Subject: Late for School
From: Unicorn (unicorn@indenial.com)
Date: Wed Jun 06 2001 - 09:05:32 EDT
"Baby Chicks"
The farmer stood in his chicken yard watching
hundreds of baby chicks running here and there.
He kept pointing to them and trying to count them.
"One, two, three, four, five, six,... oh, no..." then
he would start over, "one, two, three, four, and,...
oh, no." Then he'd start over again.
Finally he said, "I give up. They say don't count
your chickens before they hatch but it sure is
easier to do that than it is to count them after
they hatch."
*************************
"Late For School"
"Late again," the third-grade teacher said to Little
Johnny. (When anyone was late for school, it
usually was Little Johnny.)
"It ain't my fault." Miss Crabtree, "You can blame
this on my Dad. The reason I'm three hours late?
Dad sleeps nights in the raw!"
Now Miss Crabtree had taught grammar school
for thirty-some-odd years. So she asked Little
Johnny what he meant by that, despite her
mounting fears.
Full of grins and mischief, and in the flower of his
youth, Little Johnny and Trouble were old friends,
but he always told the truth. "You see, Miss Crabtree,
at the ranch we got this here lowdown coyote. The
last few nights done et six hens and killed Ma's best
milk goat. And last night when Dad heard a noise
out in the chicken pen, he grabbed his gun and
said to Ma, "That coyote's back again, I'm a gonna
git him!"
"Stay back, he yelled to all us kids, I wouldn't want
ya hurt!" He was naked as a jaybird, no boots, no
pants, no shirt! To the henhouse he crawled, just
like an Injun on the snoop. Then he stuck that double
barrel through the window of the coop. As he stared
into the darkness, with coyotes on his mind, our old
hound dog Zeke had done woke up and come
asneakin' up behind Dad. Then we all looked on
plumb helpless as Dad was cold-nosed without warnin'.
"Miss Crabtree, we been cleanin' chickens since three
o'clock this mornin'!"
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