Sam’s run


Sam and Ginny ran their ranch in Southern Idaho. Sam loved the life of cowboy with their hundred cows or so.

Every morning Sam would drive to town to get his snack. Some warm and fresh glazed doughnuts, ‘bout a dozen to each sack.

Ginny couldn’t help but notice Sam had gained some weight. The bathroom scales showed fifty since their ten-year wedding date.

Sam slid up to the dinner table, hungry as a beast. The cow that kicked him yesterday, would be this evening’s feast.

Sam had cravings all day long ‘bout roast and gravy drippings. But what he got that night was cold (A SALAD AND FOUR BOILED EGGS). Could Ginny’s mind be slipping?

Sam’s wife, Ginny was a teeny thing. She stayed in perfect shape. She said “Sam have you checked your middle? You look like an oversized grape.

“So tomorrow we start to exercise. We’ll do it before we eat. We’ll start our walk at 5:00 a.m. That way we’ll beat the heat.”

Now Sam had always gotten up before the rooster crowed. To feed the cows and then the horse, but not to walk the road.

Sam knew he had to pass this test and drop his midriff weight. But exercise was clearly something he had learned to hate.

So at 5:00 a.m. Sam fully dressed, was really quite a site. Size fourteen shoes and hairy legs, his Stetson pulled down tight.

The walk began. Sam held his own but soon was out of breath. His wife slowed down, then held his hand, said “This won’t cause your death.”

Then hand in hand they walked alone on down the quiet road. Sam vowed he’d walk to get in shape. This could be their daily mode.

Then all at once a truck’s headlights were glaring in their eyes. Sam’s cowboy friends were laughing. How he wished he’d been disguised.

The word was out that Sam was soft and given in to wishes from a bossy wife who ran the ranch and made him do the dishes.

Sam’s wife was wise beyond her years. She vowed to clear this matter, by meeting with those cowboys’ wives. You can imagine all the chatter.

Next morning sharp at 5:00 a.m. Sam was walking off his gut. And was joined by three embarrassed friends who wished they’d kept their big mouths shut.


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Bryce Angell’s father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years, and Bryce was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. Bryce is from Idaho and still rides into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. His poems are mostly of personal experience.



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