One of the most joyous things in life is finding a new author to devour. I’ll find one I completely click with and get every book of theirs that I can. And I’m a rereader too—favorite books or series have been read umpteen times.

So imagine my surprise when I found a whole series written by one of my previously favorite authors. I’d gone through a Stephen King phase in high school, and had most of his horror published way back then, but I don’t really care for horror anymore, so I hadn’t followed him religously. Oh, there’s The Stand, which remains one of my very favorite books ever, but I hadn’t gone looking for new ones.

And then The Dark Tower was published, and the Internet was abuzz with discussion. “What’s this?” I thought. “How did I miss a whole series?” I think I must have written it off when it was first started (yes, way back in high school) as a dragons and fairies type of fantasy, and I’ve never been a fan of that. But people on assorted message boards seemed so excited that this book was out, and from their descriptions, I thought that maybe it was something I’d enjoy.

So about a month ago, I ordered The Gunslinger from Amazon. I was uncharacteristically conservative in my book ordering, thinking that I’d start with one and see how I liked it. Well, I did like it, and promptly ordered the next three, and then the next two. I thought I could probably find the last one at Costco or somewhere locally, but I didn’t think ahead quite enough, and I didn’t have it waiting for me when I finished Song of Susannah. My bad.

I made up for that oversight yesterday when I was buying the boys new shoes. I walked by it at least three times before it jumped out at me—it’s like it wasn’t on the shelf until I looked at it at the right angle. But there it was, finally, in my hot little hands. And it’s good; I’m really enjoying it. But I don’t want to dive completely in, because I know this is the one and only time that I’ll be able to read this book for the first time, and the first time is always the best. I’m trying to savor it, to make it stretch all week.

Man, I thought finding a new book or a new author was something; imagine finding a whole new series, and with the timing to read it all at once! I haven’t found something this good since Bujold’s Vorkosigan or Weber’s Honor Harrington series, and those aren’t completed yet, so I have to wait like a peon for the next installments. What a lucky break this was.

I won’t be reading tomorrow though. Tomorrow is the last day of deer season, and Big Jeff and I are going up to see what we can see. Too bad the time change is this weekend, or else I’d have been able to sleep in to the luxurious hour of 4:30. Now I have to get up at 3:30, so it’s a good thing my ear/sinus medicine knocks me out. I’ll be going to bed early, I hope. That surprise nap on the couch this afternoon may have foiled my plans.

We’re taking my truck, ol’ reliable, because I have the tire chains and I’m a little afraid of Jeff’s driving. This is what happens when Jeff drives:

••••• 

Well, the DP grapevine hasn’t failed me.

Dennis called yesterday, and JR had called him and said that yet a different friend of his was up in Anderson yesterday, and told a good story about watching a gray Dodge get pulled out.

So I called Big Jeff, and asked him if he’d got his truck out.

“How’d you know already?” I guess he’d just got home and hadn’t called anyone yet. Heh. Small towns are good for that. The grapevine is faster than the speed of sound!

It took a couple of hours, two four wheel drive wreckers, and cost him a huge chunk of change, but he got it out with only a little damage to the rear bumper. That’s OK; bumpers can be fixed. Trucks that slide down the mountain can’t though, and he was one chain tied to a stump away from that. It had swiveled around in the night, and the nose was pointed straight down and the chain was taut.

And it seems that I picked (with my usual instinct for getting it wrong) the wrong day to go up. I should have gone yesterday, when the big deer decided it was the last minute, and were moving. The friend that ratted on Jeff got a big five pointer, and saw bigger deer harvested. Hell, I’d have been happy to either see any or get a small one. The freezer’s bare.

Did you see the eclipse last night? I thought I’d heard talk about one a couple of days before, so I thought I’d missed it. But I was home cooking dinner (I know! The shock! I was afraid I’d forgotten how.) and glanced out the dining room window to see the moon with a big chunk out of it. Later on, the shadow wasn’t so distinctly round and I thought I must have been seeing clouds over the face of the moon. I should know better than to second-guess myself, because it was an eclipse, and it was pretty neat.

