

I thought of that puppy again. I need that puppy.

So I soldiered on. I made it an hour to Helena, the state capital, and I throw up in a Town Pump bathroom. I grab a bottle of water and pumped some fuel.

The Ford Escort had no cruise control so my gas milage was shit since I kept accelerating and decelerating on the winding interstate between Butte and Helena with my jittery foot and ankle. Also my ankle was killing me at this point. I almost turned around.

No I told myself, get to Great Falls and feel it out from there. Great Falls isn’t far off and if you can make it there I told myself, you make the last stretch to Havre.

I whizzed up to Great Falls and found a K-Mart. I dry heaved in the parking lot before going in to buy a huge beach towel (for the dog) some snacks (for me) and a new pair of shoes? I dunno I do weird shit when I am hungover I guess. I had no food, no crate, no water, nothing essential that a living dog would need but God help me I had a beach towel. What a dummy.

I was finally able to keep some food down and look myself in the eye of my rear view mirror. I was ready to keep going. I was getting that fucking dog.

I made the final stretch from Great Falls to Havre and I rang up the family with the pups.

“You’re five hours late” the guy says.

All I can think is, they are gone, they are all gone and I am too late.

“I know I am sorry I had a late start. Car issues.” I lied.

“It’s alright, we were just worried about ya is all.”

God bless Montana and all the children she bore.

“No I am ok, I need your address again, I am a tad lost.”

“Ok, good to hear.” He said.

I found the farm and pulled into a long dirt drive way.

I stepped out into the hot and windy high plains that was Havre. My grandfather on my Mother’s side grew up here, I have family that still live there still but I don’t know them even if they share the same last name as my Grandfather. My Grandfather would eventually call my dog Nelson for some reason and it always made me laugh. He also told me the best joke about Havre I have ever heard.

“You know what they say about those Havre girls right? If you want her, you can Havre.”

That one still makes me giggle. Good time Eddy was always good for a chuckle.

-

On the farm, the lovely woman of the estate wrangles up all the available pups and plops them on the kids enclosed trampoline.

She tells me there are two males and two females left, she’s having trouble finding the second female though.

The two males are pure white Labs, Snow White. The first one is chunky and clearly the Alpha. I don’t need that kind of energy in my tiny apartment. The other male is handsome but I had my heart set on a female.

I ask to see the females and the wife said she could only find one of them, the other is hiding somewhere.

The one female I had on the trampoline was a black lab and she fought me like hell when I held her. I pinned her to the ground trying to establish dominance and she was relentless. Fighting me tooth and nail until I let her go. No good. I would later in life make that mistake and although I love her (Looking at you Pepper) that crazy black lab is defiant as ever and plays by her own rules. Take it as it comes I guess.

I asked where the other female was.

The wife told me to follow her and we looked around the yard for about five minutes until we spotted her. She was passed out under an old water trough, snoozing in the shade. A born shade hunter, a skill she will carry with her for her entire life.

I wiggled her out of her tight spot and held her up. She wasn’t white or yellow. She was gold.

I pinned her on the ground and she thrashed for a few seconds then she saw me and looked me in the eye. We connected for the first time. She stopped thrashing and laid on her back, looking at me with big brown eyes and a tiny black nose.

“This is the one.” I said.

They called her female 3, purple collar. I would eventually call her Madison.

Madison Montana Sky. The last two names pulled from her parents for which the mom was a champion black lab and the father a fantastic yellow duck dog.

I handed over the $500 and tossed the pup in the passenger seat of the Escort. Before we set out I took the pup, kissed her on the nose and told her I liked her more than a friend. We were on our way home.

-

For some reason my sister was in Helena, the state capital of Montana, visiting our cousin Jessica (Shout out to her new born son, very happy for you). I had made a promise to pick her up in Helena and bring her back to Butte. When I made this promise I do not remember. It was most likely during a drunken tirade in uptown Butte but regardless I made the promise. So now I need to get to Helena in time to grab Tessa, my sister.

Problem is I have no idea where my cousin lives in Helena and on top of that I have about two bars (yes cell phone batteries were measured in bars then, not percentages) of battery left on my flip phone.

