Page 39 - Super Cowboy Rides Again

like ‘ain’t,’ but when I forgot myself and used them, my
mom always gave me a lecture on proper grammar.

As I picked up a rotten potato and took aim at a
telephone pole, Butch and Buster’s dog, Dingo, came
walking over. I missed the pole, and the potato
smashed its gooshy, slimy contents right between
Dingo’s eyes. It drizzled down his face, and he looked
even more mindless than he usually did.

“Wow!” Butch said. “You’re a good shot.”
“Of course,” I said, not bothering to mention that I
had been aiming for the telephone pole.
Buster picked up a rotten potato. “Hey, let me
try.”
He took aim at Dingo and let fly. The potato just
missed, but Dingo sensed that he was about to become a
veritable rotten potato compost pile if he didn’t remove
himself. Just as Butch picked up a potato to try his
hand, Dingo hightailed it out of there with Butch and
Buster close behind, each carrying a rotten potato. I

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