Squeaks

In a small town, far away and long ago, I was a policeman. I was the Barney of Mayberry. From the day I was handed the keys to that old Plymouth police car, it went squeak … squeak … squeak. Try as I might to sneak up on malefactors, the car went squeak … squeak … squeak. When I asked the chief about the squeak, the old man said, “What squeak?” One day, tired of the squeak … squeak … squeak, I went to the Chief’s house to ask again if I could please get the squeak fixed. As I opened his screen door, I heard a squeak that put to shame anything that poor, old Plymouth could muster. It occurred to me then, even as young as I was, that the chief was too deaf to hear any squeak, anywhere. I closed the screen door very softly and drove the Plymouth over to Wally’s Filling Station to see if Gomer could fix the squeak.

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!
Josh