A Cowboy Named Gregory     In a general sense, most people know about cowboys. It's a very well-known profession. What most people don't know about cowboys is that they are cowboys for a reason. Their reasons vary, but most often a would-be accountant or green grocer turns West because he has some sort of crippling social defect. He just doesn't fit in. Oh, most of them are very nice people, to be sure. But a disabling body odor or an ignorance of personal space is usually all it takes to inspire that pioneer spirit.     This story is about one such cowboy. It should come to no surprise that his name was Gregory, unless you forgot to read the title. Gregory liked to talk. Constantly. It is no exaggeration to say that Gregory had not stopped talking since the day the came into this world. He talked about anything and everything, from sports scores to Platonic philosophy. He talked in his sleep. He talked while he ate. He talked in church, he talked in the library. He even talked underwater. He talked so much that he got bored of English and learned twelve other languages so he could talk even more. The guy liked to talk.     But people didn't like to listen. In fact, Gregory talked so much people began to avoid him. It never felt like he was listening to them when they talked to him. He wasn't, of course, because he never let them say anything. So people avoided him, and Gregory got lonely.     But he never stopped talking. Oh no, he liked it far too much! Besides, it's questionable if he even could have if he wanted to. So he became a cowboy, and set out West with nothing more than his horse and his gun.     He traveled through the desert doing what cowboys do, talking the entire time. He went through four horses before he found a deaf one that would put up with his constant monologue. Gregory liked the life of a cowboy well enough, but he was still lonely. If only he had somebody to listen to him!     Meanwhile, not far from where Gregory was wandering, Pancho Villa was laying down for a nap. There was nothing he liked more than a good mid-afternoon nap. Before going to sleep he called in his personal guard Palupo.     "Now, Palupo, you know how important naps are to me. If I can't sleep I'm liable to shoot somebody. So see to it I'm not woken up!" Palupo nodded, and took guard in the hot sun outside his boss' villa.     Just as his head hit the pillow, Pancho heard a voice. It was very faint, but it was most certainly a voice. He couldn't hear what it was saying, but whatever it was, it was saying a lot of it. As he tried to make it out, he realized he was missing his nap.     "Palupo!" he yelled. "Get in here!"     "Yes boss?"     "Palupo I told you I wanted a nap, yet you insist on talking!"     "But boss, I was not talking!"     "Nonsense! I heard it myself! It was in a whispery, far-off kind of voice."     "But boss--"     "I'll have none of that! You shall have to be punished. Since you were only whispering your punishment will be minor." And with that he shot Palupo in the foot. Palupo had to agree - for his boss, it was a minor punishment. "Now go and see that I'm not woken up again!" And Palupo hobbled out to his post, as quiet as could be.     Seconds later Pancho's head hit the pillow again. He smiled with anticipation - he really loved naps. But wouldn't you know it, the voice was back! Just as constant, just as indecipherable, but now quite a bit louder.     "Palupo!" Pancho screamed.     "What boss?"     "Palupo you have been punished already once today! What is it that compels you to continue talking? And in an even louder voice than before!"     "But boss--!"     "Too late, your crime has been committed! And a worse crime warrants harsher punishment." And with that he shot Palupo in the hand. "Now make sure nothing comes between me and my nap in the future!" With a cringe Palupo nodded and dragged himself outside to his post.     "Finally," sighed Pancho as he flopped onto his bed. But as soon as his eyes were closed the voice was back, now much louder.     "Palupo!"     "Boss?"     "This is the last time you interrupt a man's sleep!" And he aimed his gun at Palupo's head. As Palupo grimaced in anticipation, Pancho realized he could still hear the voice. It was now very loud, as if it were coming from right outside his door! Was he going mad?     Suddenly, Gregory walked into the room. "Hi," he said, "I'm Gregory. I was wondering if I might use your restroom? You see I've been riding all day and I--" Gregory continued, an unending stream of conversation.     "Ah ha!" cried Pancho over the roar of Gregory's soliloquy, "So you're the nap-hater!" And he trained his gun on Gregory's flapping lips.     "Whoa now!" said a startled Gregory. "What's this all about? I haven't committed any crime! In fact I'm a rather upstanding citizen. As a child I--"     "Enough!" yelled Pancho, doing nothing to shut Gregory up. He cocked his gun.     "But it is your home and if you say I've done something wrong then I must have." As he spoke his eyes darted around the room. They landed on a hand-carved wood plaque above the door inscribed with Fiat iustitia et pereat mundus - Let justice be done, even should the world perish. "But I must insist on a fair trial to convict me of my crime. As a man of legal intelligence I'm sure you will be happy to oblige. I believe it was Benjamin Franklin who said--"     It was a good guess on Gregory's part. Next to naps, the legal system was Pancho's passion in life. "Ok," grumbled Pancho. He didn't want to go to court today. He really just wanted a nap. But fair's fair, and he pushed Gregory into his personal court room.     "A personal court room? Wow, that's something else! I like what you've done with the cattle skulls. They really scream 'justice.' And the pine furniture is just--" Pancho was starting to really dislike Gregory.     He sat Gregory down in the defendant's seat. Palupo, now bandaged, hobbled over to act as bailiff. Pancho took the judge's seat. "Where's Luka?" he asked.     "Luka? I don't know, I've never heard the name before. Maybe if you--"     "Will somebody shut him up? Luka! Luka!"     In crept a very small woman. Very small, but very beautiful, with glowing black hair. She shuffled in, eyes downcast. "Sorry boss..." she mumbled, and took the seat at the stenographer's typewriter.     "Wow, is she Luka? What a looker! I tell ya, if the girls back home were half as--"     "All rise!" shouted Palupo.     "Ok buddy, no need to shout! I'm risin', I'm risin'! Boy, I've never been in court before. It's just like--"     Luka began tip-tapping on her typewriter.     "Order! Order!" Pancho banged on his gavel. His voice was getting sore from yelling over Gregory. "You, Gregory the cowboy, have been charged with interrupting a man's nap. How do you plead?"     "Not guilty, of course! What do you think I am, an idiot? If I were to say--"     "Ok! Ok! I get it!"     Luka continued typing. Tip tap tip tip tip.     "I call my first witness!" Pancho yelled. Palupo hobbled down and sat in the witness chair.     "Hey buddy what happened to you? Boy I'd give an arm and a leg to know! Hah! Just a little joke. Which reminds me, what do you call a cat with--"     "Now Palupo!" Pancho's voice cracked, "Is this the man that interrupted my nap?"     "Truly it is!" cried Palupo. "And because of it I am now a cripple!" He began crying and wailing.     Luka continued her machine gun typing. Tip tap tap tip tip tap tip tip.     "Who turned on the waterworks in this place? Show some backbone buddy! I've had puppy dogs that--"     "And where were you an hour ago today?" shouted Pancho, his face bright red.     "I was here, being shot to ribbons!" cried Palupo into his handkerchief, wailing like a baby.     "Ah ha!" yelled Pancho.     "This is a clown court! Why I never thought I'd see the day when--"     Tip tap tap tip tap tip tap tip tap.     "I will never walk again!"     "Interrupting a nap is an inexcusable crime!"     "--and in this fair country too, based on the morality of--"     "My piano playing career is over!"     Tip tap tap tip tip tap tap.     "--men like my father, who came to this country--"     "The agent said a record contract was around the corner!"     Tip tap tip tip tap tap tip tap.     "A nap is more important than life itself!"     "--and Andrew Jackson, who in his youth--"     "Fame and fortune, gone!"     Tip tap tap tip tip tap tap.     "--brave enough to stand up for the right's of--"     "If only it had been my left hand!"     Tip tap tap tap tip tip.     "--and criminal injustice! I never--"     "Oh cruel fate!"     Tip tap tip tap tip tap.     "--if they could only see that--"     "A cripple! Nothing more!"     Tip tap tip tap tip tap.     "Enough!" screamed Pancho at the top of his lungs.     But that wasn't why everyone, including Gregory, stopped talking. It was the loud gunshot Pancho had fired at the talking cowboy, missing his head by a fraction of an inch, that shut everyone up. As the smoke cleared, they all stood frozen, unsure what to do next.     Naturally, it was Gregory who spoke first. "Pulling a gun in court? Why, if I didn't know better I'd say that's against the law!"     "It is!" cried Palupo, glad to see his boss under fire. "Life in prison for that, I believe!"     "Get him out of here, Palupo my man!"     "But. . . I. . . just a nap. . ." stuttered an exhausted Pancho as Palupo escorted him out of the courtroom in handcuffs.     "There'll be plenty of time for naps in prison!" laughed Gregory, arms akimbo. "Well, that was something you don't see every day. I can't wait to tell someone. . . well, my horse at least. Even if he is deaf. Oh well. It could be worse. I could be stuck in--"     He continued talking as he walked out of the courtroom. But as he reached for the door knob he heard a strange noise. "What the heck was that? Sounded like a mouse with a head cold. Or maybe the hiccups. Or a bad case of--"     He turned around and saw Luka crying into her handkerchief. "Hey what's wrong with you? Break a nail or something? No need to cry over--"     "Pancho is gone!" cried Luka with surprising force. "And if Pancho is gone, my job is gone! You see, ever since I was a little girl I've wanted to be a stenographer. Pancho gave me that opportunity. But now. . . I'll never type again!" And she cried some more.     "Well. . . uh. . ." For the first time in his life Gregory was at a loss of words. "You could. . . you know, if you wanted. . . you could come with me." He looked up, smiling sheepishly.     "You mean it? And you'd let me type?" Gregory nodded. "Oh thank you so much!" She jumped up from her seat. She'd never hugged a blushing cowboy before.     They ran outside and jumped on the back of Gregory's horse, her typewriter sitting squarely on Luka's lap. As they rode into the dry desert heat, Gregory said with a chuckle, "Luka, take a message--" She laughed and started typing.     And they say, on a still day, you can still hear them out in the desert - Gregory talking, Luka tip-tapping, and the both of them laughing their heads off at nothing in particular. THE END Back