Its gunwales floated just barely above the water’s surface.

“What in the world are you fixin’ up that boat for,” asked the old man’s scrawny young friend.

“I’m on a special Valentine’s Day mission,” replied the old man. “I’m goin’ out and findin’ me as much crocodile dung as possible ‘cause I’m gonna finally make that lady-friend I been courtin’ fall smack in love with me this year.”

“Crocodile dung?” replied his startled friend. “I didn’t know you was such a romantic. Excuse my ignorance here but how exactly is crocodile dung gonna help your love life? Cologne?”

“It ain’t just the crocodile dung,” replied the old man, “You just add that into the special mixture.”

“Lord have mercy,” said the scrawny young friend. “I do believe your mind done finally gone completely to swamp gas.”

“You just don’t understand the complexities of science,” said the old man. “I’m gonna collect the crocodile dung for a special love potion I got in the mail from a perfesser at some Yankee college.

“This perfesser, who teaches at the University of Cincinnati Reds, found an ancient love potion prescribed by a Greek doctor way back in 550 A.D. It seems this perfesser uncovered this doctor’s text and translated. The doctor, whose name was Metrodora, was a woman so she ought to know somethin’ ‘bout love. He says this text is the oldest surviving writing from a female doctor.

“I’m not only gonna use the love potion on my lady-friend but when words gets around ‘bout the potion they’s gonna be a run on crocodile dung and by then I’ll have the market cornered – or, at least, piled high in the corner of the tool shed.”

“You need to be spendin’ a little more time in the shade,” said the old man’s friend. “The sun done baked your brain a bit.”

“No, this is real science. Looky here, the potion’s recipe calls for fryin’ the womb of a rabbit in a rusted bronze pan, throwin’ in three pounds of rose oil and some good smellin’ myrrh. You add for drams of fat, one dram of crocodile dung, two drams of juice from a garlic germander, four drams of honey and then some people also blend in a small amount of sparrow fat.”

“I would think you could only find a small amount of sparrow fat,” said the old man’s friend.

“Well, that’s optional, anyway. The key to this mixture must be the crocodile dung. Once my lady-friend drinks the potion I’ll become irresistible.”

“Yea, it’ll probably make her blind so she’ll eventually fergit what you look like.”

“True scientists have always been forced to suffer the doubters,” said the old man. “Now you just leave me be. I’m goin’ out by the mangrove islands and comin’ back with a boatload of crocodile dung.”

“Given any thought to how you’re gonna fit her to drink this love potion?” asked the old man’s friend.”

“Sure I Have. You know how we git together each and every Valentine’s Day for a special supper. Well, I’ll slip the potion into her buttermilk. She’ll never know what hit her until she looks up and me and realizes what a love god I really am.”

“You better hope them crocodiles don’t realize that while you’re out there collectin’ their droppin’s. A love-starved croc can be a frightenin’ spectacle.”

“Singleness of purpose, my boy,” said the old man. “You think any croc, no matter how cute, is gonna make me give up on my lady-friend?”

“Wouldn’t flowers and a box of candy be a whole lot easier?”

Its gunwales floated just barely above the water’s surface.

“What in the world are you fixin’ up that boat for,” asked the old man’s scrawny young friend.

“I’m on a special Valentine’s Day mission,” replied the old man. “I’m going out and findin’ me as much crocodile dung as possible ‘cause I’m gonna finally make that lady friend I been courtin’ fall smack in love with me this year.”

“Crocodile dung?” replied his startled friend. “I didn’t know you was such a romantic. Excuse my ignorance here but how exactly is crocodile dung gonna help your love life? Cologne?”

“It ain’t just the crocodile dung,” replied the old man, “You just add that into the special mixture.”

“Lord have mercy,” said the scrawny young friend. “I do believe your mind done finally gone completely to swamp gas.”

“You just don’t understand the complexities of science,” said the old man. “I’m gonna collect the crocodile dung for a special love potion I got in the mail from a perfesser at some Yankee college.

“This perfesser, who teaches at the University of Cincinnati Reds, found an ancient love potion prescribed by a Greek doctor way back in 550 A.D. It seems this perfesser uncovered this doctor’s text and translated. The doctor, whose name was Metrodora, was a woman so she ought to know somethin’ ‘bout love. He says this text is the oldest surviving writing from a female doctor.

“I’m not only gonna use the love potion on my lady-friend but when words gets around ‘bout the potion they’s gonna be a run on crocodile dung and by then I’ll have the market cornered – or, at least, piled high in the corner of the tool shed.”

“You need to be spendin’ a little more time in the shade,” said the old man’s friend. “The sun done baked your brain a bit.”

“No, this is real science. Looky here, the potion’s recipe calls for fryin’ the womb of a rabbit in a rusted bronze pan, throwin’ in three pounds of rose oil and some good smellin’ myrrh. You add for drams of fat, one dram of crocodile dung, two drams of juice from a garlic germander, four drams of honey and then some people also blend in a small amount of sparrow fat.”

“I would think you could only find a small amount of sparrow fat,” said the old man’s friend.

“Well, that’s optional, anyway. The key to this mixture must be the crocodile dung. Once my lady-friend drinks the potion I’ll become irresistible.”

“Yea, it’ll probably make her blind so she’ll eventually fergit what you look like.”

“True scientists have always been forced to suffer the doubters,” said the old man. “now you just leave me be. I’m goin’ out by the mangrove islands and comin’ back with a boatload of crocodile dung.”

“Given any thought to how you’re gonna get her to drink this love potion?” asked the old man’s friend.”

“Sure I Have. You know how we git together each and every Valentine’s Day for a special supper. Well, I’ll slip the potion into her buttermilk. She’ll never know what hit her until she looks up at me and realizes what a love god I really am.”

“you better hope them crocodiles don’t realize that while you’re out there collectin’ their droppin’s. A love-starved croc can be a frightenin’ spectacle.”

“Singleness of purpose, my boy,” said the old man. “You think any croc, no matter how cute, is gonna make me give up on my lady-friend?”

“Wouldn’t flowers and a box of candy be a whole lot easier?”