Night and Day & the Thief of Thunder
It was a tough day yesterday out on the prairie. I got a new little doggie, which to you non-cowpokes means a new-to-me trusty steed.
The trusty steed was a feisty thing and needed to be handled just right, and not just anyone could ride her.
But I did.
Yessirree, it took some doing to tame her, but in no time at all I was out there roaming the open range, golf course, whatever, with nary a buck once she knew who was boss.
There were dangers overhead, too. The air was filled with eerie swallows, bent on protecting their turf.
Hmm. Looks a lot like a bat. Swoops the same, too. But you know what? I weren’t scared. Know why? Because it was DAY.
I ignored the little critters and didn’t even flinch.
A lawn cowboy’s work is never done. I’ll be heading back tomorrow, ready to risk life and limb so you desperados can golf on a smooth surface.
After I took my weary bones home, I heard a distinctive roar across the street, now as familiar to me as the back of my own, lawn-mowing hands. I poked my head out the curtains, expected to see a rugged cowboy like myself. I figured maybe we could swap stories that night over a campfire while eating beans out of a can with our fingers.
HMPF! Apparently, everybody rides riding lawnmowers ‘round these here parts.
It doesn’t matter now. It’s in my blood. I will ride again.