SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE WESTERNER

What were they thinking?

By Julie Carter

It seems to be human nature, at least for most of us, to put ourselves in a position that we later question with a “What was I thinking?”

Some never realize it was a moment when they should have questioned that very thing, indicating a complete lack of the aforementioned “thinking.”

We see it a lot here in the sparsely populated areas of the west. The rural west, where those seeking to escape traffic jams and high pressure time management, flock to build a home and make a living in the peace and quiet of our natural dust and lack of amenities.

Settled quietly into the nooks and crannies of the rolling foothills, they often don’t bring with them the skills sometimes needed for living in the “wild” but they certainly make for a good story from time to time.

Looking out the window of the work shop, he could see the barn and corrals and the horses. Registering quickly in his brain was what else he has just seen in the corral with the horses. A pig! A big scrawny very ugly pig.

Out the door the missus goes to investigate. Denim bathroom and rubber ducky slippers for a wardrobe, she climbs over the rocks, climbs the hill, goes through the corral fence all the while clucking and cooing to this “poor thin very ugly piggy.” What was she thinking?

Picking up some alfalfa from the feeder she offers it to the pig easing herself closer to him, recognizing he really is very ugly and really isn’t all that thrilled to have her trying to help him. He runs off to pace the chain link enclosure around the property, the fence that should have kept him out of the compound in the first place.

Bewildered, the missus returns to the house and begins phoning neighbors who might possibly be missing a pig. In her quest, she discovered that what she had just attempted to pamper and pet was indeed a wild feral hog, not just a scrawny ugly piggy.

She also learned the danger of where she has just been, in her bathrobe and her naivety, proving once again that ignorance can be bliss. The boar neither charged nor even acted challenged. Must have been those ducky slippers that charmed him.

She was sober. That isn’t always the case with “what was I thinking” events.

My dad, a couple cousins and an uncle were one time sitting around the kitchen table passing a square bottle and telling wild stories when my dad exclaimed, “Well I’ll be, a bear just ran up that tree.”

“That tree” was a big cottonwood about 15 feet from the back door and in full view of the dining room where they sat. The dogs were barking, the kids were yelling and dad headed to get a rope.

A rope! He had decided he needed to rope that bear, in the tree, and bring him down. Up the ladder he went. It was completely dark except for a distant yard light. Out on a limb went the bear followed by my dad. What was he thinking?

They faced off at the end of the already creaking branch. The bear, obviously thinking much clearer than my dad, dropped to the underside of the big limb and hand over foot crawled toward the trunk, passing right beneath his hopeful captor. Once at the trunk he was down the tree and out the yard gate faster than dogs, kids or laughing family could follow.

Looking back we were pretty happy the bear didn’t drink.


©2005 Julie Carter