Oh man, and that was such a good dinner too. Lamb chops and Brussels sprouts. I haven’t cooked much at Cowboy’s house this summer, what with the not being there much and the roping until nine or ten when I am. I think sometimes he’d like a girlfriend that didn’t like the horses, but he’s stuck with me. It was nice to feel like a family again, but getting back into the swing of cooking every night is going to be tough. I really got it together last night though, and made a beef stew to go in the crock-pot this morning. I know, scary!

Well, that was a most interesting day.

Since it was raining sideway, I figured it would be good and stormy up in the mountains, so I went in to work for a little while and then couldn’t stand it anymore. I burned my last little scrap of leave, and I took off and headed for the hills.

It rained on me the whole way up there, which I thought was encouraging. The deer come out and move around in the bad weather, after all. The rain started to have substance around Greeley Hill, and it was actual snow by the time I got to Highway 120. It started and stopped a few times, but eventually it got snowy enough on the highway to have the snowplows out. I was worried about not being able to recognize my turnoff in the snow, since I hardly ever go that way, but I did all right.

I started up the road, and there I met the exodus. I don’t know why people were so bent on leaving when it wasn’t even noon yet; the roads couldn’t have been that bad, could they? I must have passed four hundred trucks going out, and every one of them gave me the old double-take. Why yes, I AM a woman. How ’bout that? The older guys were actually better about it, but I got some dirty looks from some younger guys, who must like their women at home in the kitchen. The old ones learned long ago that we’ll do what we want to do.

It took me two hours to get up Hardin Flat Road to Five Points. Much of that time was spent pulled over waiting for caravans of trucks to pass me. I saw one guy pulling out a two-wheel drive—he said he’d pulled him all the way up from the valley. I saw more and more people chained up, and the snow got deeper and deeper. I didn’t see any deer; not alive or in the backs of trucks. Of course, what sane deer would stick around a major highway like that?

By the time I got to Five Points, up at the top, the snow was going sideway like the rain that morning. It was a good flat spot, so I got out and chained up for the second time in my life. This time I did it right, after some commiserating with some other guys putting theirs on. They checked mine, which was nice, and said I’d be fine. I also learned the lesson that one cannot have too many bungee cords. I had a circular tightener and two bungees on each wheel. I learned the lesson of not letting things flap loose the first time I chained up, fifteen years ago in my first car going over Donner Pass in a blizzard. Chewed up wheel wells were not an experience that I cared to repeat.

So I set off down the Tram Road, which is named after the old mining tram that used to run from there up into Yosemite. It’s flat but windy, and pretty narrow. Dennis and his friends were camped over the other side of the ridge, at the far end of the road, and that’s where I was headed. I was optimistic again when I didn’t see nearly the amount of traffic that I’d seen lower down. The snow was a good six inches deep, but I crept along in four-wheel drive, and I was fine.

Until I was about an hour in, and a guy in a jeep warned me that the road ahead was blocked by no less than three trucks that had slid off the road. He’d got by, so I kept on going, until (surprise!) I wound up at a roadblock. I was the last truck in, so I couldn’t see what was going on, but apparently one truck had gotten stuck and another one had tried to pull him out and had slid off the road himself. And that’s a long way down on those steep roads.

I got out and shot the breeze with some of the other guys, but I never did walk all the way up to the blocked part. I could see that there were a ton of people up there, and I’ve never been a fan of adding to a crowd. So a few of us turned around and went back.

I finally got Dennis on the CB when I was almost back to Five Points. He was on the Tram Road trying to come out, so I warned him of the blockages. Sure enough, he got stopped where a tree had gone down in the road, and the forty-five people lined up behind it didn’t have chain saws. I didn’t figure on waiting for him that long, so I went down Anderson Flat Road, talking to him most of the way.

Remember when I said that I’m not so good at driving in the snow? Well, going down Anderson Flat was really scary. That road is even narrower than the Tram road, and it’s much steeper. I’d chosen it over Hardin Flat Road because guys coming up it had told me they saw an oak tree come down right in front of them, and had seen one crush a Ford, which I know hadn’t been there when I came up. So I thought this way was the lesser of two evils. Might have been too, but even crawling along like a little old lady in 4 low and first gear, I was white knuckled. Passing people was just a treat too. I kept picturing myself sliding off the road like the trucks up the hills.

I was just about past my scary part when Dennis finally got through on his road, so he was about two hours behind me. CB reception was really good though, because I was doubling back on a road right below him. They passed two of the stuck trucks, and then I hear an “Oh shit!” for how bad the last one was.

