Last week she wrote about a traumatic loss in her life. This week she shares a story of her everyday life.
If you want yo know more about her, look no farther than the previous article on this page. This marvelous, uniquely-inspiring writer is also a farmer in eastern New Mexico. Her colloquial descriptions of life there turn mundane daily events into magical happenings that draw the reader in.
To set the mood of her surroundings her shot of a stormy sky gives an indication of her awe and eye for the beauty of nature.
Now you see him, now you don't...
By the time he’d made it to the trailer, I was inside the dressin’ room, huntin’ through the hubs “schtuff” (apparently, the dressin’ room somehow became cabbaged onto by the hubs as it’s full of huntin’ paraphernalia) ‘n as I was backin’ outta the “schtuff”, somethin’ hit my backside.
I turned ‘round ‘n there the big fella was -- almost grinnin’ at me ‘n I wish I’d had the camera ready. When I asked him what he thought he was doin’, he darted off. I figured I’d give the back-end of the trailer a looksy. It's got a tack room back there also.
I opened the back up ‘n sur’nuf, there were the 2 items I was lookin’ fer. I’ll be darned if’n it didn’t start to get dark in there. Mr. Cisco was playin’ with the door ‘n had closed it. Ev’r so gently, I pushed on the door ‘n it opened with ease. Again, he was no place to be found.
Apparently, this is gonna be his new favorite game, playin’ peek-a-boo ‘n ring ‘round the rig. We did so fer almost 30 minutes ‘n he seemed to relish his ability to play it so well.
When I’d gone out to grain the horses that afternoon, he was under the shed by the big barn. I hollered a greetin’ to him ‘n he did his normal whinny back ‘n didn’t make a huge effort to come fer some scratchin’. Didn’t matter coz the other 2 boys’d already seen me ‘n were a bit anxious to get their grain. I think there’s some sorta narcotic in that Calf Manna ™ - jest kiddin’, they jest love the taste.
Anyhow, I went into the small barn, where there grains all kept ‘n by the time I had their buckets all set out, I could see Mr. Cisco standin’ in the corral over his favorite blue feed barrel. He played with it as usual, as he patiently waited fer his dinner.
Ya have to understand, he’s a mustang ‘n in the wild, they poop in the same spot, to mark their territory ‘n he’s ne’er grown outta that habit.
When he saw me openin’ the main gate he spun ‘round ‘n high-tailed it at a dead run to get back to his feeder bucket. He went through the open gate like it t’werent’ even there ‘n almost fergot to duck. A huge slidin’ stop sent a plume of fine dirt billowin’ into the air. He’d overshot his runway ‘n glanced up my direction as he slowly backed up. By the time I’d gotten there, he’s lookin’ at me like, “what?? . . . I’ve been here the whole time, what took ya so long?”
Sure, like I’d not noticed all the hoopla.
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