It was Doc’s idea, of course. That’s what made it sing. That’s why it took off in gales of laughter and fun.

  He knew we needed the money for the children in our area who might be without warm clothes this winter, so he brainstormed among himself and came up with the golf tournament.

  He went to Delbert McLain, who is our local chamber of commerce. Delbert’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, but then suddenly clouded over with doubt.

  “But Doc,” Delbert said, “we don’t have a golf course.”

  “Leave that to me, Delbert me lad. Leave that entirely to me.”

  And so our medical leprechaun talked to two farmers whose land adjoined each other, and after they quit laughing, they agreed.

  Doc rounded up Dud and Herb Collins and laid out an 18-hole golf course in about an hour. They used steel t-posts for flags (with bandanas tied to the top) and dug a hole with a shovel. They put smaller flags at the tee-off spots, and there you go! An 18-hole golf course that was one hundred percent hazard.

  No fairway, just hazard. Rocks and trees and Lewis Creek and the occasional cactus and yucca. Doc figures if you make it around all 18 holes without encountering a poisonous snake, you should get bonus points.

   “This course,” said Doc, “is so bad, everyone will want to play, because everyone will have a terrific excuse for having a terrible game.”

   The cattle were moved to safer locations before the tournament began, and enough money was raised to keep the kids warm this winter.

   “Life,” said Doc, “should be ridiculous and fun. So let’s do this again next fall.”

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Brought to you by Saddle Up, A Cowboy Guide to Writing by Slim Randles. On the internet and from Rio Grande Publishing in Albuquerque.

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