Opening Day

The Western Edge.

After spending the 4 hours from Fargo to the farm picking out baby names for my nephew (we all agreed on GonnaDressYouUpWithMyLove James), we rolled in at about 8:30 pm mountain time on Friday evening.

My mom and dad didn't know I was coming home, and my mom screamed and bear-hugged me when she saw me. She has such a flair for the dramatic. Must be that wild red hair of hers.

On Saturday morning, most of us suited up for opening day.

Pheasant season, ya'll.

My dad gave me a 12 gauge shotgun, and when we started off, I had it unloaded and the barrel open and he says, "Oh, just put some shells in there and close it already."

I'm a half-hearted hunter. I just like to be out there, walking.

Saturday, October 13th. Opening Day.

6:30 AM

(Me to my brother's fiancee):
"We're gonna need some camo."

8:00 AM

(Me to my brother after I hear shotgun pellets blow by me and I turn around and there stands my brother with his gun pointed in my general direction):
" ...Dude ... "

9:15 AM

(Me to my dad who, once again, did not believe me when I spotted the mountain lion):
"Fine. Don't believe me and when that thing is chewing your leg off, I'll be sitting here laughing."

9:45 AM

(Me to the group)
"I'm done. Don't mistake me for a pheasant. Jesus Christ."

9:30 PM

(My brother to me):
"Let's go, we're going to Mike's!"

Mike's Bar, Oct. 13th. Ladies Night.

10:00 PM

(My brother to the table):
"There may be females here, but I guarantee you there are no ladies."

10:45 PM

(My brother-in-law-to the table as we all watched this group of women do the dirtiest, skankiest dances with each other):
"I bet that blonde girl's vagina is this big." (Hold up hands equivalent to the size of an apple pie.)

All night

(Everyone to everyone):
"Goddamn, I love this bar!"

1:25 AM

(Me to my brother as we pull up to SuperPumper):
"Goddamn it, Michael, I am not waiting for you to order no taco or burrito. Just get your chew and get back here. I want to go home."

1:26 AM

(Me to myself as I watch my brother walk to the back of the store and order food):
"I hate him."

It was nice to be at the farm. The leaves are turning, there's still water in the crick, and I got to see just about everybody. Even the bazaar was fun--we played some bingo and ate lots of chocolate chip cookie bars.

And, I didn't even get yelled at by old ladies wanting decaf. A win-win.

(It's so good to be home, though.)