A Cowboy Named Rusty

It was fortuitous that Oz-Girl and I both had appointments that coincided on the same day so we happily agreed to spend the sunny, WINDY afternoon together in "the Big City."

In between appointments, we had time to stop in to visit Oz-Girl's favorite coffee shop, Panera . . . where she and I got her favorite kind of coffee -- Hazelnut.

After my appointment, we headed up north of the city to have a late lunch at the only Cracker Barrel restaurant in the area . . . and we poked around in the shop and bought some sweet gifts for some family members . . .

It was with a feeling of contentment that I left the shop to walk out to the parking lot . . . It had been a pleasant afternoon . . .

Suddenly, our eyes were drawn to activity across the street . . .

Holy Cow!!!!! . . . I mean, "Cows!!!"

No . . . REALLY . . . There was a Round-up happening right down the main street of town!!!!!!!

and the proud-looking, straight-backed character herding the cattle was none other than the legendary Rusty Flatiron on his trusty steed Steel Bar . . .

I could tell Oz-Girl was enthralled by this tall, burnished, hard-riding cowboy . . . Something about the way he sat his horse and held his lariat must have reminded her of her beloved Marlboro Man . . .

Thankfully, I had my camera in hand . . . What a great opportunity for photos!  . . . but before I could take off the lens cover, Oz-Girl had picked her way across the busy highway and headed right toward the trotting cattle.

Now, these weren't just any cattle . . . They were rare and valuable Hard-nosed, Hairless Ironhorns . . .

Oblivious to everything else around her, Oz-Girl didn't heed my warning shouts . . . she just jumped right into the herd and took the bull by the horns!  (I think she may have been trying to impress Rusty.)

It was as if she couldn't hear me . . .  Dang, but that woman is tenacious . . . When she gets focused on something . . . well, let's just say she got hooked.

The last I saw of her, she was getting carried along by the bull at the front of the drive . . . down the Chisholm Trail . . . with the unflappable Rusty Flatiron driving the herd from behind.

In a panic, I pulled out my cell phone and called Marlboro Man . . . told him to grab his lariat and best horse . . . The last I knew, he was racing to head them off at the pass . . .

Ahh . . .the hazards of Life in Oz-Land . . .