by Slim Randles
“Wait a minute … wait a minute … I got it!” said Steve, our tall cowboy with the shaving brush moustache. “Here’s what we can do … just listen a minute.”
The faithful no-card-carrying members of the Mule Barn truck stop’s morningly congregation of the valley’s supreme court of dang near everything hushed and sipped and listened.
Out on the road beyond the last of the parked pickups, they could hear it “… so’s I was sayin’ jest set yerself down and scribble off a note to Cane Bridge University …” and then it faded away as Windy drove the Gates of Heaven restaurant’s loudspeaker car farther down the main drag of town.
“See what I mean?” grinned Steve. “Hey, it’s a natural. Best April Fool’s joke we ever gonna have.”
“You mean pull a joke on Windy?” said Dud.
“Sure. If ever a natural April Fool’s joke fell into our laps, this here has to be the best. Sure beats the volcano we faked last year by burning those tires.”
Doc shook his head and looked up from stirring his coffee.
“Guys,” he said, “we can’t do it. Well, shouldn’t do it, anyway. You know how obsessed ol’ Windy is at getting that honorary college degree. If we fooled him into thinking he was actually getting one … it might just cause massive organ seizure or something.”
“Is that a medical term, Doc?” asked Bert.
“Nope. Just a natural fact.”
Several bites were taken from the sweet rolls and washed down with coffee. Mavis brought more coffee.
“Doc’s right,” said Steve. “Can’t mess with a guy’s dream.”
Nods all around. Back to the drawing board.
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