St Anthony

My wife, Hilary, and I spent a good part of the past two days slowly driving our golf cart through the pasture looking for lost horseshoes. It's not that we can't afford to lose a three dollar shoe, it's that around here, riding in the pasture in a golf cart is considered a 'night out'.
After several minutes of scouring the ground, Hilary invoked St. Anthony to help us find them.
My first thought was that this Anthony fella surely has more important matters on his plate than helping us find a couple of rusty horseshoes, but being unfamiliar, I asked who he was.
"He's the patron saint of lost articles", she said.
"Really? They have a saint for everything, don't they?"
Lost articles.
I began wondering what it must've been like for Anthony that day he earned his wings.  A group of angels and wanna-be angels gathered around the holy water cooler, lamenting the poor play of the Giants, and the entire NFC east, in fact.
"Even the boss can't help the Redskins" one of them joked.
"Ant'nee!", St Vinny, the patron saint of summoning other patron saints gathered by the holy water cooler calls, "They wanna see yous in the office."
The other angels good-naturedly rib Anthony, "Oooh, Anthony, somebody's getting promoted!"  "Way to go, Anth ole' chap!"
"Alright, alright" Anthony interrupts, "Give it a rest"
Anthony and St Vinny leave the holy water cooler, past rows and rows of white cubicles, down a white hallway, up a white escalator, past the gates into God's office.
Anthony nudges St. Vinny and points to a painting on the wall, "Dogs playing poker? Really?"
St Vinny pushes Anthony's arm down, shaking his head. "Don't ask."
Soon after, a voice speaks to them, "Anthony, we've appreciated the work you've done around here and decided it was time we promoted you to full angel."
"That's awesome boss."
"Vinny, the wings" God commanded.
Vinny opened a filing cabinet, removed a pair of angel wings and securely tied them to Anthony's shoulders.
"So what am in charge of?  Defending mankind from evil?  Battling demons and protector of truth, honor and justice?"
"No, no, we've got one of those" God said, "You are the patron saint of findin' stuff."
"No, really, the suspense is killing me."
"Yes, really.  You are now St. Anthony, patron saint of finding things. Have at it."

Cut to 1000 years later:

St. Anthony, running through heaven, wearing a paper hat, red smock and carrying a set of car keys.  He's perspiring, out of breath and disheveled.
"Lady, here's your keys.  They were in your purse the whole time." Anthony says, as he tosses the keys and runs in the other direction.
"Johnny, here's that tic-tac you lost in the couch."  "Try getting a few in your mouth next time" he mutters under his breath.
Suddenly, a voice booms over the public address system, "Anthony, we've got a pair of horseshoes missing in Virginia.  They asked for you personally."
"Really? They've been looking for all of two minutes!" he barks.  Resigned, however, to his duty, he hangs his head, adding, "Be right there."
And that is how we came to find our horseshoes.