You know Dasher and Dancer, but you ain't seen nothing 'til you've met Nevin and Star

I spent the weekend in a little piece of Texas heaven. It's a land of pastures and barbed wire fences, of windmills and brands. And grass. No matter if it's blue, brown or bright green; it's blowing in the breeze and looks like what you think heaven might reflect. I gaze over the expanse and my friends apologize for the color. No need. Beauty is beauty. Before me, Oak Trees with branches spread wide and low dot the land. All around me twittering birds, the breeze and occasional low drone from a cow. The hum of life. I take a deep breath. And another.

It's Chips of Flame, SK Shannon, Evan's Miss Duchess and so many others who have clever and purposeful names but are just an edgy ton of flesh to me, with damn cute noses but horns that seem to get longer as I get closer. It's a big bull named Nevin who acts like a puppy and wants his head rubbed, and a fat lazy pudge of a bull named Star who has a wicked side glance and tossed his head and horns in my direction, making me jump off the fence with a speed of movement I didn't know I could pull.



It's small town Texas where the shop owners greet my friends with familiar smiles and warm voices. It's a lady who regrets she has no wine-a-ritas made but offers us a cheese ball instead. It's a restaurant named The White Leghorn Inn, that features Chicken Gizzards and Livers, Frog legs and Quail, has a cooler full of Pearl beer, and displays a homemade fruitcake for sale on the counter.

It's white cotton skies by day, deep and somber blue at night. It's cold outside but there's a fire in the pit, our chairs pulled close to the warmth. There's conversation, laughter and a couple burned boot toes among friends. It's a full moon and a spread of stars making a late appearance in a wide open sky.

It's a weekend that every bit of me needed, and every bit of me enjoyed.