The ranch hand is guessing that Fido's memory spans something less than one hour.
Spend half a day with him in constant contact, go in the bunkhouse for a spell, and when ya go back out he reacts like you are a long lost soul mate he has not seen in years.
Swat him on the nose for some inane indiscretion and he will shamefully retire to his "house". Let a few minutes elapse and he will emerge like it is a new world and all is good.
Keep the dawg food dispenser loaded, douse a spot or two of cold water in his bowl, scratch his head, and he is in heaven in every sense of the word.
Do ya ever think that maybe Fido has this ole world best figgered out?
Forgive, forget, and eagerly welcome any and all companion attention.
Makes ya think the good Lord's design for a dawg's life might not be that shabby for us mere mortals.
Plain and simple ramblin' from an ole country boy concerning personal history, current family events, the Tin Star Ranch, and philosophical BS with no redeeming social value implied or intended.
Tin Star Ranch Hand
The Ole Fat Boy
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About Me
- TSRH
- I take country pride in being my parent's son, a grandpa, dad, husband, brother, uncle, nephew, christian, professor, patriot, special texas ranger, tractor jockey, woodworker, welder,shootist, bird house architect, low relief wood carver, counted cross stitcher, UT fan, meat burner, humorist, video poker devotee, raconteur, 8mm film star and all around BS artist.
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