Graduation went smoothly for most of us. Buster showed his normal big grin as he walked across the gym floor and was handed his diploma by Mrs. Oates. 

As graduates, we had the customary party that night at Bradshaw’s barn. Somebody spiked the punch, so the party was even louder than usual. 

Most of us knew we may not see each other again. Rumors of some guy name Hitler in Europe made all of us uneasy for our future.

Buster was no exception. 

Buster’s father allowed him to use his 1932 Buick that night. This was a huge surprise. 

Buster’s father treasured that car. He spent hours keeping it shined up and gleaming. 

He had been known to stop during trips to clean off bugs from the grill or to chase birds after they dropped a surprise on the roof. 

Any stop downtown resulted in him bringing out a rag and cleaning off the road dust on the chrome. 

Of course, the mayor had a better car: a 1935 Road Master. 

Buster looked very impressive driving to Bradshaw’s. I enjoyed sitting up front, overlooking the long black hood. 

We had spent hours that day cleaning the car for this trip. 

It was June, so Buster parked under the big elm by the barn to keep the car cool. We spent all evening at the good-bye party. 

When we returned to the car, even in the dark, we realized our mistake. In the hot weather, the hens his in this tree for shade. 

There was little black to be seen on the Buick’s horizontal surfaces—it was covered in chicken poop! We knew Buster’s father would be livid.

“My dad’s not gonna be happy about this,” said Buster. “I gotta clean this up before he sees it tomorrow morning.” 

I thought for a moment and said, “How ’bout the river? We could drive to the shallow crossing part and clean the bird drops off with the water.”

“Good idea.” 

Buster put the car into gear, and we rolled toward the creek.

We parked the car in the shallow creek. The water came up to the running boards.

We splashed water onto the roof and hood to get the hen crap loose from the paint. 

The plan was working until Buster said, “You know… 

“I think we could do better if we got the bucket from the trunk and poured water over the top.

"I’ll get it out. You climb up on the roof. Careful not to leave any footprints up there.”

It might have been a good idea, but we were working with water in pitch darkness. 

Buster filled several buckets full of water before we decided the car was clean enough. After a little trouble unsticking the car from the riverbed, we drove on home. 

I spent the night at Buster’s in his spare bedroom. I was satisfied that we had avoided the problem of the hens.