Liar’s Contest 2024

The Liar’s Contest, founded by GOLDENSEAL who sponsors the competition and awards the “Golden Shovel” to the Biggest Liar, takes place on Sunday afternoon at each Vandalia Gathering. Folks from all over our great state come to share their own far-fetched stories, seeing who can spin the most unbelievable and entertaining story or “lie.” Below you will find the winning tall tale from 2024 courtesy of Charleston’s own April Ritter. –ed.

“My husband brought the puppy home, my girls were about three and one. He thought it’d be a good idea that they would grow up with a pet. And sure enough, within days, this dog and the girls were thick as thieves, wherever one was, the other two were. They loved that dog and my oldest named him Biscuit.

Well, one day—one night rather—a couple months after Biscuit came to live with us, we woke up out of a sound sleep to the sound of Biscuit outside our door, barking like we have never heard this dog bark before. Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark—right outside our door. Well, we popped up, wondering what in the heck was wrong. And as soon as our feet hit the floor, we knew what was wrong. The smoke alarm started going off. Well, we ran to the door, you know, to run down the hall and get the girls from the bedroom.

We needn’t have been in such a hurry because Biscuit had it well in hand. The girls were there with him, the oldest holding onto his collar, the younger one sitting on the floor between his paws. He’s got one paw on her nightgown, so, you know, she can’t toddle away.

Well, so we scooped up the girls and Biscuit is nipping at our heels, getting us out of the house as fast as he can—bark, bark, bark—all the way down the driveway, he pushes us.

So we sat down the girls on the grass and turned to look at the house. Sure enough, there’s smoke rising from the roof. So my husband goes running down the road to call for help from the neighbors because, you know, didn’t have cell phones in those days. So I’m there trying to get it together, checking over the girls. They’re okay. I turned to check on Biscuit.

Biscuit has run back into the house. Oh my goodness! Well, I know why he ran back into the house because seconds later, he comes running out, barreling down the driveway toward us—bark, bark, bark—as fast as he can go and on his back, like a very angry, confused jockey is our cat, Rosie—bark, bark—and she’s hissing and spitting and doesn’t know what to do. Biscuit comes to a stop at my feet, gives a good shake and Rosie goes off into the grass.

I’m checking Rosie over and I hear my oldest daughter say, “Biscuit, going to get Goldie.”

Goldie—the very imaginatively named goldfish that lives in a bowl next to my daughter’s bed—I thought, surely not. Surely so, because a few seconds later, here comes Biscuit out the door again. Woof—a little muffled, because you know—woof. He’s got, very carefully between his lips Goldie, and he’s looking around the end of the driveway. There’s a little mud puddle. He spits Goldie into the mud puddle. I’m thinking, I cannot believe what I’m seeing.

My husband comes up the road about that time. “It’s okay, honey.” You know, “Help is coming.” And we turned to look at the house and there’s flames starting to come up from the roof. And I’ll be doggone if we did not see Biscuit going in the house again! And I thought, “Oh Lordy, please come out of the house.” You know, I don’t wanna explain to the girls what’s happened. Well, I needn’t have worried. Biscuit had it, again, well in hand.

As the fire department came up, here comes Biscuit, head up this time. Tail wagging just proud as he could be, comes over, lays a little bundle at our feet, and then goes over and plops down in the grass next to the girls. In that bundle was our fire insurance policy wrapped up in a damp towel—I’m telling you, that Biscuit, he’s a smart cookie.”