The Frenchman.
I can’t recall what day it was, but one of the activities at the ranch involved riding around in a specially modified truck to “see the wildlife in the mountains.”
I’m not sure if everyone noticed, but there were rifle mounts up on top of that truck. It’s not like this was just for a nature show.
So the truck left, and it was cold that day, and I wasn’t really attired for running around in the outback, but my parental units convinced the foreman that it would be a really good idea to bring the truck back for the birthday boy, just so we could all get a tour of some dirt roads.
There was room in the truck’s cab for two more, and the kind ladies riding up on top offered to make room for me on their bench seat. Can’t say for sure, but I think one or two giggled at the prospect of huddling under a blanket with me.
Their husbands? They opted, at least for the first leg of the excursion, to ride in the cab.
After that first stop, though, there was a change in the seating arrangements. The women riding up top were all joined by their husbands because one of the guys had made some comment about that “Frenchman” riding up on top – with the wives.
Me? I was more concerned with stay warm, then, I was interested in identifying various kinds of flora and fauna. An Eagle-eyed Capricorn noted a red-tail hawk, just sitting there, on a tree, while we passed within earshot of the border. Turns out he called me “that Frenchman” and I’m sure it was due to the way I was dressed.
“Damn boy, next time, wear your boots or something.”
Let me see, two pair of boots need soles, one pair is antique and I wasn’t about to wear the endangered species boots, no matter how tasteful, out in the brush. So, as it worked out, I was wearing all black. Left my cowboy hats at home, as I could just see one of them getting blown off my head. Nope, I was dressed to either hike, or lounge around the corral, but what I had on didn’t indicate I was particularly Texan.
Which, in retrospect, seemed particularly amusing.
