The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1891-08-27
POOR JOE'S JlGGERS.
Ono OF tho Sad Consequences Of Becoming
shoep- Herder.

Ono OF tho Sad Consequences of Becoming
s>hoop- Hertler.
'What's the matter with your friend?"
asked a reporter of young man with
broad white hat, corduroy trousers, and
a wooden shirt, who was trying to in
duce his companion, similarly clad, to
move on.
"He's got the sheep jiggers."
''rhe sheep jiggers! What's that?"
demanded the questioner.
why, ye see, in our business We
have to count our sheep twice day,
mornin' and night Joe, here-Sheep-
Herder Joe he's called up in the Pine
Creek country - he's been tendin' a
bunch of n Ugh onto six thousand sheep,
and it has purity near druv him clean
daft a-countin' of 'em so much. He
scarcely gets time for anything else.
Very often sheep herder gifts off his
cabasar on this account, and that's why
we call it the sheep jigxers
"Jist ye watch him m mute. Ye see
he's got ten little pebbles in his right
hand. Now he'll count from one up to
one hundred and the n he'll pass one of
them jiggers into his left hand. When
he gets all the jigg ers into his left hand
that will make one thousand, and he'll
cut notch in the rim of his hat or his
boot heel.
''Didn't ye never notice the notches
That's what it means.
''When Joe gifts one thousand counted
he counts another thous and and passes
the jiggers back into his right hand,
and keeps on that way back and forth
if we let him."
Here the unfortunate young man took
off his hat cut q neat notch in the brim
with his jack-knife, put it back on his
head and resumed counting.
''Poor Joe!' said his companion. 1--WE
broughten him down here thinl<in' the
life and hustle of the city might help
him, but it's no use. He jist stands like
ye see him all day long and cunts peo-
pie for sheep, just the same as if he
was on the Madalaine Plains
"What's that? Did 1 ever have the
jiggers? Well, yes, onct was out in
the foothills of the Siskiyou range,
worlxin' for Dan Wheeler, and had so
much trouble with coyot es and under
brush that used to count my bunch of
sheep three times day, didn't have
no time for an ything else, and it mighty
near took me of my base.
II could see sheep alum PIN over the
bars night and day, and could hear their
eternal blat ringiu' in my head like
'Boulanger's March on q hand organ.
I couldn't do nothin' but cou MT, count,
count and when I got through couldn' t
tell how much it came to. Everything
looked like sheep, and the hills looked
like big sheep
'The tin cups and the frying pan
looked like sheep. My Dutch oven
looked like a fat sheep, and the knives
and forks looked like lean sheep.
THE clouds and the stars looked like
sheep, and the moon stood over me at
night like big bell-wether and made
me count him one billion times until
my head fairly cracked.
1T was sheep. sheep, everywhere. and
no relief: o, it was awful!' and the
young man, with closed eyes, pressed
his hands to his throbbing brow aud
groaned, as he recalled that dreadful
experience.
''How did cure it? Went into town
and got bilin' drunk"
When the reporter left, poor Joe was
standing in the same place, counting
the people as they passed. and changing
the ''jigKers" from one hand to another.
-Farmers' Advance.