“Let me have a ticket for Belize City,” I said to the young lady at the Tropic Air counter.
“When do you want to return?’
“Just leave it open,” I said.
As I turned from the counter I thought I heard a dog barking.
“Woof! Woof!”
I turned around and it was Dale Wallace calling, “Wolfe! Wolfe!”
“I’m sorry, Dale,” I told him. “My hearing is not what it used to be.”
“That’s O.K.,” he said. “Neither is mine. It’s just something that happens to us musicians as we grow old. Where are you off to this morning?”
“I’m going to Belmopan,” I said. “I need to go to the U.S. Embassy for some paperwork.”
“I’m going to Belmopan, too,” he said. “I’m taking care of government paperwork for the grandkids.”
“How are you traveling?”
“Bus.”
“Why don’t you ride with me? I have a taxi that’s already paid for. You’ll save a lot of time.”
As we traveled into Western Belize the landscape turned to rolling hills and lots of trees. At one place black and white cows dotted the pasture.
“That’s a nice bunch of cows,” Dale said.
“That’s not a bunch of cows,” I told him. “That’s a herd.”
“Hunh?”
“A herd of cows.”
“Of course I’ve heard of cows,” he said.
“No!” I said. “Get the wax out of your ears and listen.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A cow herd!” I said. “A cow herd!”
Dale said, “What do I care what a cow heard? I’ve got no secrets from cows.”
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