Out of My Comfort Zone

A herd of cattle running toward me. It's Clint's third attempt to get the cattle through the gate and into the next pasture for grazing. I'm at the ranch helping, and by helping I mean sitting in the Dually with the boys trying to block the herd from going in the wrong direction. Clint is galloping back and forth around the cattle making as much noise as he can to get the cattle moving. My two year old is yelling out the window at the top of his lungs, "Hya cows!" I just finished running through a marsh with a crying baby who has had enough of this adventure, and now my feet are soaked and I am starting to get some sort of suspicious looking rash on my shins. Suddenly Clint is signaling that I need to move the truck because it's in the wrong place...of course I can't start it.

That was the last time we went to the ranch as a family. This time it seemed remarkably painless. In fact, for my two year old, it was a foretaste of heaven.