“The highlight of the week before New Year’s,” said Steve, semi solemnly, “is to be able to tell your pals ‘See you next year’.”

“Really?” said Dud. “That’s it? How about now that we’re hip deep … almost … in the new year? What do you do now that is encouraging?”

“Well,” Steve said, sipping his coffee and sending a jealous eye to Doc’s sweet roll, “one of my New Year’s resolutions is to figure out what to look forward to the first week of January. I mean … now we have to start worrying about taxes and scoopin’ up all those receipts so the IRS can tell us we can’t use them. Right? And it’s January, so it’s cold, and it gets dark early. And I dare any of you to try to forget it’s winter by watching a football game played in the Midwest in two feet of snow.”

Doc took a bite of sweet roll, being careful to get that pulverized white frosting gently misting down to his necktie. He took a couple of chews and swallowed. It was its usual great sweet roll and deserved a smile.

“Steve,” said Doc, “you need a hobby. When the outside world isn’t interesting enough to keep you optimistic, go find something you enjoy doing, and do it.”

“Like what, Doc? I can’t play guitar or collect stamps. I just can’t.”

“Then you make up your own hobby, Steve, like bull kicking.”

“What?”

“Sure. Walk out in the pasture and kick one of those old bulls in the butt.”

“But he’ll chase me.”

“Of course,” said Doc, “but you can use the exercise.”