"Late again," the third-grade teacher said to little Sammy.

"It ain't my fault this time, Miss Crabtree. You can blame this' un on my Daddy. The reason I'm three hours late is my Daddy 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.

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 Ma's best milk goat. Last night, when Daddy heard a noise out in the chicken pen, he grabbed his shotgun and said to Ma, "That coyote's back again, I'm 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 gauge 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 sneaking' up behind Daddy. Then, as we all looked on, plumb helpless, old Zeke stuck his cold nose in Daddy's crack!"

"Miss Crabtree, we all been cleanin' chickens since three o'clock this mornin.'