Just call me 'Hoss. . .

Though if the truth be told, I preferred Little Joe, but Hoss has stuck. The other night, I was sitting at the computer and happened to look out the window towards the trail that goes from our property over to our neighbors. Eight cows, Brahmas with big, gnarly, horns, were trucking right through our property. The owner of the 80 acres behind us lets some local folks run their cows back there to keep the grass down and manageable. However, the fence was built by what looks like first-year 4H flunkies with no skills whatsoever. So, the cows get out fairly regularly, but this was the first time that they've come running through the hotel grounds. I grabbed a metal pole and a machete and started following them.

Luckily, they knew where they were going, as I am no cow hand, cow poke or cowboy. Three of them managed to get through the hole in the fence that they had escaped from while the other five, including the two largest ones, kept on going back toward the waterfall. It was getting dark by this time, so I came back and Lucy and I drove up to where the fence had come down and managed to get the barbed wire back into place, so at least the other three couldn't get back out again.

Afterward, we had some fine vittles and victuals and had a hoe-down. (Not really, but how often can one sneak in vittles, victuals and hoe-down into an entry?