By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©
Other Strange Sightings In The Desert
Buck Milford wasn’t the type to complain. He’d driven through sandstorms. He had broken up fistfights at quilt raffles. Once, he gave a field sobriety test to a goat wearing sunglasses. That day was different. The Arizona sun scorched the earth like a microwave set on vengeful. Even Buck was close to breaking.
The heat index had hit 127. A road sign melted. Melted. The “SLOW CHILDREN AT PLAY” sign now reads “OW.”
Buck had parked his cruiser under the only tree between Ajo and Yuma. It was a desperate little mesquite. It looked like it had made some poor life choices. He sipped water from his melted ice chest and tilted his hat over his forehead.
That’s when he saw Elvis.
Plain as day.
Standing next to the patrol car, wearing a powder-blue jumpsuit and holding a chili dog.
“Elvis?”
Buck mumbled.
“That you?”
Elvis gave him a nod.
“It’s hot out here, hoss.”
Buck blinked.
“I must’ve been out in the sun too long…”
Suddenly, another figure emerged from behind the tree.
Skinny. Nervous. Clutching a clipboard and a sheriff’s badge held on by Scotch tape.
“Buck! Buck, there’s been a violation!”
The man squeaked.
“A code triple-seven! Unlicensed harmonica discharge in a non-musical zone!”
Buck sat up straight.
“Barney Fife?”
It was indeed Barney Fife. Or instead, it was someone who looked, sounded, and panicked exactly like Don Knotts. This person was holding a ticket book the size of a Bible.
Barney fumbled with his pen.
“Now, now, Buck, I don’t want any trouble, but this whole desert’s outta code. These crickets! The yodeling! There’s dancing! Dancing, Buck! It’s indecent!”
Buck stood up, swaying slightly.
“Barney, are you… real?”
Barney narrowed his eyes.
“As real as a jelly doughnut on a Wednesday morning, Trooper. Now I’m gonna need you to confiscate Carl Sandlin’s banjo and suspend his taco license—right away!”
Behind them, Elvis leaned against the cruiser and took a bite of his chili dog.
“Let the boy yodel, Barney.”
“I will not!”
Barney barked.
“This is law and order, not Hee Haw Live!”
At that moment, Carl himself drove by in a dune buggy. It was covered in tinfoil and wind chimes. He waved like a parade marshal.
“I’m playin’ at dawn!”
Carl shouted.
“Bring earplugs or bring maracas!”
Barney turned purple.
“I’ll have his badge!”
Buck stared in stunned silence.
A cricket landed on his shoulder and began humming ––
“Love Me Tender.”
The next thing Buck remembered was being propped up in a folding chair outside the Ajo gas station. A bag of frozen peas was on his forehead. He had a bottle of Gatorade in each hand.
“You passed out cold.”
Said Melba, the station clerk, who also claimed to be a licensed Reiki therapist.
“Said something about Elvis, Barney Fife, and indecent line dancing.”
Buck blinked.
“I didn’t… wrestle Carl off a unicycle, did I?”
“Not today.”
Buck took a long drink, sighed, and muttered,
“I’m starting to think this desert has a sense of humor.”
A Desert with a sense of humor? Barney Fife? Elvis? Our Crime Fighter has been out in the nether regions of the Sonoran Desert too long. That, or he sees dead people. Whatever it’s going to lead to, it’s another exciting story of Arizona’s most famous crime fighter, Buck Milford! That Mexican Beagle Cricket is sorta cute, isn’t it?
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