The reporter from the big-city paper looked a bit uncomfortable as she sat at the philosophy counter of the Mule Barn truck stop. Doc ordered some coffee for her, and introduced her to the guys. She came here to interview Doc, who has been patching people up around here since the invention of pain, but there was something about her that told us she’d rather be covering the White House, and that she was determined to save the world by Tuesday at two o’clock.

“I brought you here,” said Doc, “because I wanted you to see the heart of this valley, the salt of the earth, the people … my people … and the reason I’ve practiced medicine here all these years.”

She looked at us and we tried to look earthy and salty for her.

“So you’re saying,” she said, “you want me to do the interview … here?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Yeah,” said Dud. “Hey, if you want to know the real dirt on Doc, this is the place to do it.”

“Well … tell me about some of your most unusual cases, Doctor.”

Steve whispered in Dud’s ear, “If he mentions where that horse bit me on New Year’s Eve, I’m out of here.”

So Doc rattled off several interesting cases, without using names, and without using us, and the interview got going pretty well.

“And you deliver babies, too?” she asked.

Three of us raised our hands.

“You delivered them?”

“Yes … well, I was just a kid when I did that.”

We all laughed.

“Actually, I’ve delivered more than 4,000 babies here over the years,” Doc said.

“That’s amazing,” said the reporter. “I didn’t know there were that many people living here.”

“There aren’t,” said Doc. “I sat down and did the numbers once, and I figure I’ve delivered everyone in this valley at least once.”

Think delivering your own baby is wholesome, lots of fun, and holistic? Not in Nebraska. It could be considered a felony.