“No,
Doc,” Windy said, “don’t hurt or nothin’ like that, but you
know, with all the
plagues goin’ on right now, figgered it’s better to be safe
than … “
“Sorry?”
“I ain’t never sorry
I come to see ya, Doc.
You know that. Fell to sleep t’other night when all them ad
shows is on … you
know. Like how to cut yer boots with a knife and feel younger
by wearin’ a new
shirt … that stuff.”
Doc nodded. Windy
Wilson was one of his
closest pals, as well as being a patient. The adventures of
this old cowboy
camp cook and mule packer were usually good for a laugh,
anyway. But ol’ Windy
really seemed upset this morning.
“Windy,” Doc
said, kindly. “I’m thinking
this is a sorta personal problem? I deal with personal
problems all the
time, so why not just tell me about it?”
“Thass what’s
so strange, Doc. I only
catched a part of it when I was a-dozin’ off, ya know? But I
told myself … Self,
I better go talk to Doc, ‘cuz that jest might be whass been
holdin’ me back on
startin’ some colts.”
“Starting some
colts? What’s keeping you
from starting some colts is you’re old enough to know better!
So what’s this
problem that the teevee said is keeping you out of the
saddle?”
Windy looked
up shamefaced. “They called it
a deviated rectum.”
---------
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