Gwen Petersen: In a Sow’s Ear 1-3-10 | TheFencePost.com

Gwen Petersen: In a Sow’s Ear 1-3-10

The year 2011 … means I’ve made it past 2000 and am starting the 11th year in the newest century (well, the centuries that have been tallied, counted, recorded – you know – since somebody invented readin’ and writin’…). Before that, I wasn’t paying attention.

As I start speeding faster and faster on the downhill slope of my allotted years, I’m lookin’ back and thinkin’. Since my thinkin’ cells are Swiss cheesy these days, it’s possible I’ll derail myself – but then, after a certain age, who notices?

However, my attention was caught recently when I read a squib in a publication which solemnly instructed people in “How to talk to the elderly” – especially those in nursing homes or assisted living facilities. One tip was “listen” to the oldster. Another was “ask questions.” I forget the remaining tips. Those first two ticked me off.

Should my destiny decree that I end my days in one of those elderly warehouses and should you come to visit me, you can “listen” all you want. But I’m not talkin’. Got nothin’ to say, settin’ there day after day.

And you can ask all the questions you can dream up, but I still ain’t talkin’. You talk. I’d druther you tell me what’s goin’ on out there in the cowboy world. Who’s ridin’ what bronc? How’d the team penning come out in the ranch rodeo? How’d the calving go this spring? As the song says, “My Heros Have Always Been Cowboys.”

If the creek don’t rise and I don’t croak, I’ll have more years to celebrate the guys and gals who saddle up and see to it that the nation has meat to eat. In spite of the pseudo-religious attitudes of most non-meat eaters, the human animal is carnivorous. (In Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal years, nobody was a vegetarian. At least, not while I was there. Those mammoth-meat steaks tasted pretty good after a hard day chewing skins to make clothing).

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I think the following is a re-write of something I penned a few years ago (anymore everything is “a few years ago”) about my favorite human critter: The Cowboy.

The tune should be familiar. Sing or grunt in rhythm.

The year 2011 … means I’ve made it past 2000 and am starting the 11th year in the newest century (well, the centuries that have been tallied, counted, recorded – you know – since somebody invented readin’ and writin’…). Before that, I wasn’t paying attention.

As I start speeding faster and faster on the downhill slope of my allotted years, I’m lookin’ back and thinkin’. Since my thinkin’ cells are Swiss cheesy these days, it’s possible I’ll derail myself – but then, after a certain age, who notices?

However, my attention was caught recently when I read a squib in a publication which solemnly instructed people in “How to talk to the elderly” – especially those in nursing homes or assisted living facilities. One tip was “listen” to the oldster. Another was “ask questions.” I forget the remaining tips. Those first two ticked me off.

Should my destiny decree that I end my days in one of those elderly warehouses and should you come to visit me, you can “listen” all you want. But I’m not talkin’. Got nothin’ to say, settin’ there day after day.

And you can ask all the questions you can dream up, but I still ain’t talkin’. You talk. I’d druther you tell me what’s goin’ on out there in the cowboy world. Who’s ridin’ what bronc? How’d the team penning come out in the ranch rodeo? How’d the calving go this spring? As the song says, “My Heros Have Always Been Cowboys.”

If the creek don’t rise and I don’t croak, I’ll have more years to celebrate the guys and gals who saddle up and see to it that the nation has meat to eat. In spite of the pseudo-religious attitudes of most non-meat eaters, the human animal is carnivorous. (In Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal years, nobody was a vegetarian. At least, not while I was there. Those mammoth-meat steaks tasted pretty good after a hard day chewing skins to make clothing).

I think the following is a re-write of something I penned a few years ago (anymore everything is “a few years ago”) about my favorite human critter: The Cowboy.

The tune should be familiar. Sing or grunt in rhythm.