Not so light on his feet. . .

The other day, when we were clearing some dead limbs and trees to make way for the new power lines (honestly, at this rate, they may all grow back, but at least we're making progress on our end) we had somewhat of a close call.

Chiza, or as we no call him--Leadfoot--was holding the ladder while Miguel was about 25 feet up, hanging from one branch with one foot on the top rung of the ladder, cutting down a branch that was hanging over the lines. Miguel was using a machete and I had the rope that was looped around the branch to pull it down.

Considering that my Spanish isn't anywhere near to being fluent, I often get stuck with the rope detail, as I know when it's time to pull one way or the other and when to give slack.

Chiza, who doesn't speak a lick of English, was nattering on (mainly to himself) while Miguel was giving me directions in Spanish on which way to pull. Chiza, tuned out still and apparently thinking there wasn't anything going on of importance, was bopping along to his own head music.

Then the branch came down. Miguel and I both yelled at the same time for Chiza to run and Chiza finally popped his head up. I ran with the rope and Miguel was yelling for Chiza to run the opposite way.

It was a comedy of errors as Chiza was truly a critter caught in the headlights. He danced and hopped around from one foot to the other before finally figuring out which way to go. Too late, nearly. The branch came down and grazed his shoulder (no blood, breaks or foul) and Chiza was convinced that we were trying to kill him. He asked for hazard pay and I told him that we would be happy to pay the premium--to Miguel for having to put up with Chiza.