The Idle American: It shouldn't happen to a dog

It shouldn’t happen to a dog, nor to a rodeo clown.

  Such an unlikely opening sentence warrants further explanation, which I trust in the next 650 words or so will shed more light than bolts across the sky in an April thunderstorm.

  Content of this message has been approved by both my rescue dog, Archie, and my friend, a retired school superintendent who earned money for college performing as a rodeo clown.

  Let’s start with Archie, a tail-wagger of the first order who loves to go for rides in the car. He wakes quickly from naps and reaches the passenger door before I can press the fob to open it. For him, “go” is a magical word.

  On one of September’s hottest days - when folks in other climes welcomed fall’s crispness - I braved the searing heat ‘twixt home and car for a quick trip to the post office. Archie hopped in, just as remembered that the package I wanted to mail lay on the kitchen counter.

  Thinking it would be only a few seconds before joining Archie in the sauna-like heat of my auto, I raced back inside to retrieve it. Alas, during the retrieval, I dropped my fob. It hit the floor tile, separating into four pieces. That’s when panic set in; it occurred to me that another purpose for the trip was to buy a battery for the OTHER just-in-case fob languishing on a wall hook nearby.

  My mind raced. Had I pressed the lock button on the car door before returning to the house? The thought of my valued companion gasping for air and me, unable to open the door with a faulty fob was horrifying. Would I take a croquet mallet to the car window to save my canine?

  Of course I would - if I could find the croquet set. Long story only slightly shorter, I had NOT locked the door.

My dog and I went back inside, and only a few hours later, I’d re-assembled the fob. Archie and I made it to the post office shortly before it closed, and a battery for the back-up fob was purchased.

  What about the superintendent?  Though enjoying retirement with Terri, his wife of 50 years and a distinguished educator, he - like the rest of us - is plumb wore out from watching political ads for which the media moguls are paid billion of dollars, even for the upcoming mid-term elections.

  He’s enduring a double whammy, learning from repeated Globe Life Insurance TV ads that no coverage is offered for rodeo clowns. Oh, come on, the painted-up rodeo clown winces in the ad.

  Dr. Ronny Collins served as a school superintendent for four communities prior to retirement a few years ago. He and Terri have empathy for rodeo clowns. After all, they met at a rodeo where he was clownin' and she competing. The couple enjoys biannual gatherings with other former clowns; many remember-the-time stories fill the air.

  The dwindling crowd offered “ooo’s and ahhh’s” when he confessed to developing a new act soon after entering retirement. Ronny juggled chain saws - while they were running. He’s afraid Globe Life, which offers insurance to almost everyone, discriminates, covering birthday clowns but NOT rodeo clowns.

  I end this piece about a long-ago superintendent on the other end of Ronny’s success ladder.

  A newby asked the retiring superintendent for helpful hints. The successor learned that the retiree had left three envelopes in his desk drawer, with one to be opened annually if things did not go well. After a rocky first year, the new guy opened the first envelope. “Blame the students,” the note advised. So, the board extended another contract. The next year, no better, resulted in his opening the second envelope. “Blame the parents.” With trepidation they extended another contract.

   A year later, the shaky superintendent opened the remaining envelope that suggested: “Prepare three envelopes.”

   Dr. Don Newbury, longtime chancellor of Howard Payne University, lives in the Metroplex. Email: newbury@speakerdoc.com. Website: www.speakerdoc.com. Phone: 817-447-3872.

‍