The little story about boys pissing on the ground reminds me of this tale: My great-grandfather (not the Apache side of the family) was an Oklahoma rancher. He had a habit of checking his fences every morning. Come wind or water, the man jumped into his pickup at dawn and circled the property looking for trouble.
We were visiting the old folks one time and the guy invited me to make the fence run with him. I must have been about two years old, certainly no more than three. We had been driving slowly along the fence line for about an hour when I announced that I needed to pee. Gramps stopped the truck but I wouldn't get out. Finally he lifted me out of the pickup and stood me facing a stand of prickly pear.
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He says I screeched like hell and ran crying back to the truck. The old man wanted to know what was the trouble. At last it came out: I was afraid the prickly pear would reach out with its thorns and grab my peter.
"Get my pee-pee," I howled. "Get my pee-pee!
We drove a little further and I agreed to pee on a mesquite tree -- no thorns!
Gramps loved to tell that story.
TC
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