Dennis said some guy had jumped out to take pictures, and I joked at him that it was Big Jeff, who’s always taking pictures. Dennis took a second look at the truck, which he said was well and truly fucked, and then asked me again what Big Jeff’s new truck looked like. The one he got last week.

I described it, and as I was, Dennis was ticking off details. “Yup, got that, yup, that’s his toolbox, Yup, that’s Jeff’s truck.”

Oh, hell. That truck that was stuck the worst, about ready to roll down the mountain, was our friend Jeff’s. No sign of him. Dennis said he didn’t know how they would get it out, but that it would take at least two four-wheel drive wreckers, and good luck getting them to come up there in the storm.

I got out to the Valley safely, and decided not to wait for Dennis, but to just head on home. It became un-fun when the day was more about driving and trying not to fall off the mountain than about hunting—not getting to where I was going didn’t help much either, nor did the five-day headache I’ve been nursing. But all in all, I had an interesting day. I know Jeff didn’t; I’ll add a picture of his truck when he sends it to me, but that’s his story to tell.

But even without seeing anything, I’m glad I went. Life’s too short to not go when the hunting’s good. Or even when it’s bad, really.

Goddamn lawn service
Yes, I called you an asshole
Cut me off two times

Same dickhead today
Median not for driving
Get out of my way

Last time I saw that
A rock flew up and hit me
Broken windshield woes

Soccer mom is late
Cannot follow rules of road
Ignores fellow cars

Drop off kids at school
Pattern is clearly marked there
Morons can’t read signs

Foggy days are soon
Turning lights on—no brainer
Idiots will not

See that semi truck?
Do you think he can make turn?
Pancake if you stay

This is one-way street
So why do I see your lights?
Read the sign, moron

Traffic does not stop
Better look before you go
Green light means nothing

Two sets of train tracks
Cars are all stopped behind arms
Why are you an ass?

Train blocking both roads
Do not want to wait all day
Three miles around

We all want some gas
Only one is an asshole
You’re going to wait

It’s 9 o’clock, and I’m either up too early or way too late. I can’t decide.

See, the kids had a big sleep-over party at the dojo. I dropped them off last night and got a night to myself, which I spent reading the scary part of my latest Dark Tower book and consequently not sleeping.

But it’s storming up in them thar hills, and I really would have liked to get up at 0 Dark Hundred this morning and go hunt. All of my friends are up there today, as well as half the County, probably. I left a message on the ex’s machine, but I made the mistake of asking for what I wanted, for him to maybe pick the kids up this morning a day early. That guaranteed me no calls back, but then, his other kid wasn’t there, so maybe they’re gone.

Anyway, another storm gone, another hunting opportunity shot. This storm was a warm one at least, so I don’t have to feel bad about missing snow. There’s supposed to be a cold one coming in later this week; I may play a little hooky and leave work early one afternoon. Think they’ll figure it out if I come all camo’d up one morning?

I expect this to the year in which all of my partners get a deer but me. Cowboy reminds me that that was last year, which was a feat, since one of them didn’t even have a license (in this state—he got a deer in Arizona.) The other one got deer here and in New Mexico, and also took an Oryx in NM. He shared that meat, and it sure was tasty. I do have good partners—the other one gave me some steaks from his AZ deer; infinitely better than the California ones.

But Dennis, who didn’t get his license bought before the deadline when the tags sold out, was inspired enough by the recent weather to go buy an any-zone archery-only tag. And he and another procrastinator are up there today. Big Jeff is too—he went up last week during the storm and saw a bunch of good deer pulled out. Dennis kind of scoffs at that, saying that we don’t know what it was like in the good ol’ days, when the herds were so thick you could pick your buck. We’re not sure if he’s shitting or not, but this is the first year since I’ve been hunting that we’ve had decent weather during season.

So instead of hunting, there I was at eight this morning, plugging my ears with my fingers. They had at least 60 kids there, and they were all screaming, and it echoes in there. Damn, and my head hurts all the way down to my neck. Once the party was done, I took the kids and escaped to blessed quiet. They’re completely wired for sound, what with staying up half the night and subsisting on nothing but sugar. I’m hoping they crash pretty soon. Then I can take a nap.

