In a Sow’s Ear 5-25-09
City folk who come out west offer boundless entertainment to those of us who have made all the mistakes already, so we can chortle mightily when greenhorns get into jackpots. The following two stories are true but names have been withheld to protect the dorky.
On a Saturday morning mission to pick up some horseshoe nails, some work gloves and … well country stuff, Lulubelle piled into her pickup and drove to town. It was a bright and sunny day. Air like soft music. A cooling breeze added to the pleasurable contentment. As she tooled along, Lulubelle sang a favorite Johnny Cash song …
Don’t take your guns to town, son
Leave your guns at home, Bill
Don’t take your guns to town …
She pulled into the parking lot of Murdoch’s Farm and Ranch supply and parked two spaces behind a shiny-new, eye-hurting silver pickup. Lulubelle debarked from her mud-spattered dark blue truck (with the dented-in door where a testy bull had challenged the vehicle). She’d taken only a half dozen steps when, up ahead, she saw a vision step forth from the silver pickup. It wasn’t the Lone Ranger, but the fellow might have auditioned for the part. He wore cream-white denims, a cream colored shirt, and on his cranium, resting at a jaunty angle rode a silver-belly Stetson. Lulubelle stared, enthralled.
Her gaze dropped to his foot wear. Oh, my … red eagles and yellow butterflies flew all about on 19-inch boot tops. The panorama was easy to view as the cream-white jeans, naturally, were tucked inside his boots. But what truly mesmerized Lulubelle were the Lone Ranger’s spurs. Silver rowels the size of headlights danced and twinkled in the sunshine. Even from two vehicle parking spaces away, Lulu could hear the jingle, jangle, jingle. Well she heard it for a beat or two. Then something happened.
Lone Ranger, apparently trying to do a John Wayne walk, over-reached or maybe under- reached. Whatever the scenario, as he strode forward, one spur rowel caught on the other. Like the sudden stop of a heeled calf, the man was pitched forward. He threw out his hands just before slamming to earth, ducked his head and did an asset over teakettle roll coming to a sitting position ” eventually, but still hooked. Dazedly, he began trying to disengage the kissing spurs.
Lulubelle spun around, retraced her steps and dived into her pickup where she put her head down on the steering wheel and howled with laughter. Peeking out she saw Lone Ranger unbuckle his spurs. Wiping away the giggle tears, Lulubelle broke into song:
Don’t wear your spurs to town, man,
Leave your spurs at home, Bub,
Don’t wear your spurs to town …
Then there’s the story of the eager dude, an annual guest of Blackmountain Outfitters Summer Camp. Eager Dude passionately aspired to learn the ways of the west as fast as possible; he pitched in cheerfully on any task. Eager Dude never aspired to be a showy Lone Ranger, but he did yearn to own a pair of chaps, the short chinks style with fringe. So, the following summer, Blackmountain owner/operators gave Eager Dude a gift of a pair of swell cowpie-brown chink chaps.
Eager Dude nearly cried, then dashed into his tent to don his new bit of western wardrobe. The rest of the camp waited outside, prepared to appreciate his new garb. Moments went by. Then the tent flap was flipped back and out stepped Eager Dude. He could not take a second step. He’d basically hobbled himself. It seems Eager Dude had fastened the chinks, not around his legs, but to each other. He executed a clown pratfall on his face.
Don’t tie your chinks together, man
Tie ’em to your legs, Bub
Don’t tie your chinks together …
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