Shootin' the Breeze

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Archive for the tag “miss texas”

Miss Electricity

Miss Sugar is not your typical beauty pageant queen.  In addition to the swimsuit and evening gown competitions, she could have won the handywoman contest, if there was such a thing.

Last year, I wrote a post called Do It Herself Plumbing https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/2013/05/18/do-it-herself-plumbing/.  Now she has expanded into another trade — that of an electrician.

Sugar wanted an electric gate out by the road so as to control access to the lane up to our house here on the ranch.  We have occasionally had uninvited visitors drive up to the house and ask to hike, hunt, buy firewood, or just directions.  I don’t mind when I am around, but Sugar is skittish about men coming to the door with guns when I am not around.  So, we had the gate installed by professionals.

One guy operated a trencher for the underground wire.  A couple other guys put the arms on the gates and installed the “brains” for the system as well as some solar panels.  A master electrician hooked it all up.  Sort of.

I had to go to town to my law office that day or I would have done it all myself.  Part of that sentence is true. 

When I got back to the ranch, only the electrician was there.  I was surprised that he had been there most of the day.  He was trying to get the two gates to open and close simultaneously and to meet in the middle.  It still was not working when he left, frustrated.

Sugar had read the directions.  She had researched which system to get.  She did not like how the electrician had left it, so she finished the job herself.  You are wondering, of what value am I? That is an excellent question, asked by many who know me.  Sugar found a use for me.  While she operated the control panel, I stood by the gate and informed her when the gates were lined up perfectly so she could program the system to my specifications.  It was a two person job.  One person needed technical skill; the other person needed eyes and a mouth, as well as aesthetic opinions. 

So now our gates work great by remote control.  You are welcome, Sugar.  I was glad to help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shattered Dreams

Those of you who have read my many posts about my hot trophy wife have a favorable impression of her, no doubt, due to my propaganda on her behalf.  And, she is a pretty nice lady, I admit.  My posts are all accurate as far as they go.  However, after what happened today, I feel compelled to tell you the rest of the story.

Today, she denigrated one of my dreams.

I do not actually gamble on sports even though I am an expert on football and basketball.  Lest you think I am bragging, I hereby reveal to you that, through my participation in Yahoo Sports College Pick Em, I have an excellent record of predicting winners, putting me in the 90th percentile and above, even as high as the 99th percentile in one NCAA Basketball tournament a few years ago.

No brag.  Just fact.

Now that you know that, you will see how foolishly impractical it was for Miss Sugar to say what she did this very day.

“Sugar,” sez I, “I had a pretty good week in Yahoo College Football Pick Em.”

“That’s nice, Honey,” she said.  (She did not yet grasp the significance of what I just mentioned so casually or else her enthusiasm would have been uncontainable.  Still, I played it cool.   Let it sink in.)

“So, I was thinking, me being so superior to the general public and all, I should quit my day job and become a professional gambler.  All I need is a stake and our Individual Retirement Accounts are just sitting there when I could use that money to make our lives better immediately, not in the far off future.”  (I was using psychology to persuade her by appealing to a desire for immediate gratification and to greed.)

Apparently, Sugar lacks those particular character flaws because she threw cold water on my idea, on my dreams.

She said, subtly, yet emphatically, “No, I don’t think so.”

I see what is going on here.  She is jealous of my skills and is holding me back from riches.  She might be insecure and fear that when we are extraordinarily  wealthy, spending time in Las Vegas engaged in high dollar gambling activities, the show girls there will flock around me.

She need not worry.  I already have a hot trophy wife.* **

P.S.  I have got the Broncos over the Colts by 10.  Game starts in 30 minutes.  Get your bets in.  No charge for the tip.

P.P.S.  Update:  the Colts won.  I guess it is good I did not bet the farm on the Broncos as I intended.

*To quote Paul Newman: “Why go out for hamburger when I have steak at home?”

**  Do you think any of them show girls used to be Miss Texas?  Not a chance!

Snow Day III

cowsonroad

It’s April 17th, which in many parts of the country is Springtime.  Right?

This is the third day of a big snow storm.  We are still snowed in.  Schools are closed.  Many roads are closed.  County offices closed at noon.

Miss Sugar, aka Miss Texas, grew up in Texas, as you might guess.  Although her parents had a condo in Frisco, Colorado, she was snow-deprived most of the time, except during family vacations to Colorado to ski, during which ski vacations she actually hoped for snow.

