Sometimes I am reminded there are various undisclosed subsections that evidently lay in my marriage contract.
My husband knew about them.
I did not.
Since *he* knew… and is laughing while I suffer the consequences…
I usually throw something at him.
A horse turd.
A rock.
A cow wart.
Whatever’s handy.
No one told me about uncommon actions that come with being married to a rancher.
Where was my lawyer?
<didn’t have one>
Where was my mother?
<She had no clue either>
Number one on my list is “Pulling warts out of cows’ ears.”
I hate that.
They are huge.
They are really really really nasty.
And, yes, I throw a few at Vernon if given the chance.
I swear that was not in the loving, mushy, romantic marriage contract that I recall!
Then comes the “Un-fairweather Cowboy” section.
The kind where it is hard to climb on your horse because of layers.
Where you *really* want a cup of coffee because it’s cold…
but you don’t want the consequences in an hour when those layers need to be removed *in God’s Great Outdoors* in the snow…
and wind…
and hunting season with guys with binoculars…
<sigh>
I really shouldn’t complain…
I got off easy yesterday…
1. Drive to the top of the mountain. Dispense Vernon, Johnny, Boomer, and Sam.
2. Elsa kept me company… Note someone’s tractor taken up to dig their road out to get to their cows…
3. Drive SLOWLY downhill while praying horsetrailer stays in the ruts and doesn’t jackknife.
4. Enjoy the view from the top of Aunt Mary’s Hill… kinda…
5. Stop to take the chains off of the pickup. Where’s a hammer for the ice chunks?
6. Go home. Eat lunch quickly. Saddle Panama. Drive to the bottom of the mesa. Park on the gravel road. Ride up the mountain. Let sweaty Panama have a breather. Take a scenic OOPE photo.
7. Keep hoping to run into the guys and cows *soon*…
Nope, they haven’t been here.
8. Spy neighbor’s cows at their gate…
Wait… there’s one of ours…
And another.
<big sigh>
I spend the next 1.5 to 2 hours gathering ours… splitting off theirs… when the guys and our cows make their appearance.
I am exhausted.
Panama DOES NOT MOVE without spurs which don’t fit on my muck boots.
I have worked HARD to get him to cut things out…
Twice…
Thrice…
My legs are sore and we have a ways to trail yet.
9. Cuss the cows who don’t trail worth beans…
Thank goodness for Dally’s energy.
The sun is sinking.
10. Rejoice when we reach the Mesa Pasture. Whew.
The sun sets.
We have an hour’s ride back to the pickup… downhill…
Impossible to jog or go even faster due to the slick wet snow and mud…
Footing is treacherous…
We arrive at the pickup at 7:45.
I pause…
My legs are so sore, I’m hesitant about getting off of Panama.
I hope I can stand when I hit the ground…
I do..
By 8:30 I’m in my house.
Looking for my wine glass…
I am SO LUCKY I didn’t have to ride clear down from the top!
As I recall, last year’s trip down the mountain wasn’t so great either.
And I still don’t remember being notified about these activities *before* I got married…
Find me here!
