I live in a barnyard.
I can walk out my door and, if I forget to look down, I will more than likely step in horse poop.
I can watch the steers graze from my bathroom window while I brush my teeth.
Somedays I think I am literally growing fur just to fit in.
But then I remember it’s been three weeks since I shaved my legs.
Civilized women shave their legs.
But what’s the point? Really? I mean I’ve been back home at the ranch nearly two years and it seems that whatever refinement I picked up while I was away living along city streets has slowly dissolved out here where the racoons help themselves to the cat food and pets show up at your door missing eyeballs.
I mean surrounded by characters like these, it’s only a matter of time until I start taking on their behavior and characteristics.
I’m afraid it’s already happening.
Because I’ve been known to show up to the hair salon or shopping mall with woodticks stuck to my head, find cockleburs in my bed and arrive at the office with horse hair on my jacket and mud on my fancy shoes. I’m afraid if I already smell like my barnyard friends, I might as well start rolling around in the grass…
and howling in the kitchen….