"Late again," the third-grade teacher said to little Sammy. "It ain't my fault
this time, Miss Crabtree. You can blame this'un on my Daddy. The reason
I'm three hours late is my Daddy sleeps naked!" Now, Miss Crabtree had
taught grammar school for thirty-some-odd years. Despite her mounting
fears, she asked little Sammy what he meant by that. Full of grins and mischief,
and in the flower of his youth, little Sammy and trouble were old friends, but
always told her the truth. "You see, Miss Crabtree, out at the ranch we got
this here low down coyote. The last few nights, he done ate six hens and killed
Ma's best milk goat. Last night, when Daddy heard a noise out in the chicken
pen, he grabbed his shot gun and said to Ma,
"That coyote's back again, I'm a gonna git him!'' "Stay back, he whispered to all
us kids!" "He was naked as a jaybird, no boots, no pants, no shirt! To the hen
house he crawled, just like an injun on the snoop. Then, he stuck that double
barreled 12 gauge shot gun through the window of the coop." "As he started
into the darkness, with coyotes on his mind, our old hound dog, Zeke, had
done woke up and comes sneaking' up behind Daddy. Then, as we all
looked on, plumb helpless, old Zeke stuck his cold nose in Daddy's crack!"
"Miss Crabtree, we all been cleanin' chickens since three o'clock this mornin'!"---