Dont know how you been spendin’ yer weekends, Darrol. If I did I wud’nt say.

I had a diffrent one from normal this past long weekend. It so happens that Qween Vicktorias birthday was the very day Unkle Walt turned 85.

Eva and Maisy come up with a noshun that we shud do somethink Walt never done before.

Thats how we landed up in a bit of place south of Cameloops fer somethink called the Falk Land Stampeed. Its the first and ever roadeeo I or Walt has seen.

To get Walt into the spirit of things, Eva even went and picked up all sorts of cowboy gear fer the old coot.

Big hat, a shirt with fanssy stitches, pointy boots, evrythink short of a six gun.

It was all fine and good at the parade. Walt sat there lookin’ like the Midnite Cowboys grampa, like haff the other fellers in the crowd.

But it started goin’ bad once we hit the stampeed grounds and he took a look at all the food stands.

Dont matter if its corn dogs, burgers, candy floss, beaver tales or chilli, if its out of doors Walt cant pass it by.

So he wanders around tuckin’ into the grub like it cud be his last meal on earth.

All the while payin’ heed of the fact his feet are crammed into brand new, narrow little boolie boots that look like steam irons on stilts.

By the time we get to the bleechers to watch the show, Walts hobblin’ around like he jest got trampled by a few hunderd buffalows.

Took a lot of tuggin’ but we finely got his boots peeled off. He spent the rest of the day soakin’ his feet in a dish pan full of Epsome salts.

Somewheres along the line he got to lookin’ less like Hopalong Cassady and more like Gabby Hays.

Not to say he did’nt have a fine old time watchin’ the reel cowboys. All of did.

There was ladies racin’ barrels, little kids chasin’ calfs, and a bunch of fanssy wimmen riders who did a haff-time show evry bit as good as the RCMP musickal ride.

There was even a clown chasin’ bulls with pants so loose they shud of fell down but did’nt.

But the best part was watchin’ the fellers on the buckin’ horses, or tryin’ to stay up top of a ton of pot roast with a mean outlook on things.

Now when you and I was kids, Hoppy and Roy and Wild Bill cud go all day at full gallop without so much as breakin’ a sweat.

So how hard cud it be fer these young buckaroos to stay aboard fer eight seconds?

Hard. Reel hard, let me tell you. Hard enuff to rattle yer teeth and make you ache all over.

And thats jest from watchin’.

Y’know, if I was still young theres a line of work that mite of made me rich.

Bein’ a choirpracter in cowboy country.

Yer pal,