Therefore, being married to me is, I believe,  like being on a permanent vacation for Miss Texas.    Here at Cross Creek Ranch, she does not have the demands of her former life as a professional model and the burden of television appearances.  Out of the spotlight, she is living the dream in “cooler” surroundings.   She can go snowshoeing in April.  Try that in Texas.   Now she has resided in Colorado for about half of her life and is no longer snow-deprived.

Here at our private resort, we do not have a ski lift but we have cross country skis if Sugar gets tired of the snow shoes.  We even have “apres ski” stuff to do.  We can sit in the “lodge” by the fireplace, watching the snow come down.  If we were drinkers, we could even sip wine in ski attire, provided we could get out to drive to the liquor store.  Instead, we have artesian well water, right out of the tap instead of them little bottles.  We have a hot tub (really) that I have been meanin’ to fix.

I reckon lots of beauty queens would love to hang out here, but they ain’t allowed because I picked Miss Texas.  I don’t mind getting snowed in with her.  And she loves being here with me.  She hasn’t said that in so many words today, but I can see it in her eyes.  She knows she is one lucky trophy wife.

And I know that I married way above my station in life.  I am way out of my league.

But you don’t hear me complaining.

Like I said before, below:

https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/2012/12/08/the-parable-of-the-pickup-and-the-porsche/

https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/2012/06/05/my-station-in-life-23-2/

https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/2012/06/25/dallas-revisited-18-2/

Curved Bill Thrasher

In my blog called By the Dawn’s Early Light, I mentioned that my trophy wife, Miss Sugar, aka Miss Texas, is a bird watcher.  She purchases a variety of bird feed to fill a variety of feeders in hopes of attracting a variety of birds.  She has been very successful in that pursuit.

We have a room on the west side of our house that has wall of three picture windows, giving us a great view of mountains, a stream, trees, and bird feeders.  Miss Sugar has binoculars and a couple books near at hand which identify types of birds.  One of the books is just about birds known to be found in Colorado.

One day, a few weeks ago, Miss Sugar, while monitoring her bird feeders, exclaimed that she saw a new bird, and excitedly looked it up in the Colorado book.  She identified it as a Curved Bill Thrasher.  She told me that they are not found in norther Colorado.  She said there have been sightings in southern Colorado, around Pueblo.  We are so far north that the Wyoming border is only about thirty miles from our place, as the crow flies, or probably as any bird flies. 

Miss Sugar posted on Facebook that she had identified a Curved Bill Thrasher in our yard.  Some other birder encouraged her to contact a rare bird society, which she did via internet.  She posted a photo of the roving thrasher.  I don’t know if they doubted her or just wanted to share the experience of viewing the bird, but the group asked to come to our ranch. 

Huh?  We can’t guarantee its appearance at a certain time.   If a group wanted to come see our trick horse, I’d be glad to host the visit.  But a bird?????????  It is not in a cage!  What a risk of wasting time by making a futile trip.

To me, it is just another bird.  To Miss Sugar, seeing it brought her an honored place in the history of bird watching.

Winning Miss Texas

This is a poem that was first published in The Fence Post magazine several years ago.   Karen, aka Sugar, my wife, was the Miss USA pageant beauty queen, but I like to say that I won Miss Texas

WINNING MISS TEXAS

Beauty on the outside

Is not the only kind.

There also is an inside

With heart and soul and mind.

 

Miss Texas won the looks event

And deserved it for obvious reasons,

But my vote today is really meant

For a beauty that’s even more pleasin’.

 

My Miss Texas wins another class,

One judged on inner quality.

She has more than just a nice ass.

Her heart is willing to love me.

 

I love her loving heart so much!

I admire her talents, I do!

There’s more than looks, there’s also touch

And I’m glad to say she can cook too!

karenandalpartySugarnme

UsSantaFe

valentine date

Who Shot J.R.?

If you are a true American or perhaps an unAmerican who is familiar with the American culture, you are a fan of the TV show, Dallas, which was popular from 1978-92, and you are also aware that the show has returned with many of the same actors, including  aged J.R. Ewing, Sue Ellen Ewing, and Bobby Ewing.  Lucy Ewing, who was 19, playing a high school girl at the beginning of the series, is now 53.  And looks it.

You are probably asking, “Are they bringing back that gorgeous young actress who appeared in 18 episodes in the early 1980s, the one who was eating in the restaurant as Bobby was at the next table with his girlfriend, who was also sometimes Sue Ellen’s maid or walking in front of the Ewing Building on the sidewalk?”  I happen to know who you mean.

You mean Miss Sugar!

