Twenty years ago when we still lived in Brighton, Colo., I had invited several friends to have Thanksgiving at my house. (A tradition my insurance agent later said I could no longer afford).

I ran into Randy in the airport. He was draggin’ his right hind leg like an escaped convict tryin’ to cover his tracks.

We were watching The History Channel at Grandma’s casita. It was a story about the USS Enterprise being attacked. It was 1945.

In November 1621, a Thursday, I believe, the Pilgrims were fixin’ to set down to a meager meal of fish sticks and boiled beets. When out of the woods marched a jovial band of Indians packin’ a bushel of roastin’ ears and two wild turkeys.

Each fall, the governor of the great state of South Dakota hosts his Invitational Pheasant Hunt. This is meant to be a way to show off South Dakota’s state bird, their pride and joy, the wily pheasant.

Good ranch managers often use numbered ear tags to monitor their herd more closely.

Yer not gonna keep’er, still, are ya Dad?

She was a pretty cow. A big polled Hereford but she was only half bagged up. So they sorted her off.

Come to Alternative Dining and New Age Spa

What do cable TV and “Where your food comes from” have in common?

As Noah said when he went out on the deck to check the windshield wipers, “I should’a brought a raincoat.”

It’s fall on the cow outfit.

The first week of August I was haulin’ a load of cows to the sale.

This is my wife. She does the books. I do the important stuff

Lately there has been dissension at the rancho. I have overheard murmurings in the barnyard, in particular regarding my stock trailer. The grumbling animals enlisted my teenage daughter to present their complaints.

How would you like to live across the street from an open Mexican border? Would you be afraid?

Parts of Montana are as close to the Outback as we “Yanks” will ever get.