I’ve decided to become a cowboy. Well, a cowgirl, I suppose. A couple of years ago, the family and I went to Glacier National Park, and I cried as we left. So I think I’d like to go back and live there. Just last night, I was on a real estate website, looking at ranches I could never afford. But what a fun way to spend an hour! I would live here, see. I’d have a horse.
Because I’m fixated on saving someone’s life someday, I would do search and rescue for hapless hikers and fishermen who got lost. Old Paint and I would head out with my faithful dog (who, unlike Willow, had life skills and not just cuteness in her corner). My dog would snuffle out the person, and my faithful steed would scare off the grizzly bears so I wouldn’t be eaten. We would calmly and capably splint the person’s broken leg without undue fascination of the wound, gently heft him or her on Old Paint and head back to safety.
There, in my lovely home, I would pour a glass of wine and eat a meal that had been magically prepared by someone other than myself. My clever dog would jump up onto the couch, and we would read together—Lassie for him, a romance novel for me.
All in a day’s work.