I was checking on one of my sites today, which happens to be right next to a County yard where they store old abandoned vehicles. Angus and I were right near it when we figured out that there was something going on in there.

There’s a dog training place here too, and they often use old buildings to practice with the drug dogs. And I’ve seen police dogs going in and out of there, but this was the first time I’d seen them work.

They had a whole bunch of dog handlers outside the fence on the far side from us, and one German Shepherd was savagely attacking a guy’s arm. I recognized the guy as the owner of the dog training facility, but my first thought was that there was actually something going on.

I stopped Angus and put him on a down before he could charge up to the fence and challenge a dog that would surely kick his ass in a heartbeat. I was also kind of wondering if these dogs would stick to their jobs or get distracted by another dog. No, I wasn’t close enough to really interfere, but they could see us, and the trainers knew I was there.

We watched a few rounds. The guy in the suit (and it wasn’t really a very big suit) would sneak around and get in a car. Then the handler would call out his lines, and then send his (or her—there was one woman too) dog in. The dog would race around all of the cars looking for the bad guy. The two dogs I watched start did see us, but they didn’t spend much time near our side of the fence, so I guess they definitely knew their jobs.

Then, when the dog found the bad guy, he’d either come out of the vehicle or get pulled out by the dog, all the time screaming like someone would who was really in some deep shit at that point. And the handler would come up and praise their dog, and snap the leash on and leave. One dog went right in an open window, which I don’t think the guy was expecting.

The whole time, Angus minded very well, although he tells those dogs off from the safety of his truck every morning when we pass the kennel. He made a lot of noises that I’ve never heard before—low down groans and squeaks that I wouldn’t quite call a growl.

The last handler called out, “Your turn” to us, but I laughed and told him that Angus would just herd the guy, not bite him. Although I wonder, since he watched those other dogs attacking and getting praised for it.

Just a quick roping update—Chris and one of his partners went into the final round of the number 8 roping last night in the top position, with 22 seconds on three steers. That included Chris catching only one leg on one steer, which is a five second penalty, so they were doing really well. They had won the fast times for two of the three rounds.

But Chris’ header missed on the high-team steer.

Today, Cowboy is roping in the number 7 roping with Chris and a kid who placed second in last night’s number 8. I think Chris is in it with someone else too, but he keeps throwing out names that I don’t recognize, so I forget them before the conversation is over.

Good luck Cowboy! Bring home a saddle!

The great god Murphy is having his little laugh at me this morning.

In a state that rarely has a storm until late November, we’ve got our first big one early. It hit this weekend (fortunately after the Junior Rodeo), and it’s still going.

And normally, I’d not be worried about it, because all of our big work would have been done over the summer. But today, I’ve got trenches open all over the place, and I’m supposed to have an excavation start this morning. Won’t be happening.

And I’ve gone and spent all of my vacation time. Normally, there isn’t a storm worth getting excited about during deer season, so I didn’t think I’d miss much. But this is primo hunting time, and I can’t go. I can’t even go up in the evening, as it’s two hours away and I get off at five.

Oh well, I knew I would have to sacrifice hunting time for my business this year; I just didn’t know it would be good hunting time.

Cowboy and son are up in Reno at the ACTRA finals. They beat the storm going up through Donner Pass, but they’re about to get some nasty weather. The main arena is indoors, but I think they run a second arena that’s outside. If they have to cram all of the ropings into the one, it’s going to make for some long ropings.

Cowboy roped in the 40/40 yesterday—both ends have to be over 40 years old. He drew a bad steer that ducked on the second run for one partner, and the other heeler missed on the second, so it wasn’t a long day for him. Today is the number 8 roping, and I think he’s in that with three partners. I’ll hear how he went tomorrow.

I have caught Cowboy’s cold. I was really hoping the scratchy throat was just because I’m not used to talking as much as I did on Saturday. Falling asleep on the couch at 7:30 last night kind of disabused me of that notion though. I never do that. I kind of grogged myself awake at 8 and went to bed. Must be getting sick, and of course, I get the kids back tonight. I’ll have to try really hard not to infect them, since I don’t have any sick time left at all to take care of any of us.

So I’m going to hide in my office on this rainy day, and attend meetings over the phone. Let’s hope I can stay awake.

In which I discover that I am a ham. Well, isn’t that a trait that many of us writing down our lives and publishing it for all to read share?

