Which reminds me of the cowboy (the original term was "cow boy" and it wasn't complimentary, coming as it did from Western Virginia and Maryland from which cattle were driven to market in Baltimore and similar places) who was fixing fence when a hot shot dude skidded to a stop in his fancy car. "Say," said the dude, "if I tell you how many cows you have in that field can I have one?"

"Sure," said the cowboy.

"You have 417."

"Right," said the cowboy. "Now, if I can tell you where you're from and what you do for a living, would you give me my animal back?"

"Certainly," the dude said smugly.

"You're from California and you're an accountant," said the cowboy.

"Damn!" said the dude. "You're right on both counts, and I know you didn't know from the license plates because it's a rented car. How on earth did you know?"

"Us cowboys got our ways," the cowboy said. "Now gimme my blue heeler back."