“Well,” said Grandpa Joe after taking a deep puff on his cigar, “it all started on the way home from our wedding, we hadn’t gone but a mile when the horse started giving us trouble I gave the horse a little whip and that’s when I heard your Grandma say in a low voice, ‘that’s strike one.’
“A bit later the horse stopped again, ‘that’s strike two,’ she said.
The third time it stopped she grabbed my shotgun out of my holster and shot it in the head. I was in shock!
“What in the world was that all about?” I had protested at the time.
“That’s strike one!” she said back to me. “And that is what I owe our marital success to.”