Above is a photo submitted by her modeling agent to get Miss Sugar the job as an extra.  If you don’t believe me, I can provide an old pay stub.  Also, I refer you to an earlier blog, My Station in Life, in which I mention Miss Sugar’s modeling career after winning the swimsuit portion of the Miss Texas contest and being a finalist therein.

When Miss Sugar was on the set of Dallas, she and all others involved with the show who had a peek at the filming of the Who Shot J.R.? episode were required to sign a secrecy agreement, vowing to not reveal the answer to that question until the episode revealing the answer was broadcast.  Miss Sugar kept the secret.

One of my cousins, aware of Miss Sugar’s past as an extra in Dallas, wrote us yesterday and asked whether she had been contacted to be in the revived show.  The answer is “no,” as incredible as that seems to all genuine fans of Dallas.

I will explain my theory about why Miss Sugar has not been invited back.  My theory is that Lucy will not allow Miss Sugar to be on the show because Miss Sugar is waaaaay better looking than Lucy.  Frankly, I support Lucy on this.   I don’t want Miss Sugar to go back on the set because I would miss her too much.

So, please, write to the producers and urge them to continue to not contact Miss Sugar about returning to the Dallas TV show.  Let’s keep our beauty queens in Colorado!

My Station in Life

To those of you who know me only as Big Bronc, the successor King of the Wild Frontier, I hope it does not disappoint you to learn that I also make the world a better place in my role as The Lawman, Advocate for Western Justice.  I work at the World Headquarters for Western Justice, which is located right here in Northern Colorado.

My trophy wife, Miss Sugar, holds the position of Office Manager, awarded to her through a system of nepotism.  Consequently, she is present at The World Headquarters when Big City Lawyers from Denver are obliged to travel to Fort Collins to deal with me in my persona as Just a Country Lawyer.

Miss Sugar, still a handsome woman for her advanced age, was, back in the day, a finalist in the Miss Texas USA pageant, winning the swimsuit competition, leading to a professional modeling career and appearances on an obscure television series called Dallas.  Big deal.

Who says that I wasn’t a professional model too?  For your information, I’ve done a little modeling here and there.  Well, just there, in Omaha, Nebraska, when I appeared in a print ad for the grand opening of the teen department at Nebraska Clothing, which is now out of business, but I do not accept the blame.  You could kind of recognize the back of my head as I tried on a coat.  I was photographed while shopping with my mother.  We are both pretty sure it was me trying on the coat, which we did not purchase.  No wonder they went out of business.  Although we were offered a discount for the coat as compensation for my modeling, when Mom declined anyway, the guy who asked to take my picture compensated me in another manner, by giving me one of the prizes intended for the Grand Opening.  I was awarded a real cool flashlight.  Those of you familiar with legal definitions will recognize that being paid for the publication of my image makes me a professional model.  I have cut back on my modeling career since that particular gig, so I could focus on seventh grade and beyond.

I don’t talk about my modeling in front of Miss Sugar because I am fairly certain that she was never in The Omaha World Herald and I don’t want her to feel inferior.  We were in different niches of the market.  To be fair, I was not in the Dallas Morning News as she was, nor on the cover of any lingerie catalogs, nor did I model at Dallas Apparel Mart  BECAUSE  I was very picky about allowing my image to be “used” to sell products.  The only reason Miss Sugar had to do that stuff was because the Kim Dawson Agency arranged them.  I did not require an agent.  As I described, Nebraska Clothing approached me.

It is generally recommended that being “equally yoked” is a good idea.  As used in the Bible, that means being married to another believer, and we do indeed share our religious beliefs as Christians.  However, both being professional models and all, I liked to think we were equally yoked in that sense as well.

That is what I liked to think.  That is what I liked to think until one of those Big City Denver Lawyers came to my office to spend the day taking depositions for a case we were litigating.  Of course I introduced him to my lovely wife.  As he left at the end of the day, he unkindly volunteered, “Man, you sure married way above your station in life.”

He is absolutely correct.  I married above my station in life by every measure.  Lucky me!

Sharpshooter

My trophy wife, Sugar, was outside with the dogs while I watched Chisum.  As it turned out, viewing the John Wayne movie was a good way to prepare for my imminent deadly showdown.

I heard my wife’s alarming scream.  Then she called out to me, “Al, come out here.  Hurry!”  I moseyed up from the couch, ever obedient, ever vigilent.