Friday afternoon was the day we brought in the livestock for the Junior Rodeo. I got off work early, and would have been there to help, except Cowboy was running the water truck and didn’t need my help. I wandered down there eventually, and found the crew running the cattle through the circuits a few times to show them where the exit was. All of these cattle had rodeo experience, but they have to know where the stripping chute is to run to, or else they mill around all confused. They’re not dumb though, and once they find their escape, they’re set.

And I’m not one for standing around and watching when there’s fun to be had, so I jumped in and became the chute help for the rest of the evening. After accidentally poking one of the boys with the hot shot (hey, he shouldn’t have had his arm there!), I was left to it with occasional help from outside the fences.

Oddly, the breakaway calves (big ol’ bubbas) were the most unruly. At least they didn’t have horns, but these were solid animals who weren’t all that hot on the idea of going where I wanted them to go, and were also just barely small enough to turn around and face the wrong way. I only got stepped on once, and not kicked at all, before I got a little faster about hopping up on the fence when I needed to. I’m a little spoiled by our cattle, who are used to being pushed from the ground. They’ll kick too, but I don’t have to get as close to move them.

Good thing I learned that lesson then, because next we ran the team roping steers through. And these were big, heavy steers that may be used for steer wrestling in their other lives. They were bigger than all but one of our steers at home. If they decided to run over me, I wouldn’t have had a chance. I did a lot of standing on the fence for them.

Last through the roping chutes were our calf roping calves, and they were small and timid. I could get right up behind them and push—didn’t need the prod at all. But I did have to stay right in there with them, because they were easily small enough to turn every which way and get all tangled up.

Then it was on to the roughstock chutes. This is the only time each year that I have anything to do with roughstock events, and I had a pretty short learning curve on how to work those chutes, with the biggest steers we had pushing me around. Luckily, that time I had plenty of help. Chris chute dogged (which is just like steer wrestling, except the kids don’t have to jump off a running horse; they get in the chute and grab the steer around the neck to start off) each one to make sure it was used to it.

Now, dogging looks pretty severe, but it’s not. Those animals have necks of rubber; you should see a longhorn with horns two feet wider than the chute come barreling down at you with his head held sideways. The boys just turn their heads and their body follows in the dogging events. The kids did a little testing of the riding steers too—we don’t use bulls for our Junior Rodeo—but there wasn’t much riding going on without flank straps and bull ropes. Mostly, it was all just a lot of fun.

And with an early start the next morning, we were at the grounds before dawn. There were the goats to get still, and tables, microphones, and chairs to set up. The ladies in the trailer took late entries and got everyone signed in. I was the lead timer for the small arena (we run two in parallel), and my backup timer and I had things sorted out.

Or so we thought. Some woman came in, who I didn’t know, and started changing things around, moving the other timers and generally rearranging things without so much as a by-your-leave. I had no idea who she was, and neither did the other timers.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I interrupted her and asked who she was and why was she directing. Seems that the announcer had asked her to come and give us a hand, and she was some past director of another junior rodeo association. Well, that’s very nice, but we’re not a part of that association. I talked to our secretary when she came up with our scoring sheets all laid out in order, and she wasn’t happy at all with the situation. Fortunately, the arena director just happened to be my boyfriend, so I let him deal with the problem. The woman ended up making things much worse than they would have been if left to our own devices, although she did have some good advice, when I asked for it.

She ended up moving our other timers to a flat bed trailer nearer to the large arena, but we didn’t have power there, so the barrel racing eye had to be set at my table. And she was going to try to announce our arena’s events and relay the big arena times over to the other announcer at the same time. Well, she tried, but she couldn’t multitask that well. That’s not all that surprising, since she’d gone and made the situation as confusing as it possibly could be.

So we gave my helper the mic for a while, because I was doing the averaging and official times for our arena. She couldn’t keep focused very well either though, so when she had to take a potty break, I took the mic. And how about that, I discovered that I am a ham, and a good announcer. I hate to hear my voice in recordings so much that I really hadn’t wanted to go out over the loudspeaker (come on, I can’t even get drunk enough to do karaoke—I pass out long before that point), but it sounded OK to me, and I could pronounce names, keep an eye on my arena, and work my stopwatch, average, and record official times just fine. I hope my helper didn’t feel too redundant, but she wasn’t as good at keeping track of things even with fewer things to follow. See, there I go, bragging again.

