The sign on the diner read, “If You Don’t Stop We’ll Both Starve.”
Hard to argue with, so we did.
And over cheeseburgers and home made fries we basked in all that days on end of hunting new country, on foot and horseback, with friends old and new, can do for the soul. Meanwhile, tired dogs curled up and slept in the way that only hard-working, contented bird dogs can – satiated, and I like to think, already dreaming of being afield again. By the time the pie arrived, there was more right with the world than seemed possible.
Though the hunting may be behind, the trip isn’t over till it’s over, and all these other details are still relevant – almost as important as watching a covey of Huns explode. Almost.
One thought on “Hard to Argue With”
I call this ‘ambiance’. Reninds me of the hamburger joint/bar in Two Dot, Montana.