“It ant my fault this time, Ma’am. You can blame this’un on my Daddy causin he 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.
Sammy was always full of grins and mischief and was in the flower of his youth. Little Sammy and trouble were old friends but he always told Miss Crabtree the truth, “You see, Miss Crabtree, out on the farm we got this here low down coyote. 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 coop, he grabbed his shotgun and told Ma he thought the coyote was back again and that he was gonna get’m!”
“Daddy was naked as a jaybird and he crawled to the hen house just like an Injun on the snoop. Then he stuck that double-barreled 12 gauge shotgun through the window of the hen house. While He’s staring into the darkness – with coyotes on his mind – our old hound dog, Blue, had done woke up and comes sneaking up behind Daddy. We was all looking on – plumb helpless like – and old Blue stuck his cold nose in Daddy’s crack!”
“Miss Crabtree, we’s been cleaning chickens since three o’clock this morning.’