Sleeping bags and bridal suites incongruous

Thursday, November 8, 2018
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Ramblings of a Conservative Cow Doctor

My grandson, Will, recently spent four days deer hunting with me. He is eight and his dad is deployed somewhere in the north Atlantic on the USS Truman. Will took the six-month separation especially hard so was promised a deer hunt to focus on something other than his father’s absence. Freedom is purchased by the blood of patriots but sometimes the blood comes from a weeping hole in the heart of an eight-year-old boy. Pray about the families left back home this Veterans’ Day.

Will and I were leaving for our final hunt Sunday evening when my other son-in-law, Tim, called reporting his trailer had eaten a wheel bearing in Big Timber. Tim was hauling two horses to Great Falls, so the trophy wife told us to go hunting while she ran my pickup and trailer to the rescue. After swapping trailers, Tim and ponies headed to Great Falls and Druann limped Tim’s small two-horse to Laurel on its back axel. Will and I harvested our deer and the story could end here but it doesn’t.

I want to make a couple more elk hunts this fall, but my trailer is now four hours away. What to do? Meet here … meet there … were thoughts but I did not relish stuffing two big horses in Tim’s tiny, two-horse, trailer. I have a bad habit of skimming Craig’s List over breakfast and Thursday an ad for a 7x24 Exiss trailer slapped me. I could sell my ’93 fifth-wheel to Tim and snatch this 2017 shiny, stock hauler a little old lady only used on Sundays to haul her horses to church. I said to the trophy wife, “I need you to talk me off this ledge.” I blurted my plan but added “the tack compartment could be converted to camping quarters, so we could visit our retired friends who camp professionally.” She rolled her eyes and mumbled she didn’t see me making time to go camping. With her weak approval, I agreed to meet the seller at the half-way point in Miles City. Billing this a date night, I coaxed Druann to join me for a 176-mile joyride in the country thereby letting me explain the marvelous things I could add to our new camper. “Our sleeping bags fit perfectly in the nose cone,” I enthusiastically offered. “With a little Astroturf, it would be our redneck, bridal suite,” I said with a wink and a nod and this brings me to my point. Are sleeping bags and bridal suites oxymorons? The trophy wife thinks so.

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