Cousin Fred, Burned-out Hippies, and a Barking Goat...must be Tuesday!

Good morning everybody! I’m up and trying to get moving. Still having issues in my back. Just takes me a little longer to get going in the morning. After about 45 minutes of taking little tiny steps and moving around all hunched over, things finally start to loosen up.
 
Cousin Fred offered to throw a rope over a tree branch and suspend me upside down for a bit. He said I just need to things stretch for a time. He calls it Western Arkansas Chiropractic. No matter how bad it gets, I’m not letting that maniac near me with rope or anything else.
 
This morning finds us in the Coyote Motel in Limon, Colorado. For this I’m grateful…particularly after our adventure yesterday just north of Lamar (more on that in a second). This place offers a fine (read as free) continental breakfast (with one of those waffle making machines), Wi-Fi, and it is pet friendly. Somehow, Cousin Fred has taught Lassie the Goat to make a barking sound. We were able to pass ol’ Lassie off as a shaggy dog (with horns) that craps little round crap…a lot. Oh, and there’s a Pizza Hut right next door. This is civilized living I’m tellin’ ya…well, at least in terms of southeast Colorado, it’s pretty civilized.
 
The goat is sleeping next to Cousin Fred on his bed. Lassie seems content enough…it has to beat being a Hefner Canal goat, I bet. Only problem for me is that the two of them snore, but not in unison. So it’s a constant drone. Funds are tight, but I think tonight I’ll opt for my own room. I need sleep.
 
Yesterday around noon, we rolled through Lamar and then headed to a remote ranch north of the city. Cousin Fred said he thought he knew where we might be able to find some talent for our raw video reality show pilot that we’re up here to shoot.
 
I pointed out to Cousin Fred that we’re a long way from the Rocky Mountains, but he insisted we at least talk to the people on the ranch. I went along…why, why, why do I listen to him?!
 
The ranch had a big sign over the entrance that read “Tierra del Perro Pagan.” From the entrance, we drove for nearly a mile before dropping down into a small valley where there was an assortment of shacks, tents, and lean-tos with a big open area in the middle.
 
The residents were without a doubt the largest assemblage of hippies I’d ever seen this side of Taos. There were multiple generations of them. All of them were wearing animal skin robes.
 
The only evidence of modernity were the Savage (brand) rifles and shotguns they all seemed to carry. I was just beginning to think we could shoot an entire season of reality shows right here. This must surely be some sort of lost atavistic tribe of humanity. Perhaps some weird derailment in the evolution of humans that caused this band of DNA misfits to plant roots on this spot.
 
Or…maybe they’re just a bunch of burned-out freaks with no place left to roam.
 
Turns out it’s the latter.
 
Among the pack was a junk bond salesman from the 90’s. There was even the guy who negotiated the sale of Harley-Davidson to AMF in the 70’s…there’s still a price on his head by the Hell’s Angels.
 
Cousin Fred and I were invited to come sit in the open area at the center. Soon an iron pot containing bean curd was being passed around the circle…each of us using two-fingers to dip some out to eat.
 
I noticed that several of the herd were eyeing Lassie. Not sure whether they were thinking goat sacrifice or BBQ goat in a pit. I think Lassie noticed too, she began to bark like a dog.
 
Cousin Fred was engaging some of them in a conversation about whether they would be interested in appearing in our pilot. Most weren’t interested, mostly because most of them had outstanding federal warrants, some dating back to the 60’s.
 
As that was going on, I snagged a piece of flatbread that was going around on a plate and made my way back over to Brutus, where Lassie remained on the backseat.
 
I pretended to be feeding the goat (actually didn’t pretend, the friggin’ animal snatched the flatbread out of my hand) as my other hand eased over to the driver’s side door handle. I jumped into Brutus and fired it up.
 
I began doing donuts in the open area raising a huge cloud of dust. Lassie was thrown to one side of the backseat by the force of my reckless driving and commenced barking fiercely.
 
In the middle of it all, out from the cloud of dust came Cousin Fred who jumped into the passenger seat and away we went! I heard the sounds of bullets whizzing over our heads as I drove like a fiend to get back to the highway and on to Limon.
 
Damned hippies.