One fine day two crows were perched atop an electrical pole out on State Highway 43 near Tuscaloosa. One was a big, old boy by the name of Ray Bob; the other was a youngster named Jimmy Jack. The two were taking in the afternoon. It was late July and, football season being some ways off, they were mostly just idling. Spending a summer afternoon doing nothing was fine by Ray Bob.
      Jimmy Jack, on the other hand, was not only the excitable sort; he was a whole heap of gregarious to boot. Needless to say, sitting quiet wasn’t exactly Jimmy Jack’s forte. Young folks can be funny that way.
      “Sure is hot,” Jimmy Jack said at last and mopped his brow.
      “Yep,” Ray Bob answered.
      “Ever think of flyin’ north for the summer?” Jimmy Jack wondered right out loud.
      “Nope,” was all Ray Bob said.
      “I hear tell it’s cooler up there,” Jimmy Jack said.
      “Yep.” Silence stretched out in Ray bob’s wake.
      “Sure is hot,” Jimmy Jack said when he couldn’t hold it any longer.
      “Yep.”
      “Dang it, Ray Bob, y’all could stand a little cool couldn’t y’all?”
      “Yep.” Ray Bob nodded to show how serious he was.
      “What say we give ‘er a try then?” Jimmy Jack offered.
      “Nope.”
      “Why the heck not?” Jimmy Jack’s voice got all nasally as it faded away.
      Ray Bob slowly turned to look his buddy in the eye. Ray Bob had this kinda look that old folks get and he turned it on ole Jimmy Jack. Now, Jimmy Jack wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. It took a few moments for Ray Bob’s what-are-you-thinkin’ stare to set in. However, the light eventually did come on. Jimmy Jack swallowed hard.
      “Too many Yankees?” he finally asked.
      “Yep.”