Once a month a group met to sing and play guitars, for a fun gathering of friends. Some of those songs held that special feel, especially ones he had added lyrics to and asked to add on during the song. They held together through the night with that twining bond that often beckons out on the range. Songs always stayed with him, sometimes it was just a catchy jingle. So for the entire day he would be humming with that tune. A special event could always bring up a song and he revered those soft times in life he would enjoy. Once out with a rather no so wild lady those songs were flying into his head with everything she said. Finally sensing her annoyance he felt it was the artists he was naming. It was more reminding her of her Dad, so those coals fizzled. He thought the parents were older than he was.
A sparrow sat on top of a bluebird box calling out a song. He watched him for a great deal of time, wondering if he thought he was the first to find this home and wanted all the available ladies to know what was going on. Just one more thing to do later in the day, cleanup what few pieces it had brought in. Maybe he had set this one too close to his house. He would rather watch bluebirds. The sparrows took over a number of homes, he had spent a daily clean in the martin house the year before. One article he had read was a fellow went overseas for a few years leaving his old homestead vacant. During that time the sparrows found new turf. He came back and saw hardly any. In a few months they came back in. Maybe they were friends with all the cowboys and enjoyed cowboy antics.
Standing in his yard he played a bit with the rope. He wished a larger animal was around but threw his rope around a few objects around him, and a few who objected such as the dog. He tried to get it spinning along the ground like some of his favorite cowboys did. Getting the loop somewhat right he jumped inside and found it was hard to keep spinning with it wrapped around your boots and fell quickly to the ground, The language and the humor of the situation tickled a neighbor watching from far away. He yelled to do that again, it was funny. Feelings hurt a bit he walked around a shed and tried it again, this time drawing blood after a few falls. He held the rope up and gave it a fling off to the side and went in to wash out his scrape. Maybe he needed a new rope he thought.
Riding out that afternoon he thought all were happy to see him. They looked attentively hoping the grain truck was near he thought. He laughed and wondered who had come up with the term little dogies for cattle. The mess they would make in a house or yard wouldn’t put them on his favorite pet list. Even his horse slipped in it. A pie throw was always fun as a kid, so he got off and let a few sail. The distance really mattered, but he soon ran out of sailing pies, and mistakenly picked up one a little ripe still. He walked down to the stream to wash off a bit. When he got there he saw where some deer had been and looked at the new washout in the bank for anything good. One of these days he might find that huge bone that would make him famous as some rancher in a magazine had. He could name it cowboyasoris.