BEAR WITH ME

I woke from hibernation in anticipation of the end of my winter constipation, dreaming of a dish of catfish pie, a trout making out, a perch on its way to church. a herring wearing its birthday suit.

I'm just a hairless, careless bear sleeping in my underwear. I share my den, now and then, with an old billy goat who's sound asleep in my cherished, bearish furry coat, snoring like a motor boat. You'd think, at least, the beast would rise. do his thing and light a fire so I could ding-a-ling without the spray freezing on the way from here to there in the lair we share.

But the goat could not care less if I go coatless. He got up, stretched, scratched and kavetched, ate an empty baked beans can, gnawed on a wooden leg he stole from a beggar man, ran off yelling, "Catch me if you can!"

Being an old bear bare except for underwear I could not take the cold and this I told to the wise old owl. The old coot started to hoot and howl as the goat galloped by with Lady Godiva on his back.

"If she can make it naked you'll just have to take it," laughed the owl. The bear gave out a growl, ate the owl, then the goat. Now Godiva rides on his back and wears his underwear and the bare bear's hotter than ever before.