A blog by Cowboy Bob
That Idaho gal kinda got under my skin when she suggested we take a cruise, to the south of Spain, the sun coast they call it. I prefer to run my own ship if you know what I mean and being in a closed box on the water with 1,500 of her closest friends did not particularly paint a pretty picture. But after shoveling a path at 10 above to the barn to feed Slowpoke and after talking it over with Cody, the wonderdog, and Slowpoke, they did not seem to have any better ideas and that sunny trip started sounding better all the time. I gave it a couple of days and it went from snow to mud and that didn’t necessarily heat these old bones up so I called her up and said, “I’m in.”
“Whoopee,” she said, and I guess that sealed the deal.
I headed over to Big “B,” the local ranch supply outfit, and bought myself some duds. She said shorts and tee shirts were the dress code. I found the Carhartt aisle, loaded up on enough shorts and tee shirts (with pockets) to last a couple of years and found some nice white tennis shoes, the nice young salesgirl said she recommended some long white socks, so I was ready for this next adventure.
Red, my truck and I, headed over to Idaho. I had my regular kit in my suitcase, all duded up for this warm travel. At her house some eight hours later, she met me with a great kiss and said, “Let’s go, Cowboy, we got lots to do.” Well, she packed a bag big enough to barely fit in my pickup and needed even more space, so I offered her some space in my bag, cause I only packed for a month, not a year. She confiscated my bag, sorted through and kinda grinned at my choices and said, “The ship will have clothes, and Spain, France, and Italy have great men’s shops,” while she made room for her thirteen sweaters and five pairs of shoes. I did not pay close attention to what she took out, (which I was to pay for later), but she was happy, smiling, and laughing as she asked me to sit on the suitcase so she could zip it closed. I asked her how much it weighed, and she said, “Not much,” as she planted a nice kiss on me.
After pulling a muscle loading her big bag and mine in the truck, during which time I cleverly hid my injury by laying down behind the truck out of sight of my lady friend and stretched out the various cramps. At the airport, she, being a woman of the world, said, “I will handle this,” grabbed the airport baggage man and asked him to check the bags. Now, I have seen some men struggle with a load, but that skinny little guy had met his match when the big suitcase flattened him as he pulled it off the tailgate. His hateful grin turned toward me, and I just put my hands up and gestured as if to say, “I am so sorry!” He struggled to get this load on his cart and took it to the ticket counter, where he asked two more guys to help load it on the scales. Now if this gal ever decides to buy hay by the pound, watch her, a 1,300-pound bale will be rated down to 500, and she will make you believe it.
As I unpacked, I saw why my suitcase got lightened, I had no underwear, and only two pairs of socks. She just said, “Well, I must have accidentally thrown them out with those atrocious long white socks.” I am just glad my shoes made it. Boy, it’s going to be an interesting trip.
