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Poodle Dog Lounge
6507 Burnet Road
(512) 465-9468

Poodle Dog Lounge

By Moira Muldoon
Special to the American-Statesman
Thursday, October 10, 2002

I've been shooting pool at the Poodle Dog Lounge lately. For the record, I shoot pool like a girl. Not an international women's pool champion kinda girl. Not a "Mystic Pizza" Julia-Roberts-sink-the-shot-while-sexily-staring-at-the-guy kinda girl either.

Moira Muldoon Nope -- I play pool like a girl, a veritable 8-year-old-in-a-party-dress kinda girl. Which is a sad state of affairs, especially given how many hours I've logged in bars. And so I'm finally trying to learn, 75 cents at a time, at the Poodle Dog.

The Poodle Dog is across the road from Burnet Road Self Storage (the yellow star on the storage sign always makes me think the place should be a bowling alley, and I'm always surprised that it's not) and just down the way from Ginny's Little Longhorn. The Poodle Dog opens at 11 a.m. Cigarettes and M&Ms are for sale. Posters of Marilyn Monroe and black-and-whites of old movie stars decorate the wall behind the bar. Beer comes in cans or bottles, but mostly cans. You can bring hard liquor and buy set-ups, but mostly you drink beer. There's shuffleboard. There's a regular whose dog cruises through the bar picking up cans and occasionally wrestling an empty 24-pack box. The dog usually wins.

Frat boys and alternative types come in, as does the occasional bar columnist, but the Poodle Dog is essentially smoke-voiced and blue collar. It's AC/DC's "Back in Black" and George Jones' heartbroke wailing, depending on who's got control of the jukebox. When the George Jones folks get their music going, they sometimes two-step through the pool tables, paunchy older guys leaning in close to their wives and girlfriends.

I've been shooting pool there in the afternoons and early evenings because one of the six tables is always open and no one makes fun of me (to my face) when I scratch on the break. The tables aren't pristine by any stretch of the imagination; I expect it would be better to learn on nice tables at a nice pool hall, but my game isn't going to be much affected by the quality of the felt at this stage anyway.

The folks at the Poodle Dog look rough, but most of them struck me as the kind of guys who'd pull over and help you fix a flat. They'll certainly offer advice on your pool game, if you ask (or if you roll your eyes after a particularly bad shot). But no one'll put sleazy pickup moves on you. They might, however, say they'd be happy to buy you or any of your friends a beer, given that they think you're all cute. And, you assume, they're a little lonesome.

Of course, most folks are a little lonesome, and the Poodle Dog is the kind of place you go to hang out and chase away the lonesomeness, rather than drink it away, like you might at La-La's. The Poodle Dog isn't any nicer than La-La's; it's as dead beer stinky and dark and smoky as any number of dives. But it's also the kind of place where you can just chat with someone at the bar, where the bartender will genuinely, if absent-mindedly, wish you a good night on your way out.

This week I took my little brother there for his first visit. Over one of the world's longest games of pool (he's better than I am, but I seem to be a bad influence on him; apparently my bad aim is contagious), he told me about his friends from New York and Chicago who were coming to town and what he planned to do with them: barbecue, two-stepping, shows. By the end of the night, he'd fallen in love with the place and added a visit to the Poodle Dog to his list. I just hope his buddies don't play pool like girls -- I'd hate to see his game get wrecked.



Contact Moira Muldoon at bargirl@covad.net



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