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 Down
at the sale barn Saturday, the think tank had coagulated there with
coffees to go to celebrate spring. Doc and Dud had their dogs with
them, while Bert and Dewey and Steve went stag.
Dud tried to start a conversation, but the loudspeaker soon drove
them outside, where they arrayed themselves on dropped tailgates and
waited to hear what Dud had in mind.
“I thought about it a lot,” Dud said, “and I wondered what the
favorite part of my job was, and wondered if you fellas ever gave
that any thought, too.”
They nodded. Yes, by mutual consent a worthy subject.
“With me,” Dud continued, “it wasn’t so much my job as it was my
hobby. You know, writing that book. I’m claiming it as the best part
of my job, anyway.”
The assembled were still waiting to read “Murder in the Soggy
Bottoms,” as it had yet to see print, and was really a work in
progress.
Then Bert picked up the conversation thread. “Of course I’m retired
now,” he said, “but when I was running the pawn shop, my favorite
part of the job happened when a customer found something in there he
really needed and ended up paying much less for it than he thought
he’d have to.”
Doc laughed “And you made more on it than you thought you would,
too.”
Bert grinned and nodded.
“Yep. That was good too. And you, Dewey?” [to top of second
column]
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Our accident-prone pharaoh of
fertilizer got a serious look on his face. He finally said, “The
best part of the fertilizer business is seeing the difference it
makes in the flower gardens around town. Now maybe it’s just my
imagination, but I kinda like to take a little credit for a prettier
town.”
“You deserve it, Dewey,” Doc
said kindly. “Well now … with me it’s a little different. I have
doctoring skills, of course, and it’s good when I can help someone,
but these days the most satisfying part of my job is to check
someone out thoroughly and find there’s absolutely nothing wrong
with them. Now that’s special.”
They all looked over at the tall cowboy, Steve.
“Digging postholes,” he said.
“What?” they said.
“You know,” he said, “the favorite part of my job.”
“Digging postholes?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning. “That’s the only job a cowboy has where
he can start at the top and work down.”
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Read what
might be the shortest book ever published, “Cowboys In Mensa.”
Inquire at your nearest mental health facility.
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