Post by Rori on Sept 11, 2012 22:16:00 GMT -5
Everyone has those days, and Rori's got a whopper beating her upside the face. Boots thump on the sidewalk as she shuts the door to her old blue chevy pickup. She takes a brief moment to run her hand through her hair. Blinking eyes move to glance at the hardware shop of this little town. It had taken an hour to drive here from the ranch, so they had better have what she was looking for.
Walking to the entrance, her steps hit heavy and Rori straightens her shoulders beneath her button up red blouse. When had she ever gone anywhere without dirt, sweat stains, and cow poop on her boots? Ever since she had rolled out of bed, it had been one thing to the next. A tree had fallen on the western fence line during the night and at least 30 head of cattle had meandered into the neighbor's brushland. She had spent the whole day finding and rounding them up, but the cows had spent a whole night out and were a good ways off. It was already past four now. She prays the weather holds out and the cattle stay in the dang pasture the good Lord had seen fit to bless them with.
Imagine the wonderful mood she had been in upon discovering her chainsaw in less than working condition. The old chain was too dull and the old piece of junk wouldn't even start. It had been sitting in the dusty barn for far too long, and someone hadn't even thought to cover the dang thing.
A shorthanded as the woman was, she and her two ranch hands had managed to block the gaping hole and leaning fence with a roll of barbed wire. That wouldn't hold forever, but the downed tree prevented them from making a permanent fix. Rori knew better than to leave the hole half patched for a night. Come dark, she was getting that thing fixed. Give 'em a hole, and they'll keep going through.
A bell jingles as she strolls on in, giving a short handed wave to the clerk at the counter, though she doesn't really know this one. Looks like they were hiring again. Rori knows where to go, right to the fifth isle. There are a couple sitting out and a few chains, but the woman grimaces as she checks a price tag. Too high. Dang, where was America headed? Arms cross as she eyes the one that catches her attention. In a moment, she sighs, arms unwrapping.
A steady hand reaches out to pick it up. Although they're not the lightest tools, the weight proves to be no problem. She lifts it up, eyeing the chain on the craftsman. Well, here goes her hard earned cash. The lady pauses a moment more to browse the rest of the isle. Anything else? While she's here she might as well catch up on the shopping.
Toting her craftsman chainsaw, Rori wanders down another isle. Not one to spend much time on shopping (even for tools), she quickly grabs a new pair of pliers, some cattle ear tags, and what the heck she's had a bad day, a steer dummy. Maybe she'll get around to roping practice. She holds the smaller two items with her freehand and tucks the dummy head under the arm. Now, to the register, much to her wallet's dismay. The rancher can practically hear it crying in her back pocket.
Walking to the entrance, her steps hit heavy and Rori straightens her shoulders beneath her button up red blouse. When had she ever gone anywhere without dirt, sweat stains, and cow poop on her boots? Ever since she had rolled out of bed, it had been one thing to the next. A tree had fallen on the western fence line during the night and at least 30 head of cattle had meandered into the neighbor's brushland. She had spent the whole day finding and rounding them up, but the cows had spent a whole night out and were a good ways off. It was already past four now. She prays the weather holds out and the cattle stay in the dang pasture the good Lord had seen fit to bless them with.
Imagine the wonderful mood she had been in upon discovering her chainsaw in less than working condition. The old chain was too dull and the old piece of junk wouldn't even start. It had been sitting in the dusty barn for far too long, and someone hadn't even thought to cover the dang thing.
A shorthanded as the woman was, she and her two ranch hands had managed to block the gaping hole and leaning fence with a roll of barbed wire. That wouldn't hold forever, but the downed tree prevented them from making a permanent fix. Rori knew better than to leave the hole half patched for a night. Come dark, she was getting that thing fixed. Give 'em a hole, and they'll keep going through.
A bell jingles as she strolls on in, giving a short handed wave to the clerk at the counter, though she doesn't really know this one. Looks like they were hiring again. Rori knows where to go, right to the fifth isle. There are a couple sitting out and a few chains, but the woman grimaces as she checks a price tag. Too high. Dang, where was America headed? Arms cross as she eyes the one that catches her attention. In a moment, she sighs, arms unwrapping.
A steady hand reaches out to pick it up. Although they're not the lightest tools, the weight proves to be no problem. She lifts it up, eyeing the chain on the craftsman. Well, here goes her hard earned cash. The lady pauses a moment more to browse the rest of the isle. Anything else? While she's here she might as well catch up on the shopping.
Toting her craftsman chainsaw, Rori wanders down another isle. Not one to spend much time on shopping (even for tools), she quickly grabs a new pair of pliers, some cattle ear tags, and what the heck she's had a bad day, a steer dummy. Maybe she'll get around to roping practice. She holds the smaller two items with her freehand and tucks the dummy head under the arm. Now, to the register, much to her wallet's dismay. The rancher can practically hear it crying in her back pocket.
