Oysters used to be land critters. They scurried, they brayed, they woke before the Sun.

That got to Ol’ Bohan, though. Y’see, he usually wasn’t no early riser iff’n unless something needed doing. But them oysters, they took up in front of his cabin and didn’t quit. Bohan, he had a lick of patience, but after months of this he’d had enough. One morning the oysters was lowing just a mite too loud and out stormed Bohan.

For hours and hours he hurled the oysters into the sea. Their cries attracted their brethren to the ocean until they was just one big floating mess. That’s when Father Fish waggled his weedy beard and turned them oysters into what you see today.

And Ol’ Bohan got some rest.