Old farmer

An old farmer lies dying in bed. His wife is beside him holding his hand. He turns his head to her and says, “Do you remember Shirl, when we first married and you came out to the farm and I broke my leg? You ran the place single-handed.” His wife smiled and nodded. “Then the barn burnt down and you took a second job so we could buy enough feed for the stock?” She squeezed his hand. “Then,” he said, “we had that terrible drought and we had to sell just about everything to truck water in to survive? You stuck by me through all that.” His wife brushed a tear from her eye.
“You know what?” says the old farmer. “I’m beginning to think you’re bad luck.”