WANDERING

During the past few years I seem to be spending more and more time visiting ranches for my magazine stories, and I have some observations  about ranch people.

First off, they don’t really gived a rat’s ass about how their homes look. I’m not saying they live in dumps or anything liked that. It’s just that they are much more interested in their animals and their land than in fancy furniture or massive homes. Quite often their barns and outbuildings are much fancier and bigger than their homes. Most of their living rooms are comfortable, but cluttered.  Try to imagine a house decorated and cared for by a 13-year-old boy.  A man and woman who have been out all day cutting hay, moving herds of cattle,  branding or plowing just don’t care a helluva lot about doilies, lace curtains, or well-swept floors. I’ve been in a few houses that try to look like Hearst Castle, but I have learned that owners of such castles don’t really care about cows, horses, sheep, dogs or anything that might stain their carpet. I much prefer visiting and interviewing the “We’ll clean it next week” folks.

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I’m  old enough to remember when milk was delivered in bottles by a “milk man” who left it on  your porch. I wish we still had such an offering, mainly because opening these plastic/wax containers is a pain in the butt. First they forced me into learning how to open the container by squeezing here while and pushing there, forcing triangle-shaped opening to pop out. Just when I learned to do that without destroying the container and my temper, they came up with this little round plastic circle thingy that you have to pull out before you can pour. Often you need the strength of The Hulk to get that wee circle out, and when it finally pops out you are squirted with enough goo to baptize a moose.  Bring back bottles with civilized little cardboard covers!

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Ever since we domesticated dogs so they wouldn’t run around munching on bunnies and Bambi, we have had to supply their every meal — and that has resulted in the creation of a ridiculous animal. My Current Wife has two dogs. A yappy little white Westie terrier and a round, chubby Corgi. And the only thing really important in their lives is food. They want to be fed first thing each morning, and if you aren’t quick about it they either start that annoying barking pattern, or they just sit beside your chair and nudge you with their cold, wet noses. After breakfast they set out to find a snack, and then another one. They have built-in clocks so they know exactly what time they are supposed to be fed at night, and they remind the hell out of you if you’re late. As soon as they burp and leave their little messages out on the lawn, they start pushing for a snack. If you get the idea that I’m not too nuts about dogs, you are very perceptive.. They worship and adore the CW, but they treat me like a flu germ –probably because they know I’d rather have a big-screen TV.

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I think the man who invented sweat-pants should be declared a saint. We should write poems about him, and erect large solid gold statues.

The next time you’re in a super-market watch what’s going on with fat guys or geezers. They are spending most of their time pulling their pants up. The pants that are forced on them by their wives are built for George Clooney. You never see him pulling his pants up do you? , That curse is upon men who have allowed their once-spectacular bodies to gain a little weight, like fifty pounds or so – just enough to force their belts down below their belly buttons. Pants hanging that low slowly drop, a few inches at a time, and if the gentlemen in question don’t constantly pull them back up, those pants will wind up around his ankles.  Watch a pants-wearing old dude get out of his car. He must spend the first two-dozen steps gaining control of his pants. 

And then one day, while their wives were at church or out shopping, along came the guy selling sweat-pants. What a savior! Men just put them on and forgot about them. Tight belts were suddenly a thing of the past. Sweats stayed snuggly around his waist and let him pay attention to more important things than keeping his fanny covered. Before their wives got home each man bought two dozen pairs of sweat-pants, all the same color of course.

                                                                   FIGHT FORTH