Merry Christmas!

Fear not, faithful readers, this old cowboy hasn't fallen off a cliff or gotten eaten by bears...not yet anyway. Just went riding a ways on my trusty steed Ranger. Rode quite a ways, through ice storms, blizzards, and southern riders who can't handle a little ice and snow on the trail. It got the worst when I reached Slick Willy Gulch. Saw many a sport utility pony flat on their sides off the trail, their riders reluctantly loading their sixgun to end their misery. Trudged through the snow to reach Graceland Ranch and sloshed through the slush past Music City. The ride through Ol' Virginny was painless, since Ranger's stride was consistant, but my tail was so numb, I needed to camp on the trail after I passed the Mason and Dixon homesteads. I reached the family farm on Christmas Eve.

The Christmas feast was at my sister's house. Mmmm...venison lasagna! My brother scored a doe this year during the antlerless season. Much holiday cheer was shared and we showered attention on little Erin, my niece, the only kid at the adults' table. That's what you get when you have a career woman and two hermits in the family, leaving the retirement surprise to do all the procreating.

I hope you all had a great Christmas, and those of you who don't know Christ from Adam, have a Happy Late December Day Off. And those skunks out there who might be eyeing up the Cowboy Blob Saloon while I'm gone, watch out for Senorita Lisa del Bikerchick, my Latina ferret-keeper. She's a dead-eye with a pistol and ain't shy with the scattergun, either!