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Doc looked up from his coffee. "Didn't know you were looking for
work, Steve. Cowboying not working out for you?" "It isn't that,"
said the cowboy-farrier. "It's just that a guy should always keep
his eyes open so as not to miss an opportunity to better himself.
That's why I'm so interested in becoming a chicken ranger."
"A what?"
"He said a chicken ranger, Doc," said Bert, "but I never heard of
one."
"Scoff if you must, friends," said Steve with a flourish, "but
right here in the pages of our own glorious newspaper comes one of
the best ideas for a job I've ever heard of. It seems if your
chickens run around loose, you get more money for their eggs.
Seriously. Look at this ad. The store says they are from certified
free-ranging chickens. Got it stamped right on every free-ranging
egg."
"Heard about that," Doc said, nodding. "It's not that the eggs
are better, but it makes you feel better about eating an egg from a
happy hen, 'cause she can run around and peck on other hens and get
pecked on rather than be caged."
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column in this article]
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"And therein lies my new job, gentlemen," Steve said. "Someone
has to make sure those are happy, unfettered, free-ranging
manufacturers of cackleberries, and I'm just the guy to get 'er
done."
Bert, who takes his charter membership in the Mule Barn truck
stop's philosophy counter and world dilemma think tank very
seriously, said, "Doesn't sound like much work to me."
"Each egg has to be certified," Steve explained.
"Gotta be a chicken ranger there to certify those hens didn't
bunch up in a corner somewhere, right? So I'll be sitting there on
my horse, keeping an eye on the girls."
"On your horse?"
"Of course," Steve said. "Don't you know afoot is the
saddest word in the English language?"
[Slim Randles]
The American Red Cross needs our help. Visit them at
www.redcross.org/contactus/biomed.
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