by Slim Randles
The guys were outside at the sale barn, sipping coffee in Styrofoam cups and waiting for someone to say something. Inside, the pitch of the auctioneer was heralding the glories of an old spavined milk cow, and fevered cattlemen were waving cards with numbers on them.
It was quieter outside.
Finally, it was Herb who spoke. “You guys ever burn the toast and then scrape it?”
Toast, huh? Why not?
“Used to do that a lot before the toasters got modern on us,” said Doc. “Hardly ever burn any more.”
There was a period of coffee sipping and dog petting while the conspirators considered the vagaries of making toast.
“Well,” said Steve, the resident full-time cowboy of the bunch, “I know when you’re makin’ toast over a campfire, it’s dad-blamed easy to burn it. I usually just toss it to the dog … once it cools down some.”
“I didn’t know you could make toast in camp,” said Herb.
“Easy,” Steve said. “just stick the bread with a stick and remember to turn it over.”
“Wonder who invented toast,” Dud chipped in. “Maybe some cave guy?”
“I’m not certain cave guys had bread, Dud,” said Doc. “Maybe a little later on in history.”
“In cow camp,” Steve said, “we’d sprinkle some salt on the top of the cast-iron range and then toss the bread on it. Salt keeps the bread from sticking. If you remembered to flip ‘em, the toast ain’t bad.”
“Salt?” Doc asked.
“Well,” said Steve, getting up to head for more coffee, “the toast tastes better if you brush the salt off before you eat it.”
Such is the manner in which the problems of the world get solved around here.
