Last weekend we went camping in the southern Bighorn Mountains. I caught tons (well, maybe a dozen) brook trout, which appeared to be lured by me calling, "Here, fishy-fishy!" Or maybe they liked the little fly I had on my line. We had perfect weather, not many mosquitoes, lots of cows grazing and bellowing nearby, plenty of food and beer and wine (pork chops, applesauce and pineapple for dinner). Wes continued to win more backgammon games than me.
Wes took a Benadryl to counteract the itching from all his recent bug bites, combined with a couple of beers and a little wine. This made him much dopier than usual. So we were asleep before dark and up at dawn, which was probably around 5 a.m. The cows were grazing and bawling nearby. Lying in the tent, not ready to get up despite my bladder's suggestions, I made up some scenarios for the cows:
"Dammit, Bobby, I spent the night with Edith! What if George finds me?"
Moooooooo.
"Well, Sam, you better get out of there. I'll send Bessie over to distract him."
Moooaaaaaooo.
Recent Comments