Laugh Tracks in the Dust 6-28-10 |

Laugh Tracks in the Dust 6-28-10

This wuz told to me as a true story – and it happened several decades ago.

Mr. and Mrs. Nutson Boltz were newlyweds and, as a wedding gift, one of their elderly farm lady neighbors thoughtfully gave them the nicest present she could think of – a baby piglet.

Well, that piglet grew and grew – both in size and as Mrs. Boltz’s favorite pet. That pig became house broken and had the run of the place. All the pig really asked of life wuz to be fed frequently and to be petted and scratched just as often.

As luck would have it, one day some peddlers of religious information came calling to the Boltz house and Mrs. Boltz wuz the only person home. As the persistent peddlers stood in the front yard and didn’t take the hint that they should be on their way, along came Miss Piggy out of the shade and came up to the strangers in her yard, wanting something to eat and a good scratching from them.

Of course, the city-bred peddlers wanted nothing to do with Miss Piggy on one hand, but on the other hand hated to leave without a convert. So, they uncomfortably kept wary eyes on Miss Piggy as she rooted and grunted at their legs to get their attention. They even tried to shoo her away.

Finally, Miss Piggy apparently had enuf of their inhospitable ways and turned around and promptly pooped right on the bright shiny shoes of one of the peddlers.

Mrs. Boltz laughed in recollection that the peddlers couldn’t get away from Miss Piggy and from the Boltz farmstead fast enuf – and they ain’t been back since that fateful day.


Speaking of fateful happenings, last week my buddy Rollin Birdz and I went to see our mutual friend, ol Lon G. Horner, who is in the hospital. Lon has gotten well enuf that he wanted some company to play cards with him.

After Lon had won all our pocket change in his accustomed manner, Rollin and I left to go home. But, when we got to the hospital parking lot, we sadly discovered that his newly-traded-for Chevy pickup truck had a flat tire on the driver’s side front. Since it wuz 9:30 p.m., we knew we had a task in front of us changing the tire. But, little did we know, what a task it wuz to become.

The main problem wuz we couldn’t get the spare tire to lower from beneath the truck, even though (after we referenced to the operator’s manual) we knew we were attempting to do the job the correct way.

Of course, we didn’t have a flashlight, and were fumbling around in the feeble parking lot light, and both of us were nearing an adverse high blood pressure event.

It finally got to the point were I laughingly told Rollin (who is a lay minister in his church), that if he’d do the praying for help, I’d do the cussing for the two of us.

Well, I didn’t see Rollin bow his head and fold his hands together, but apparently it is true that silent prayer is stronger than blasphemy because just as we were about to phone someone to come get us, two angels in the form of two big stout young guys drove by and volunteered to assist us.

With their flashlight, they soon discovered that the receiving mechanism beneath the truck that wuz supposed to accept the crank handle to lower the spare tire wuz out of alignment and what we were attempting to do wuz impossible until they got everything in the proper place. Then they lowered the tire as it wuz supposed to lower.

And then those two husky “angels” even jacked up the pickup and changed the tire for us – and wouldn’t take any compensation for their good deed.

Rollin dropped me off at Damphewmore Acres around 11 p.m. The next day, he reported back that his tire wuz impaled by a piece of steel about the size of a railroad spike.

The entire episode just proves my point that every engineer who designs something should have to use his invention in the real world to see if it really works before it goes on the market.


We had a big flood in Chase County last week that wiped out thousands of acres of great bottomland crops. It made me sick to my stomach to see all that investment of labor and capital (and potential profit) literally go down the Cottonwood River’s drainage. I can only hope that most of the farmers and ranchers had sufficient crop insurance to ease the financial pain.


I guess that about wraps up this column for this week. I’ll close with these anonymous words of wisdom about flooding: “No individual rain drop ever considers itself responsible for the flood.”

Have a good ‘un.

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