We were out on the back deck enjoying the last rays of a long productive Saturday, when we received visitors.
First, a rather large bovine came into the yard. She had three acres of unspoiled natural grass to eat, and she was pretty much going to town. We walked through the house to watch her out in front, meandering past the driveway.
Just then, our second visitor arrived. He was a cowboy of sorts, although it seems he left either in quite a hurry or without any cares at all. He had ridden down the rode to our house bareback, and he kind of wasn't wearing any shoes. I mean, he had shoes on but they weren't cowboy boots or anything. They were flip-flops.
He gave us a wave as he trotted on horseback past the Xterra in our driveway and toward the wellhouse, where his quarry was headed. This cow wasn't fat, by the way, she was faaaAAAAT. Her girth was a little intimidating.
The chase was on. She realized that she was caught, and picked up the pace toward the back of the wellhouse. Cowboy Flip-flop closed the gap with a brief gallop and then promptly fell off his horse.
The pursuit suddenly changed to him leading the horse on foot through the rest of the yard while the cow made haste to the road.
Tim and I ended up exactly where we had started - on the back deck. The cowboy shouted instructions to us from across the yard not to tell his wife that he had fallen off the horse; at which time we realized that he was probably about three or four beers into enjoying his evening before Bessie the Bovine decided to go visiting.
Our visitors do vary. We take all kinds, though.
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