Post by Roger McCready on Aug 15, 2022 13:58:14 GMT -5
At some point in the past ten years, sweating off a hangover had become an accepted norm for Roger. No matter how or where he ended the night — face down in bed, hanging off the couch with his boots still on, sprawled across the back porch, or curled up with the mutts in the kitchen floor — it was common routine to pick himself up in the morning, groan and curse for a time, and then get to work. His first cup of coffee (and a handful of aspirin), had seen him out the back door, pulling his boots on and lifting a hand against the sun. His second cup saw him to the barns and kept him company as he fed the animals and mucked their stalls. By the time that was finished, the ache swimming behind his eyes was tolerable and he figured he'd earned the generous splash of liquor added to his third cup.
His emptied mug was now resting on a fence post as he brushed down Ginny's coat, the horse occasionally tossing her head back to nicker appreciatively. She was the last of them and the rest of her brood whinnied and stomped their impatience, ready to run amok but not wanting to leave her behind. Once this was finished, all that was left to be done for morning chores was to rewire a weak spot he'd spied in the fence. Then he could hop in the shower and figure out what else to do with his day. Most likely he'd just find more work to be done until he ran out of daylight, shower again, then make his way into town and get to work on tomorrow's hangover.
The old, black dog stretched out at his feet on the other side of the fence, huffed a low-throated whiffle and raised her head, ears perked and alert as she blinked away the haze of her mid-morning napping. Roger raised his head and followed her gaze to the small cloud of dirt thrown behind a familiar Jeep creeping up his driveway. The sight brought an immediate curl to his lips; provoked an inner thrill that spread an answering warmth through his chest. He chuckled to himself, patting Ginny dismissively and watching the horse trot off with a pleased whinny. Twyla rose to her feet, recognizing the Jeep a moment after Roger, and gave her long, graying coat an excited shake before lopping off toward the front of the ranch, eager to greet their visitor. He watched the stilted gait of her old bones for a moment, knowing full well that the dog would be depressed when Talin eventually left again. He'd have to endure an evening of huffing sighs and sad, accusing stares as if she held Roger personally responsible for the fact that the woman always left.
Roger shook his head and pulled off his gloves, tucking them into the waist of his janes before gathering his mug and stepping after the dog. As he approached the fence that separated the pasture from the front of his property, the Jeep had crawled to a stop in front of the house. He set down his empty cup and leaned across the fence, blowing a low, appreciative whistle between his lips as a familiar figure stepped from the vehicle. Twyla bounced a delighted circle around Talin, her whole body swaying side to side with the sweep of her tail. Though Roger was a bit more subtle and able to keep his wits about him, he could have done the same. But he only let a toothy smile spread across his face as he called out to her. "What wonderful timing you have! I was just wondering what was for lunch."
@talin
His emptied mug was now resting on a fence post as he brushed down Ginny's coat, the horse occasionally tossing her head back to nicker appreciatively. She was the last of them and the rest of her brood whinnied and stomped their impatience, ready to run amok but not wanting to leave her behind. Once this was finished, all that was left to be done for morning chores was to rewire a weak spot he'd spied in the fence. Then he could hop in the shower and figure out what else to do with his day. Most likely he'd just find more work to be done until he ran out of daylight, shower again, then make his way into town and get to work on tomorrow's hangover.
The old, black dog stretched out at his feet on the other side of the fence, huffed a low-throated whiffle and raised her head, ears perked and alert as she blinked away the haze of her mid-morning napping. Roger raised his head and followed her gaze to the small cloud of dirt thrown behind a familiar Jeep creeping up his driveway. The sight brought an immediate curl to his lips; provoked an inner thrill that spread an answering warmth through his chest. He chuckled to himself, patting Ginny dismissively and watching the horse trot off with a pleased whinny. Twyla rose to her feet, recognizing the Jeep a moment after Roger, and gave her long, graying coat an excited shake before lopping off toward the front of the ranch, eager to greet their visitor. He watched the stilted gait of her old bones for a moment, knowing full well that the dog would be depressed when Talin eventually left again. He'd have to endure an evening of huffing sighs and sad, accusing stares as if she held Roger personally responsible for the fact that the woman always left.
Roger shook his head and pulled off his gloves, tucking them into the waist of his janes before gathering his mug and stepping after the dog. As he approached the fence that separated the pasture from the front of his property, the Jeep had crawled to a stop in front of the house. He set down his empty cup and leaned across the fence, blowing a low, appreciative whistle between his lips as a familiar figure stepped from the vehicle. Twyla bounced a delighted circle around Talin, her whole body swaying side to side with the sweep of her tail. Though Roger was a bit more subtle and able to keep his wits about him, he could have done the same. But he only let a toothy smile spread across his face as he called out to her. "What wonderful timing you have! I was just wondering what was for lunch."
@talin