"You can always tell who the pioneers are because they have arrows in their back and are lying face down in the dirt.”

6-7-12:  The photo really says it all. In this episode, we find the ever-optimistic ranchers driving up the hill, only to wonder why the lawn looked so brown. The Chief had worked so long and hard on the sprinklers last visit. Better get out and look at them ASAP, figure out what the issue is -- ah, but wait, we have our little bag of pinga-pinga fish to put in the trough to eat thousands of pounds of algae. Take a quick detour to the trough, pop those in, and head to the irrigation box. Focus is an amazing thing. When one focuses so intently on one thing, let alone several things simultaneously, the proverbial forrest can be lost due to the trees, which is the way it was explained as to how an experienced rancher, threatened in every coneivable way by rattlesnakes this season, could have nearly stepped on one in the middle of the driveway, but my guess is the pinga-pinga fish distracted him.

Once he assessed the situation, he was quite pleased that an earlier near disaster had forced the issue of keeping shovels in the barn -- shovel ready, as it were. That shovel was utilized to neutralize that threat. A drink was in order -- just to calm the nerves -- after which, a very civilized dinner was enjoyed and the more relaxed ranchers decided to repair to the patio with a glass of wine, a good book, and a cigar for one to enjoy the sunset.

The more fashion-conscious of the ranchers decided to browse her Ipad for stylish ensembles and came into the house to retrieve said computer. While standing next to the bar, unplugging the object, a flash of movement caught the eye of this rancher. Those in the know at the ranch have learned enough that a flash of movement is never good. Stillness is good. Upon gazing out the front window, instead of a view of the quiet magesty of the rancho at sunset, this rancher was greeted with a view of a rather large rattlesnake making itself at home in close proximity to the front door -- yes, that front door that people use to get in and out of the house; the same front door out of which children happily run in and out, many times leaving it open (to dislodge any bad spirits in the house).

As our OSHA regulations require, I immediately notified my superior of the impending danger, particularly since there was only half a house separating the two. After muttering something along the lines that, "There is noplace I can go to get peace and quiet," he entered the residence, and with lightning speed (which even surprised the fashion-conscious rancher), he pulled out his .357, opened the front door, and shot it (on the concrete, I might add -- hey wait, isn't that against the rules outlined for the ladies after the last "incident"?), slammed the door immediately and came back into the house. Apparently, his work was done. Of course, since Tex fired from within the house, the inhabitants were essentially covered in carbon and the house smelled like a shooting range. Tex complained of his ears ringing. When questioned as to why he didn't sport his ear protective device, he responded that in an emergency, one does not take the time to don their fancy shooting attire.

Still uneasy about the evening's events, and not being as enthusiastic about heading back outside (who knows what else could be lurking), this author wandered back to the window to gaze upon the OK Corral, in the place of what used to be her front door area. The snake wasn't dead and was advancing upon the rancho -- probably somewhat irritated. That snakeshot can't feel good. My advisor was again advised of the impending danger, however, it was more impending because it was advancing quickly. Again, the weapon immediately came out (in the front hallway), the door was opened quickily, a shot was fired, and the door immediately slammed. More carbon, more smoke, more need for something to restore frazzled nerves. The photographer in me demanded that this epic battle be recorded for posterity, so we would never forget. The camera was positioned at the window and -- you guessed it -- the snake was not dead. NOT DEAD.

The rancher was now rather irked himself. It should have been the occasion the lady rancher was given the chance, under supervision, to attempt those fancy decapitating skills the ladies learned in May, however, the Chief decided that with a snake that had been shot twice, of this incredible size, a remedial class wasn't the answer at this time. With blinding speed, the battle ensued, and thankfully, the rancher emerged victorious. It was decided that the smarest course would be to take a page from our neighborhing ranchers playbook and get out "the bucket," to ensure that the snake's ghost would not emerge to haunt the rancho forever more.

What more can be added to this recounting? One only needs to look at the mess, which used to be the welcoming front entry to know that something very bad happened. One never should wonder why this author never achieves "that Zen state" or why driving to the barn is the recommended method of the rancho (now required), as admitted by the Chief. The remains of the day say it all, except that we're still alive -- so far -- today. Pursuing a dream can pose challenges. Who knew the dream of an amazing wine could kill us? It better be the best damn wine ever created on earth.

Until we meet again . . .

The Rattled Ranchers