amos the churchmouse: a view from under the pew   Editor’s note: Amos is a church mouse, who types by hurling himself at the keys, but he can’t operate the capital shift keys, and he shuns punctuation marks – except hyphens and dashes.   camp meeting encounter   boss i was at the mesa redondo cowboy camp meeting the other day just trying to survive a headache when i spied a dusty weather-beaten horned toad wearing green-bean chaps a bandana and a cowboy hat   he was spitting brown juice and riding up and down the rolling ned houk hills on a well-worn stick horse that looked like it was missing a few teeth   howdy pardner says he to me as he pulled his pony to a stop beside a small oak tree   then with no smile or even a boo he whipped out his rope spun it a spin or two and looped it around my throat   aargh says me frantically why are you attacking me this is no way to cure a headache   oh sorry pard says he apologetically i thought shure you was a little prairie doggie that had strayed away but now i see that i roped a goat   i am no goat says me indignantly can t you see anything smaller than a tree   he looks at me sorta strangely and says come to think of it you don t look like a goat at all your whiskers are turned sideways and you have some kind of a danged lizard tail   i don t have a danged lizard tail says me what s the matter with you anyway   life on the wind-driven range ain t what she used to be we round up doggies in pick-m-ups and hell-m-copters we figure our grain and feed on computer brains and seed them clouds to make it rain on the plains   i tell ya life on the range ain t what she used to be   but then i ain t what i used to be either my shootin iron is rusty my lariat rope is frayed my memories are dusty and my life pretty well played  but now i reckon there ain t much left for this cowtoad but a shallow grave a howling dog and a sinkin sun   life ain t been rich but most of it shure has been fun cept for the snake bites the horse manure and the cactus tines   but mostly i m grateful for that time one summer years ago when i moseyed down to a cowboy camp meetin and met the head wrangler whose son gave his all for me on calvary  i hobbled down that sawdust trail one starry night to join his heavenly crew to wear his godly brand and live life forever new   all right boss maybe it wasn t so bad to be roped as a goat — all i ask is just don t refer to me as a dope on a rope                                          amos