Sunday morning, just listening.
Then this good-time Charlie shows up.
Sunday morning, just listening.
Then this good-time Charlie shows up.
Cowboy always feels better when we’re out walking in our front yard. I feel better when he feels better.
Cowboy waits for our morning walk, watching for signals of boots, hat and inhaler, probably thinking that Sunday brunch is for dudes.
Recovery room: Neighbor with surgically repaired foot, friendly dog and lousy tv reception came over to watch BBC comedies on the dream ranch tube while spring winds gusted to 50. Cowboy stoic but watchful.
If I am the Ymelda Marcos of men’s outdoor footwear, Cowboy is the Butch Cassidy. Still stealin’ shoes after all these years.
Tests say Cowboy’s cancer has metastasized but he stills says nope to my tendency to mope. So we’re tryin’ to make the best of all days. And we’re lucky in Placitas to have friends and elbow room.
dreamranch 