Sparks rose in a twisted corkscrew and nervous nighthawks avoided the angry cowboys around the ol’ campfire. Change was in the air and nobody wanted any part of it except for the delegates to the First Campfire Constitutional Convention. Opinion Panhandle fired his sixgun into the night s ky and said, “I hereby declare this here convention open.” “Wait just a goldarned second,” said Rawhide Ricky from Rawlins. “Who made you boss o’ the convention?” Panhandle fired another round and silence was restored. He continued, “First order o’ business is to amend Article VII, Section 4, subsection A o’ the Cowboy Constitution to add ‘free Copenhagen’ to the part that says we all get room an’ board an’ horse feed fer workin’ fer these cow outfits.” “Point o’ order,” Sourdough spoke from the smoke. “Cain’t be the first order, it’s the only order o’ business. Cuz the Convention Rules say we can only vote on the ‘Copenhagen Amendment’ an’ not on anything else.” “Rules, shmools,” answered Panhandle, thumbing the hammer on his pistol. “I say this here is our convention, an’ we can do what we damn well please.” Hoots of agreement rose from the shadows around the firelight. The rule book was unceremoniously tossed into the campfire and quickly consumed by the flames. Goshen Gus hollered, “Call fer the question! We all want free Copenhagen, so let’s get ‘er done.” With a unanimous voice vote, the trail-weary broncpeelers added free snuff to their list of employment perks. Stetsons were tossed into the air, and whoops of “Yeehaw” echoed in the night as democracy worked its magic. Then Sweetwater Slim rose to his feet and exclaimed, “Why stop now? Let’s keep a’goin’ an’ take care o’ some other business. How ‘bout an amendment that says the dance hall gals have to be cuter? Who’ll second my motion?” Columnist Rod Miller. (Mike Vanata) After the briefest of debates, the amendment passed without a dissenting vote. With the barn door thrown wide open, the convention of cowboys proceeded to address their gripes, old grudges, festering resentments and all the assorted burrs under their saddles through constitutional amendments. They had waited for years to get revenge for cold winter nights sleeping on the ground, long hours on the dusty trail and hangovers from hell. “We gotta do something about that irrigatin’ nonsense,” whined Powder River Pete. “Iff’n we’re cowboys, we shouldn’t hafta wear hip-waders an’ chase water with shovels.” Cheers of approval greeted Pete’s motion and an amendment freeing cowboys from work in the hayfield was adopted. “We need our own bank,” moved Sourdough, “so we don’t have to beg them town-bound bloodsuckers in suits fer money to buy a horse or a new saddle. Economic freedom fer us cowboys NOW!” The motion passed by acclimation and the Cowboy Constitution was amended accordingly. Deacon from Dayton rose to preach: “I’m sick an’ tired o’ workin’ fer bosses that don’t know which end o’ a horse eats, an’ spend all their time playin’ golf, while we work our asses off. I move we amend our constitution to replace all the big bosses with artificial intelligence robots that don’t play golf.” “Hearin’ no objection, so ordered,” proclaimed Panhandle as he fired another shot into the sky. All this democracy stirred up a powerful hunger in the encircled cowboys, and they hollered in unison, “Hey Cookie, what’s fer supper?” Cookie took off his greasy apron as he stepped into the firelight. “I ain’t fixin’ nothin’ fer a bunch o’ lazy bastids that sit around an’ flap their lips instead o’ workin’. Y’all can amend that there constitution so’s it’ll cook beans for ya, or ya can cook ‘em yer ownselves. I’m outa here. Somebody’s gotta get some real work done, an’ I’m late for my hot yoga class.” The post A campfire convention — or — Stampede! appeared first on WyoFile . ...read more read less