The women of Pagosa might not all fit into a size three traveling pant, but we all fit into the stories of Pagosa. We have learned to live in the country, we have tugged and pulled and lain on the bed and zipped up, and have learned to fit into these crazy stories. Some stories have become more comfortable than others.
I went to the library. The librarian said, “Road kill!”
I knew she knew what I knew.
She then leaned over the counter and I leaned in.
She had a secret to tell me. She whispered. “We have twenty pounds of bear fat in our freezer.”
“Hum…? Bear fat?” I thought, “What would any one do with bear fat in their freezer? I’ll have to ask Al.”
“Honey, what do people do with bear fat?”
“I don’t know. I knew a lady that kept some in a Ball Jar on the window sill. She said when it turned from clear to milky she could tell the change in the weather.” Al’s mind started spinning.
“No, Al, I refuse to keep a jar of bear fat in the window. We are not a bunch of Rednecks.”
My fickle friend, Sam said, “Do you really have road kill in your freezer?”
“Yes, we do.”
He asked, still shaking his head in doubt, “And you eat out of your freezer?”
“Yes, we do Sam. And when we invite you over, we will be serving you meat out of the freezer.”
Sam turned squeamish and choked.
“Sam, we have never eaten road kill, except for a deer or elk Al hit on the road. I guess you won’t be coming to our house for dinner, will you? I don’t make the rules in Pagosa. I have found if you don’t bend to the way it is, the rules will break you.”
I asked my daughter, “Do you think other people have road kill in their freezer?”
She said, “Mother, you would be surprised.”
“Well, it sure makes for good stories to write about.”
A Facebook friend wrote from New Zealand. “I laughed at the old turkey in your bed.” Oh me, now Al is known in New Zealand. So you see how these traveling stories from Pagosa get around.
Jake, the pajama wearing dog, with a six inch hole in the back shows his rear, but has become famous. Responses about Jake came from China, The Philippines and around the country.
From China, a friend writes, “We miss our hunting dog. We couldn’t take him with us.”
From the Philippines, an owner writes, “The Prince has jasmine rice mixed with dry food and heated canned food in his own skillet. Sundays are for junk food where a small fries and cheeseburger from McDonalds are the best part of the week. His ya-ya brushes his teeth every day, and showers him in his own bathroom twice a week with orange peel wax and oatmeal cream (he has never seen a mud puddle that he didn’t walk around). The daily coat brushing is his version of the heavy handed pat although I found a point on his scalp when scratched that will put him to sleep. No pajamas needed as the city dog shares one thing with the country dog, his love for his cedar bed and his owner.”
A writer writes about his dog, Harley. “Totally related to this. Harley (so named, he's the closest I'll ever come to owning a Harley), loves his bed. He gets in it every night and waits until we cover him up w/his blanket, where he sleeps completely covered up until he hears the slightest stir in the morning. Sometimes, when he gets up, the blankets come with him - our little turtle dog. He’s eleven now.”
I have found these traveling stories fit all. They are like a pair of good blue jeans. They might not look that good on some of us, but worn enough, they become comfortable and we wear them anyway. Everyone owns a pair or two.
Final Brushstroke: At the moment, I am eating wild turkey, shot by my grandson, who has his story to tell and Al is hugging his dog.
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