Tuesday, March 19
After Al and Kelly leave, I fix myself something to eat, and then toss the crew into the PTV. I feel like driving somewhere.
I maneuver us out onto Hell’s Highway and drive into Wickenburg. I’ll get some milk and yogurt at Safeway.
First I park at the ALCO store, leaving the crew in the PTV.
I wander around and quickly realize that there’s nothing I want or need in this store. It’s not a wasted stop though because I ask the cashier where one might purchase drinking water.
“Oh, it’s right here in this plaza, ” she responds. She leads me out of the store and points down the sidewalk. “There’s a vending machine in the wall by the post office.” Gee, very helpful lady. “Thank you, ma’am!”
I move the PTV to park in front of the water vend.
Eight gallons later (25 cents a gallon), I move the PTV across the street and dash into Safeway. As I pull out of the parking lot I notice a beauty salon across the intersection and park in front of it. However, when I walk in a guy on the barber shop side of the salon says, “She’s gone for the day.” Oh. Well, the hair gets to grow another day.
Okay, enough about our little run into town.
When we arrive home, I am shocked, truly shocked, by what I see. Scattered about our campsite are heifers, some in clusters and others lounging, all acting like they’ve taken up residence.
They think they own the place.
As I drive closer to the BLT, they stop what they’re doing to stare at our approach, like we’re intruders or something. I grab my camera to shoot photos through the windshield.
I slowly drive the PTV toward the group hanging around the palo verde.
My intent is to nudge them away. Hmm . . . Something’s not right.
“Oh, I see what’s been going on here!”
My charcoal grill, which was upright when we left to go to town, is now collapsed on its side, lying in the dirt. Not only that, hoof marks are all over the area, and it looks to me like someone purposely stepped on my grill. I’m not one to point fingers, but I’d say the ringleader is the one skulking behind the tree with the grill lying at its hooves.
I move the PTV forward until I’m very close to a blonde heifer and her friend. Am I seeing attitude? Huh?
With a sneer Blondie moves, but . . . ever . . . so . . . slowly. This slow walk is obviously designed to aggravate me. She saunters over to the fire ring, stops, looks back at me, and proceeds to empty her bowels. She continues the slow walk, depositing piles, plop, plop, plop, in an arc around the fire ring. Yep, that’s definitely an attitude.
I get out of the PTV.
I walk back to the BLT. Hoof marks are all around my outdoor rug, right up to the edge! What’s been going on here? What? As soon as we leave, you cows come over here and throw a party? Upon close examination I detect a greenish slobber on the BLT. Okay, that does it.
“All right, everybody! Time to go home. Party’s over! Move it!”