Just Whistle

Hot, digity, Dog!  I’m excited about today’s story.  Many Sundays I get out of bed, knowing the previous week had not produced a story to tell.  As of Friday night, I thought this was going to be one of those Sundays.  However, my crazy life has not let me down.

If you have read my stories before you know that my wife and family moved away from the city to a rural setting.

It’s probably time to admit, I am not a farmer, rancher, or cowboy.  I am a construction worker, albeit a (construction language) good one, that is what I am.  I have never planted a crop.  I have never butchered my livestock.  Before Elaine instituted an unfair no” bending, lifting, or twisting” rule I could have built you a nice house.  With this in mind, I should tell you I do own cowboy hats, (five of them), and cowboy boots (six pairs).  I learned being on this ranch, that wearing a cowboy hat keeps the sun, rain and snow of your head, neck and shoulders.  The boots, well, they are just cool.  I have not saddled a horse, but I have watched enough westerns to know I could.

I do listen to county music, but only if I cannot find talk radio or sports talk.  I do not have ANY pre-set music stations on my car radios.  There, I feel better now that everyone knows.

Ok, story time.

Twenty some years ago, when Elaine and I moved to rural property, within minutes of arriving at the house for the first time a neighbor stopped by to introduce himself.  This was in spite of the snow being over four feet deep.  I like to say he stopped by to introduce himself but it was more like he wanted to tell me the “rules” of the neighborhood.

This new neighbor raised cattle and special horses.  When I say special horses, I know what kind of horses they are but I didn’t and don’t give a (construction language).  He was not impressed to learn we raised llamas and alpacas at the time. (Yaks came later.)

I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t get along with my neighbor.  That would not be true. Have tried to help each other for the past couple of decades.  Did I tell you we are political ENEMIES?  We have never argued, mostly because I haven’t brought myself to do it.

We have never been interested in each other’s livestock.  Not in a competitive way, just in a who cares way.

There have been times I (Elaine) have called him to inform him his horses had pushed his gate open and were in the road.  When this happens, my neighbor puts on his “work” cowboy hat and chaps, and boots.  For those of you who don’t know what chaps are, watch reruns of “Cheyenne” on cable television.

I went to bed Friday night starting to worry that I had no story for Sunday.  (Never worry about that.  I just have to remember something from my past.)  By the grace of God, Saturday morning was awakened by the neighbor’s phone call.  My story just wrote itself.

The neighbor called Elaine to inform her, “All your yaks are in my barn”.  I looked out the window and our two large yaks were in our pasture.  The two small yaks were in fact in the neighbor’s driveway.  For about five seconds I panicked thinking how the (construction language) am I going to get them home.  No “bending, lifting, and twisting”.  But I took a breath. Standing on my front porch, in my underwear I whistled.  The same “tune “I whistle when every time I feed the yaks.  The yaks started running for home. Across the dry creek, across the road, across our pasture.  They looked like the Secretariat of yaks.  They met me at the haystack, and gave me time to get dressed.

I can only hope our neighbor saw this and had to compare my skills to his special horses.  I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed telling it.

God Bless, Love ya, Teach your yaks

Our crazy lives!

Monner