Stay Away from the Desert Tray

Preg-checking season used to be my favorite because herd work at a family ranch usually meant a noon time feast dwarfing Thanksgiving.  In my early years, I would devour a heaping, three-helping meal before attacking the desert counter.  After lunch, I felt like a Shetland pony who had stuffed himself on grass clippings and was pacing, looking for a comfortable

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