“Ah, shit! Jeans or sweats?” he calls out.
Followed by, “Tennis shows or boots?”
“Sweat shirt or jacket?” he asks.
Next, “Cowboy or baseball hat?”
“Bare handed or gloves?” he wants to know.
All questions a good stock man must ask himself each time a cow or three escapes the fence.
“Too hell with it! No effin’ time to get dressed,” he exclaims.
So, if the neighbors be appalled to see him chasing down cattle in his skivvies, while wearing his wife’s rose-pink satin robe, then they’ve not live long in the country. If those neighbors remain unfazed by the sight and even offer to help, then they’ve probably done it themselves and are in no position to judge.
Welcome to the ranch life and don’t expect to see any selfies.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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