One sunny afternoon Trooper Bob was set up on what is commonly known as a speed trap. One officer sits on the side of the highway and points his radar at traffic while another officer sits about a mile up the road radio in hand waiting for the next victim, um I mean violator. It was Trooper Bob’s turn to be the chase car and as such he had his fresh ticket book at the ready. He had already netted several pick-up trucks loaded down with cowboys on their way to either feed or work cattle, a couple of women who had been off antiquing in the near-by county seat and had even caught a couple who seemed more concerned about who was going to see them together than the ticket itself. Then a call came from the radar car. There was a cattle truck headed in his direction that was in extreme excess of the legal speed limit. Trooper Bob bided his time waited until the cattle truck had passed him and gotten just enough advance that the truck driver’s butt had un-puckered and he thought he was home free.
Trooper Bob floored the accelerator and pushed the big engine to its maximum speed. He flipped on his red light and turned on his flasher and sped past the Sunday afternoon motorist until he was behind the cattle truck. Then he hit the siren. I have to take a moment here to tell you when you read s-i-r-e-n you must pronounce it in your head like this sigh-reehn. The truck driver glanced in his side mirror to see the stealthy Trooper Bob behind him. He let out a big puff of frustrated air and pulled his rig to the right. He leaned over the console and retrieved his weights and measures paperwork, his agriculture and livestock certifications and his registration. He opened the door and hopped down from the cab. This was a long time ago and there weren’t any of those fancy aluminum cattle trailers that protected the highways and the byways from the excretions of the cattle’s bodily functions. No the cattle trailers were wooden slats about a foot apart all the way around. They would then pen the cattle as close together as they could and put in as many as was legally allowed. Trooper Bob advanced on the truck, first making sure the truck and trailer had the appropriate tags then the tires all had the appropriate tread. He walked along the driver’s side of the truck just as several of the cows decided they were in need of some relief. Yes, they took a big old dump all over Trooper Bob’s Stetson Hat, winter wool uniform all the way down to his Tony Lama boots. He was to coin a Waffle House phrase, smothered, covered and chunked.
The truck driver tried. He really tried. He bit his tongue, he sucked in air, he pinched his nose but it was all to no avail. He could hold it no longer. The trucker driver let out a giggle that turned into a snort which promptly turned into a full out soundless hysterical racking shake sprinkled with some maniacal hee-haws. Trooper Bob Removed his Ray Ban Sun Glasses, wiped them off the best he good. Shook off his hat and looked at the truck driver. “Well, son. I guess you got a free pass on this one. I suggest you load your happy ass up in that truck and get the hell out of here. Only I would advise you not to speed.” With that blessing the driver happily jumped in his truck and hauled his cattle right on out of there all the while cackling like the mailman in the movie “Funny Farm”.
Trooper Bob headed back to the patrol car to inform his speed trap partner that he would be 10-8 for the afternoon.
And that is the end of my shitty tale or is it tail?