6 Beer Curfew.

Consider this a warning.

The following post is long, contains strong language,
graphic details and is generally politically incorrect.

Continue at your own risk, and if you’re offended
remember you were warned.

My life for the most part is about as simple as it gets. I wake up in the morning, feed the animals, drink some coffee and watch John Stewart. Then it’s work on the house, fix/build ranch items till dinner, feed animals, maybe hit the gym or not depending, walk the dogs and watch some online tv and go to bed.
Or at least that’s the plan. Sometimes Erik and I hunt terrorist and of course all of this is contingent on everything behaving, and the day going crisis free.
Truthfully the day going crisis free is the hard part, we are in a state of constant crisis prevention and response out here.
How do you prevent crisis you ask?
There are simple rules to follow (Although following them isn’t simple).
Stay aware, don’t be stupid, and carry a gun.

Generally it’s a running narrative in my head as I wander about working, listening to the sounds of the ranch and playing out situations in my head. Trust me, knowing what you’d do in a crazy situation isn’t “Day dreaming” out here, it’s simply preparing for the future. We arent the wannabe “Bad-ass” who lives in the “Burbs” planning out how they’d fight off the home invader with their tricked out pump shotgun. Or the M.R.E. buying YUPPIE who’s getting ready for 2012.
Ever wander what you do if you hit a dog/deer/cow on the road and it didn’t die, but was on it’s way out and suffering? Nik did when we almost hit what looked like a baboon one night. My answer both shocked and disgusted her, and ultimately prompted me to start carrying a pistol in the car.
The answer involved the front right tire and the animals skull. And before anyone starts barking about “How wrong” and “Inhumane” that is, all I can offer as far as humanity is how I would want to be treated, not what you think should happen. There’s a pistol in car now, HAPPY? (Oh, wait, that probably doesn’t make you happy.)
But we’re back to the planing things out idea again.
When I put a loaded gun beside my bed, it’s because I’ve had to use it, I’ve trained on it and I fucking well better know how to handle it. Not because something “Might” happen, or it sounds cool to my friends, or Fox news scares me into doing it.

Not to toot my own horn, but, when Nik had a film crew out here (Most had never been out of the city), and I had to give them the “Things to watch out for” speech no one seemed to pay attention until I told them “Things out here don’t care who you think you are, they’ll fucking kill you all the same!”.
From the horses to the snakes, even the pig has brought me crashing back to reality. You better know where your headed when the “Fit hits the shan”. Finding yourself cornered, unarmed, trapped, injured or worse in a place 911 knows “In theory” is going to put a hurting on your weekend.
I don’t call 911, I call Nik. Calling 911 will just get you a series of questions, you’ll have to give directions and ultimately with a response time that rivals a pizza delivery chain, you’re better off having someone come get you while they deal with the government, you concentrate on dealing with whatever made you call in the first place.

Do you have bolt cutters? I do, in everything that drives. Things get caught in fences, it gets ugly fast. Barbwire, pain and adrenalin don’t mix. How many times do you have to see something thrashing around in what looks like a series of wire saws, before you start keeping bolt cutters with you. If they’ve been there too long or they’ve just thrashed around in the wrong way, it behooves you to be able to humanly take care of the situation. With ten foot deer fencing on some of the surrounding ranches, I’ve seen deer suspended five feet off the ground, legs tied up in the fence like giant flies stuck in fly paper.
Ever seen a two hundred pound pig fight a couple of half ton horses? Seen it, shit I had to break it up. Weighing in at about one-sixty soaking wet I was the smallest thing in the mix.
Ants, armadillos, straight line winds, side ways lightning, scorpions, snakes, livestock, power failures, drunken redneck hunters, brush fires, birds of pray, spontaneous fence failure, flooding and tetanus are a fact of life.

Issues like gun control, the price of gas and if Trav’s OK overseas is about all I can deal with outside the ranch. New years parties, what’s happening on Lost and whatever new great fucking idea the President has come up with don’t mean much.

I get to deal with all manner of new and exciting problems, like artificial swine insemination, what to do with the carcass of a fourteen hundred pound cow, where to get the best cheap hay and what the hell is wrong with my truck this week.
Add to all this that do to a year long absence from the gym and a surgery my run time is nothing short of dismal. There seems to be a shortage of contractors that have ether skill or a tooth in their head.
And to top everything off I lost my pocket knife.
As I said:
“My life for the most part is about as simple as it gets”.