I still did not know what she was frightened about.  (Girls can be overly dramatic and mysterious).  I empathetically inquired about what was troubling her.  Her response was not responsive to my question.  She uncalmly commanded, “Get a gun.”  Well, that was the main idea.  She was much more eloquent.

As an aside, in order to give some background to the scenario, I want you, gentle readers, to be informed that Sugar grew up in Texas.  Also, she is of Italian extraction.  You may combine your prejudiced stereotypes as you imagine  her emotional communication.

Further, Sugar’s desire that I bring a gun was not unrealistic.  I possess several firearms, including a pair of Colt .45s in a quickdraw holster, various rifles, and a couple shotguns.  They are part of the decor of our mountain cabin and readily available.  The NRA sends emails to me daily concerning unconstitutional threats to gun ownership.  I also am a member of the Single Action Shooting Society (SASS) which sponsors cowboy shooting competitions.  My SASS alias is Big Bronc.  Her’s is Miss Sugar.  Clearly, it was not unreasonable for her to ask me to get a gun.

So I emerged from the front door unarmed.  Sometimes I opt for hand-to-hand combat.  I wanted to assess the enemy’s strength before selecting a weapon.  I try to make it a fair fight.  No sense wasting ammo.

“Who needs killin’?  It don’t make me no nevermind.”   I stated the obvious.  “Womenfolk got nothin’ to fear when Big Bronc is around.  I will fight to the death anyone that threatens you and them yeller dogs.”   This little gal surely knew she could count on me.

“Oh, Big Bronc, there is an evil rattlesnake down there.  Please protect me and our precious pets.  You are so brave and strong and handsome.”  Those were not her exact words, but I knew that was what she desired to tell me.

“Get the shotgun with the snakeshot shells!,” Miss Sugar daintily suggested.  “Shoot it from up here on the porch so you don’t git yerself kilt.  I ain’t in the mood to call no hearst.”  She doesn’t talk like that either, but it would sound more like an authenic western story if she would have.

So I went to the toolshed and got a shovel.  I know she wanted me to use a gun, but this particular shovel is a narrow type of spade known in these here parts as a “sharpshooter.”   It is a weapon with which I have beheaded unfortunate snakes in the past.  Yes, this was fixin’ to be a fight to the death.

Miss Texas noticed what I had selected.  “You dang fool!  That rattler is going to bite you.  They can strike further than that little shovel.”  I wish she didn’t talk like that.

So I walked over to the snake, carrying only the sharpshooter shovel.

It was coiled and shaking its rattles.  It was a mean one, poised to strike.

Women are no help at a time like this.  I didn’t need some girly girl weeping about me.  I can take care of myself.  Still, through it all, I could hear Sugar’s sweet voice.  “Watch out, you idiot.  He is going to strike.”  I supposed that she was addressing the snake, giving him one last chance to retreat.  That is certainly how I took it.

Members of the general public are not usually quick enough or coordinated enough or brave enough to attempt what I was about to do.  That mean old snake probably did not recognize who he was facing.  He probably thought I was a member of the general public.

Instead, he was dealin’ with Big Bronc, the toughest hombre north of the Pecos, or at least the North Poudre Irrigation Canal.

I met his steely glare.  He didn’t show any fear as he hissed and rattled, but I had a feelin’ that, deep inside his cold heart and reptile brain, he knew this showdown would be his last.

My calloused hand was ready for action.

“Say when.”  I confidently offered him that advantage as I smirked.  (I have found that smirking intimidates.)

The tension grew.  Then Old Snake Eye made his move.  It was the moment of truth.   Or consequences.  One of us would soon be dead as a doornail.  He had my vote.

A blood-curdling scream broke the tense silence.  (Sometimes smirking alone is not intimidating enough.  One has to be adaptable when engaged in a fight to the death.)  I should not have called it a scream.  It was more like a war-cry.  A manly war-cry.

Well, I’m here to tell you that with one lightning fast blow, I pinned that coiled snake to the ground.  The blade of the sharpshooter got it right behind its open-mouthed head.  I did not let up until I cut its head clean off. Sugar warned that the venom is still dangerous, even after it was beheaded.  Like I don’t know that.

I scooped the detached head into the shovel and proudly showed her the proof of my victory, waiting for her to praise my skill and courage.  She did not express her admiration in words, but I could see it in her eyes.

“Shucks, M’aam.  It weren’t nothing any old hero wouldn’t do.”

I could tell she longed to reward me with a kiss.  There was things I had to take care of first.  After disposing of my vanquished foe, I put my trusty sharpshooter back in the shed and quietly rode off into the sunset.

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