I charged through Great Falls and into Helena. I had enough battery and service to call my girlfriend to tell her I was ok. Oh yeah I had forgotten to call and text her all day. God damn I was hungover and a shitty boyfriend.

Anyways I get Tess, we drive the hour to Butte and meet my girlfriend at my parents house.

Here is where the fun begins.

My Dad, who bred and raised yellow labs when he was a kid, was absolutely and adamantly against me getting a dog. He was pissed, he thought it irresponsible (it was) and wasteful (that was true as well). I get now why he was upset and shit I would have been too in his shoes.

But.

But the moment I brought that dog into his house, his buzz kill grinch heart grew three sizes that day (just kidding ya old man, you big softy). He was in love just like I was, probably even more so. My dad had a champion yellow lab named Sandy who was the love of his life. He knew what special bond there was between a boy and his pup. How could he now deny that to his son. How? How? Exactly….he can’t.

Everyone was happy to see Madi and everyone loved her instantly. Dad and I were already in love with this dog. Just like my pissed off girlfriend was. Just like Tess was, who held her the last leg of the ride home. Just like my mom who’s fiasco drunken night made all of this possible, even my mom loved that dog.

That was the thing about Madison. Everyone loved her.

One in a million a lot of people say. Well she was one in a litter of seven. I was blessed that I found her hiding in the shade that day. She changed my life forever.

She would end up traveling with me everywhere. She was the adopted kid to two more of my girlfriends, the roommate to my best friend, the caregiver to my depressed mother, the best friend to other animals like her mentor Buster and her eventual sibling Pepper.

Madison was a great dog.

She passed away this last month. She was twelve. Her birthday was May 11th. I lost her in the divorce in 2018, so I wasn’t around for her the last four years of her life. That is something I will never get over. I didn’t fight for much in the divorce, I was too gutted emotionally to stand up for myself. I should have fought for her, but that doesn’t mean she ended up somewhere bad. She had a wonderful last few years and I am grateful for that, to my ex for taking care of her as well as I would have. I wasn’t able to see her off to the other side when god finally called her home. But she was with good people who cared for her and did their best to make her life as comfortable as possible in the end. There is comfort in knowing that.


On her last day, she got some McDonalds French fries and doggy chocolate before her last trip to the vet, which she always hated.

Sometimes I still have dreams with Madi in them. Us fishing on the Jefferson or Big Hole. Shooting shotguns with my buddy Keith up on Homestake Pass. Sledding at the archery range in 9 Mile, south of Butte with my dad and sister. Us, alone, living in Arizona for a few years, just sitting in the shade in the desert heat. I dream about her because she was apart of me. It’s like dreaming about your feet or hands. Now a part of me is missing and gone forever. A phantom limb that still itches and wants to go play frisbee in the Phoenix heat, even though the ground is so hot it burns her paws.

I’ll have a thousand memories of her and they pop up from time to time. Small little markers of space and time, when and where I was in my life. Single - engaged - married - separated. She was there through all of it. Havre- Butte - Lakeside - Phoenix - Chandler - Missoula - Frenchtown. She was with me everywhere. Loving. Understanding. Shedding lol.

One last memory - She was a natural water dog but refused to jump off the dock up at Flathead Lake. She fell in the lake once when she was puppy and I thought god I had ruined her already. But she swam to shore, shook off and sat there pissed for a few moments and just like that was back out on the dock, soaking up the high mountain sun.

One summer, my grandfather Jack, took her out to the dock, threw a stick and said in his low commanding voice “Go” and heck she goed right off the end of that dock.

I tried for months to get her to do that. Ol’ “One Time Jack” here gets her to do it on the first shot. That was Madison. Full of surprises.

I don’t want to make it sound like I am advocating drinking in excess like my Mom had done the night at my bar, but if it wasn’t for that night, I would never had the pleasure and company of my favorite dog in the whole wide world. So to my Mom, thank you for brining Madison into our lives. She left her mark on many souls and now I cry a little knowing she’s up there with you, bugging you to feed her and shedding on all of your black clothes :)

I will forever be grateful for that dog. For that companion. For that best friend.

RIP Madison Montana Sky

May 11th 2009 - Oct 19th 2021

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Nathan Truzzolino is the author of

‘Middle of The End: A Novel’

Available for purchase on Amazon.com