Never a Dull Moment   Leave a comment

It’s full summer now; the fluff from the willows and cottonwoods is drifting through the air and settling on the ground like rather dingy snow.  It’s a good thing we’re not prone to allergies.

Another thing in full bloom is the parade of peculiar people coming by.  Last week, for instance, one of our boarders had a saddle stuffer in.  I’m not sure that’s the correct title for someone who re-stuffs the padded undersides of English saddles, but that’s what we call them.  Anyway, the stuffer was interested in buying a horse trailer with living quarters.  Knowing we wouldn’t mind, the boarder offered to let her look inside ours.  They opened the door . . . and someone was asleep inside.  We didn’t learn about that until later, because they thought it might be someone with permission.  It wasn’t.  I checked the inside, and there was no harm done except for some rumpled bedding.  I think, though, we’d better check it more often.  We’d lock it — if we had the keys.  I don’t think we ever had them; but the question never came up before, as it’s only about twenty feet from the door of the house.  Live and learn.

A couple of days ago, I looked out to see the most inebriated person I’ve ever seen go by; at least, the most inebriated who was still able to walk.  He was staggering and reeling from side to side.  Every once in a while, he’d lean forward too far and run a few steps to catch up with himself, then continue on down the trail.  More or less.  David happened to be there, and I asked him to follow him on down, because he was headed toward one of our boarders working in her pen.  David drove down there, just as Billy arrived with the same mission in mind.  They watched him out of sight.

Later, though, he came back the other way, on past the house again — the dogs really didn’t like him — and headed toward the main road.  Or at least so I thought.  Later, I learned that he had turned up staggering around in the horse pens on the other side, and someone called 911.  A fire truck showed up.  He declined to go anywhere with the fire truck; he had someplace he needed to go, but he wasn’t quite sure where.  They had to let him go, and he headed out again.

Apparently he ended up on the overpass, and so alarmed the drivers who saw him weaving in and out of the road that someone else called 911.  This time a patrol car hauled him off.  I don’t suppose he’ll even remember where he’d been.

You don’t suppose . . . he was the occupier of our trailer?  Nope; he wouldn’t have left.  At least, not without some encouragement.

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Posted June 24, 2012 by stablewoman in Around the Ranch

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