Dress Britches

The range hand sashayed in from the town job yesterday and jus' plunked down in the sun room to enjoy a cold adult beverage while perusing the back pasture with binoculars.

Tired from the week's labor, the old fat boy didn't even change to ranch clothes.

Bout dark thirty, a three year old eight point eased from the brush and began to munch at the corn feeder. Weren't long before the youngster jerked up his head and began to intently stare at the distant corner of the field?

Sure nuff, the bull of the woods stiffly entered stage left to challenge the would be challenger to his forest kingdom. Likely twice the age of the youthful intruder, the magnificent antlers of this alpha dawg gave ample warning of the consequences of failure to acknowledge his superiority.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the binocular jockey was fighting heart palpitations while trying to ease a bullet in the trusty 7mm-08 and slip out the back door onto the porch. Course, with the ole fart's anticipatory shaking going on, there wasn't much else to do but cabbage down on his knees in order to rest the gun on the porch rail while shooting.

Bottom line: scratch one superior Tin Star Ranch buck and one pair of skint knee dress britches from that dirty porch floor.

Dang if it weren't worth it!