And I had a ball. The small arena was where we held the more junior of the events in which stock was involved. There were Pee-Wee events behind the grandstand that included things like dummy roping and stick horse barrel racing, but my arena was the youngest kids doing actual rodeo events. There is nothing cuter than a six-year-old riding a giant babysitter horse, kicking away although their feet don’t quite clear the saddle pads, jogging through a pole-bending course. I had to be careful not to cheer with the microphone live, because that wouldn’t have been too professional looking!

We only had one incident of parents chewing on someone. Usually, there’s quite a few. Some rodeo parents are every bit as competitive as soccer moms or Little League dads. We saw the competitiveness in them, yes, but they respected us for the most part.

I did have one parent come up to argue our call (and not on their kid, I don’t think). I’d already discussed it with the line judge before I announced the kid’s time. My two helpers (the actual assistant and the redundant one who wasn’t even watching our arena) started arguing back at the parent, trying to justify our decision. I was trying to time another kid through all of this, and they were on the verge of blowing that kid’s run, which wouldn’t be fair. I may have spoken louder than I meant to be heard over the squabbling, but I hollered something to the effect of, “The judge’s decision is final and we’re not going to argue about this!”

That shut all three of them up, and I noticed that we didn’t get talked back to the rest of the day. Coincidence? I think not. I talked to our Secretary about it later, and she said I’d done the right thing, or else the parents will run right over you. Cowboy definitely would not have wanted to be drug over from his arena to split up an argument involving his girlfriend, and I was the one wearing the committee shirt up there. Lest you think I’m a horrible, cranky person, I was doing my best to talk to parents that came up asking for clarifications or repeats of times politely.

I made other calls a few times too, when I had to. We weren’t terribly prepared on what rules we were going to use to keep the scoring consistent. Next year, the women are all going to get together and hammer it out before the event. That way, we can post it, and there won’t be any arguing or stopping of the action while I discuss something with a line judge.

At some point in the day, I mentioned Cowboy to the feather-ruffler, who I was getting along with perfectly well after I got smoothed back down. It was in the course of conversation about the running of the rodeo, and she had no idea who I was relative to him.

She said, “He’s very nice, isn’t he?”

I agreed.

She said, “He’s also very good-looking, isn’t he?”

I said, “Well, I certainly think so.”

And then she went on, “I hear he’s single!”

I snorted out my nose, because I could see where she was going with this (although her husband was there, so I think she was actually prodding me). I couldn’t help myself, and I burst out kind of loudly with an, “Oh, no he’s not!”

She looked a little baffled. I laughed, and told her that he had a serious girlfriend, paused, and then told her that that would be me. She cracked up, and told me that she was glad she’d only had good things to say about him. It was really nice to hear that though; usually people know who I am, and will say nice things about him to my face, but to be a sort of a fly on the wall is priceless. Yes, I liked her much more after that, although she was still redundant and bossy.

After I called lunch, we ran our last two events in our small arena. I kept right on announcing; our spontaneous helper saw that I could read numbers off of the electric eye faster than she could tell them to me, as it was right next to me, and went off to do her own thing. I did learn a thing or two from her, but unsolicited advice always goes over like a turd in a punch bowl. Once I mentally shifted gears, I was OK, but damn, I was mad at first.

After we finished, I finally got to watch some of the events in the big arena. The only drawback to working one side is that you don’t really get to follow what’s going on at the other side. I did catch our little friend barrel racing, but I missed her brother breakaway roping. These are kids that come out and rope with us all the time and I’d really wanted to see them perform. I did give her a great big hug after I was done working, and told her that I was proud of her. She was beaming from ear to ear, and only partly because she’d bested her brother.

I went and hung out behind the roping chutes and watched most of the rest of the rodeo from there. Many of our friends were participating in the family team roping event, so I hung out with them and acted the cheerleader, gate-opener, and general gopher. I did go sit with family a few times, but I’m somewhat on the hyper side, and can’t stand to sit around.

After the rodeo was over, and we’d given an all-around buckle and two saddles to some very proud kids, it was time to break it down. Down is a lot faster than up, and this time we had some FFA kids there to help us.

