Late again!, the third-grade teacher said o little Sammy. It aint my fault this time, Miss Crabtree. You can blame thisun on my Pa. The reason Im three hours late is my Daddy sleeps necked! Now, Miss Crabtree had taught grammar school for thirty-some-odd years. Despite her mounting fears, she ask little Sammy what he meant by that. Full of grins and mischief, and in the flower of his youth, little Sammy and trouble were old friends, but he always told her the truth. You see, Miss Crabtree, out at the ranch we got this here low down coyote. The last few nights, he done ate six hens and killed Mas best milk goat. Last night, when Daddy heard a noise out in the chicken pen, he grabbed his shot gun and said to Ma, That coyotes back again, Im a gonna git him! Stay back, he whispered to all us kids! He was naked as a jaybird, no boots, no pants, no shirt! To the hen house he crawled, just like an Injun on the snoop. Then, he stuck that double barreled 12 gage shot gun 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 comes sneakin up behind Daddy. Then, as we all looked on, plumb helpless, old Zeke stuck his cold nose in Daddys crack! Miss Crabtree, we all been cleanin chickens since three oclock this morning.