BECK N ME: Marching in the morn

BY JACK CROSSWELL
His voice echoed like thunder rolling through the distant hills.
“Hup, two, three, four—hup, two, three and a quarter—somebody’s out with the captain’s daughter—hup, two, three four.”
It grew louder and the barn denizens recognized Don Spiller’s bass voice.  He was teaching Paul Brewster how to walk like a Marine.
“I don’t know but I’ve been told—-Eskimo lips are mighty cold,” Don sang out.  “Hup, two, three, four.”
“You’re right,” shouted Brewster, “hup, two, three, four.”
“Wonder why they’re marching on such a frosty morning?” said Ratchet Arnold.
“Must be on the orders of Sgt. Lou Brossy,” said Beck, my ole Missouri mule.  “They say he’s a frosty morning tyrant.” 
“Thought Lou was a colonel,” said Tommy Jones.
“Nobody is higher than sergeant around this barn,” Beck said. 
Old Blue Rosenbloom said, “They wouldn’t let me parade with them because my shoes didn’t have a spit shine.”
“You should have stopped at my store,” said Greg Sayers.  “Bo Peep Testerman has a shoe shine stand and a bee bop rag.  He’s got more rhythm than a cat on a hot tin roof.”
“I reckon I’m honored,” said Rodney Pack.  “When they get near here, I’m supposed to go out and yell for them to ‘pass in review’.”
“If I had a marshmallow gun,” Lori Meadows said, “I’d pop them where it hurts for tramping on all that grazing grass.”
“Wouldn’t do that,” said Rabbit Paisley.  “They look too dangerous.  Made me afraid to
ride my Honda across their path.”
“My Hokies could have used them in their Georgia Tech game,” said Doug Brewer.  “My Hokies needed somebody to escort them across GT’s goal line.”
“Maybelle, my wife, says we should stay indoors after berry picking time,” said Buster Blossom.
“She’s a big woman,” mumbled No Fenders McGee.
A retired lawman and journalist, and published novelist, Jack Crosswell lives in Cripple Creek.