Those FFA kids had also run the Pee-Wee events, worked their concession booth, ran scores for us, and raked around barrels and poles. They sure were a help, and not surprising when you consider what this rodeo is for. We give scholarships to kids in two FFA districts, and I really hope to be in on the selection process this year. I may not know their names, but I’ll recognize the pictures of some kids who really worked their butts off to make this event a success. We couldn’t do it without them—most of the committee members’ kids are grown and gone. Not a one of us has kids in the Junior Rodeo anymore. Some of them never did, and are solely in it to support the community. The Secretary doesn’t even have kids, and I think she does the most work every year.

And then, once it was all torn apart and all the livestock had been hauled back home, then it was time to party. The Basque restaurant (famous throughout the State!) knew we were coming and held two big tables for us. We were almost all filthy and exhausted and had hat hair, but it didn’t matter. They’re used to us and it’s family style. We all gorged ourselves and then went home to crash on various couches.

I say this every year, but next year I’m going to take a bigger role in the committee. They’ve invited me back to announce, and since I’ve been there three years now, they’re getting used to me. It’s time to help them out with some new ideas and new energy. I have good intentions of increasing our advertising, and I’d like to see the kids’ towns printed on the score sheets so I can announce them as well as the other caller (he just knows most of them).

I had so much fun that I told them I’d be back next year even if Cowboy were to quit. He won’t. He loves it too.

Oh, and Hi Mom!

I run Angus about a mile every morning. There’s no way I could keep up with him, so I do it from my truck on a former landfill at work. It was kind of “my” place. Well, mine and the dog training center next to it.

But lately, all sorts of people have been joining in the fun. And I never know how Angus or the strange dogs are going to react. There’s been one woman there running three dogs, and she often gets there about the same time as I do. That kind of pissed me off, since her dogs were slow and mine fast, so I couldn’t run Angus unless I got going first, and she never let me go first.

Well, this morning she was sort of hidden behind some trees when I got onto the dirt road. I saw her dogs chasing me, but I tried to pull ahead of them to let Angus out. There I was flying down this dirt road with a rooster tail of dust following me, and three dog-shapes chasing me through the clouds. It was pretty funny. Eventually, I lost sight of them and stopped to let my dog out. Of course, they hadn’t lost me; I just couldn’t see them anymore. They popped out of the cloud and Angus got all up in their faces and checked them out, and it was wagging tails all around.

The lady had pulled up behind her dogs, and I got out to apologize for the ruckus. She laughed and said she thought I was afraid that I’d picked up three more. We talked while the dogs played, and it was obvious that they were going to get along fine. She told me to watch out for one German Shepherd who’d taken a chunk out of one of her dogs earlier in the month. Eventually, she collected her animals and left, and we went on with our run. Next time we hit it at the same time we’ll just run them together.

Tomorrow is the local Junior Rodeo. Our family is big in it, and I’ve jumped in with both feet. The first year I was seeing Cowboy, I helped set up all the arenas and panels and whatnot. Last year, one of the timers flaked at the last minute, so Cowboy volunteered me with no notice. That was fine, but I had my kids with me and they were bored to tears. Thanks to Marci, who took them home to play with her kids, we got it done. The lady who flaked hasn’t been invited back—I’ve taken that over indefinitely. I may end up announcing the small arena too. It’s all good practice, because Cowboy’d eventually like to hold ropings at our arena, and I’ll be neck deep in that.

I got the kids rearranged this weekend so I don’t have to keep an eye in the back of my head. It takes more concentration than it looks, because these little kids take their rodeo seriously, and so do the parents. You think Little League Dads are bad? You ain’t never seen a Junior Rodeo Mom.

It’s a family affair, although none of the committee members have kids in Junior Rodeo any more. Chris will be a flagger and a line judge and Cowboy runs the show. One of our roping friends and his Dad and Mom will be working there—he’ll judge, but he doesn’t want to mess with flagging because of the hassle from the parents. I told him to come time, and I’ll flag. They won’t mess with someone that won’t stand for it, and the flagger’s call is final.

I’m sure I’ll have much to say on the subject in my next entry. It’s a ton of fun, but I wish Cowboy’d been more into the meetings during the year. I can only go if he goes, and I have a lot of ideas about how to make it better. And I guess with three years as part of it, they might listen to me now. I may have some input on the advertising next year.