My Cowboy was working on my sister’s farm yesterday, and came across a brush fire.
I will begin by saying that the fire was indeed intentionally set . . . by my brother-in-law . . . who has been referred to by my sister ever since as Dumbass. But I’m sure he never meant for it to get out of control like it did . . . and professes still that he “was never worried about it.”
But it did get out of control, and it involved all the neighbors, arriving in their trucks with shovels and rakes, and it involved a call to 9-1-1, followed by the arrival of several tanker/sprayer trucks, and more men with shovels and chain saws.
And thankfully, no real damage was done, and in fact, it’ll actually be good for the pasture that burnt off. It’ll save them having to burn it off some other time, right?
But this incident also brought to mind the time My Cowboy decided to do an intentional burnin’ on our place a couple years back.
He mused for awhile about heading out west to burn off some of the back pasture, and I mused back that I thought he otta wait until I got back from town so I could help if things went wrong, but you can guess what happened anyway, can’t you?
I got back from town, and the pasture was indeed burnin’, and things looked to be going all right, but there was no cowboy in sight, and the fire seemed to have left our place and hopped onto the neighbor.
My phone rang. It’s My Cowboy: “Well, wouldn’t ya know, it’s been as quiet as can be all this time, and just as I’m about done, the wind picks up? I’ve called Leslie to see if he cares if I just go ahead and burn his off while I’m at it, since that’s what’s gonna happen anyway.”
Me: “OK, just so I know all’s well.”
But it just so happens that the volunteer fire chief of the closest town to us lives about 2 miles from where My Cowboy was having his fun, and he saw the smoke.
And he called out his team of volunteers, and they all raced in our direction, being positive that something was terribly wrong and help was needed.
To burn off Leslie’s pasture, too, would take the fire all the way to the nearest gravel road to the north, and by the time the volunteers arrived, that’s about where it was at, and would stop on its own.
The volunteers skid to a stop on the gravel road, jump out of their trucks, leap the ditch and head up the hill, and when they stop to look up, what do they see?
My Cowboy . . . stick in one hand . . . blow torch in the other . . . grin the size of Texas on his face. “Howdy, boys!”
“Oh, it’s you . . . ”
But it IS good to know that help is so readily available, even when you don’t call for it!