The first order of business was getting hay for the winter. I'm going to say right here and now that getting hay is not the most fun job in the world. In fact, I would probably rank it pretty low. Worse than carrying a ruck sack up a mountain in Utah? Well let's not get crazy... The job began by heading down to the thriving metropolis of Boone, Colorado. Never heard of it? What the hell is wrong with you? They have a mall and everything. So says the cowboy that hauled the hay, "shoot, it's got one... two... two stores. That's a mall!" Dang skippy it is, Red. Anyhoo, after picking him up we drove to La Junta (it's a soft "J") and met up with a real old-fashioned cowboy who still loads hay out of a field by using draft horses and a wagon. I would tell you his name, but you wouldn't believe me (or the one you have thought of is probably correct), and I would tell you what he looked like, but the image you've already pictured in your mind is most likely an exact description (complete with snow-white handle bar mustache). Then I could tell you how he talked, but... well, ya know.
We backed the trailer up next to the wagon (which already had a load on it), and jumped up on the trailer to begin loading. Unbeknownst to me, however, was the "weak spot" in the trailer. Apparently there was a conversation taking place in secret regarding the spot about five seconds before I fell through it and made a hole the size of your favorite ex-Army blogger. I remember the phrase "Oh crap, we've only been here two minutes and we're already down a man!" being uttered, but I carried on. The mission is all that matters, roger?
After many, many more loads of hay, we finally finished the job of getting it all loaded up in a barn. I didn't feel too bad when it was done, 'cause everyone else was pretty much sick of it too. Considering I'm just a "city kid" I didn't do all that bad. Heh. Lucky for us we finished when we did, as the next night we got nailed with a pretty heavy thunderstorm, shutting down the power for several hours. We had been sitting and talking for an hour or so when around the corner came this:
I don't know how many midget-ninjas (minja, for short) wearing yellow Sponge-Bob Square Pants goggles you have run into, but rest assured, it's a pretty scary event. I did my best to take care of the problem but as you can see here, I didn't fare too well:
To say that I was humbled and "shown who was boss" would be the understatement of the century. My weak skills are certainly no match for the power of the 9-year old minja.