A few days ago Mel and I had our first big  fight in over ten years of marriage. In order to be fair in the telling of this sad tale I must first give you a bit of background so that you might better understand the events that unfolded, and how we found ourselves at such violent odds.

Wednesday was our day to get hay for our horse herd. We buy two large round bales at a time and we haul them to the ranch in the back of our truck. The bales weigh between six and seven hundred pounds each and it  takes two trips to complete the operation and usually goes off without a hitch….usually.

Now under ideal circumstances, when the pastures are dry, it is a simple matter of hauling the large bales into the pasture, lowering the tailgate of the truck, and  backing up real fast and come to a sudden stop. The bale will roll right out with gravity and inertia doing all the work. Unfortunately, the conditions, Wednesday were far from ideal.

Rain had been falling off and on for at least a week and both our pastures were solid mud. There was no way we were going to be driving into either pasture. We are use to this sort of thing and even have a procedure in place to use in case of bad weather. If we can’t drive into the pastures, we merely back up to the gate of each pasture, lower the tailgate, then we take out this large rope with a hook attached to one end. We secure the hook on the far side of the bale and run the rope over the top. I then pull as hard as I can and the bale rolls out of the truck bed and through the gate to land inside the pasture.

This is much harder work, but since we don’t have a tractor, it has to be done.The first bale of that day was delivered and placed in the pasture with our stallion, one mare and our goats, without a hitch. Trouble however overtook us when we came home with the second bale. 

Mel backed up to the gate as usual and I placed the hook in the hay bale and started hauling back on the rope. The bale was extra heavy and it took all my strength to get it started rolling. Slowly it came forward and finally dropped off the end of the truck, just barely clearing the gate and into the mare’s pasture.

The thing landed very close to the back wall of the barn and its position was such that the mares could not get on all sides of the bale to feed. It was apparent to both of us that we needed to roll the bale further into the pasture and away from the barn.

And there, my friends, came the rub. The ground was so sodden that my shoes were sunk into the mud past my ankles making moving the bale improbable, but I was going to give it a try.

So, I had Mel reattach the hook into the bale and told her to push on the back of the bale while I pulled on the rope.Three times we tried….pushing and pulling with all our might, but that dang bale was well and truly stuck in the mud.

We were both exhausted, but I insisted on giving it one more try.  For a fourth time I hauled back on the rope and Mel pushed as hard as she could…..it didn’t move.

We stopped and got our breath then I told her again….”One more time.” 

 Obviously I am not the only member of this family that has hearing problems because instead of pushing on the bale while I pulled with all my strength on the rope, Mel reached up and unhooked the hook from the bale and started walking away.

You can imagine what happened to me….the guy pulling on the rope that was attached to nothing…SPLAT! I landed on my back in about six inches of mud. Did I mention it was just above forty degrees at the time?

I let out a primal scream as the cold water and mud leeched through my pants and onto my nether regions.

Mel poked her head around the hay bale as I began to scramble up to my knees in the mud.

“What are you doing playing in the mud?” She asked curiously. “I swear, sometimes you’re worse than a kid.”

“I’m not playing,” I yelled. “I’m in the mud because YOU took the freaking HOOK out of the BALE!”

“Well I took the hook out because you said we would try ONE more time.” She retorted. “Is it my fault you can’t count”?

“Oh that does it, hussy,” I yelled at her. “You are going DOWN”!  It was with great effort that I scrambled to my feet and launched myself at her.

 Her eyes grew wide as she realized what I was about to do and she tried to run, but it was useless….I was on her in a flash and threw her into the mud. I give her one thing though, she’s a fighter and she grabbed my jacket on her way down. As a result I landed next to her….back in the cold mud.

From there, the battle quickly degenerated into a mudslinging contest as we both lobed handfuls of the nasty stuff at each other’s head.I’m not sure how long this went on but somewhere in the middle of this all out brawl in the mud we both started laughing. 

Pretty soon we were both hysterical with laughter and couldn’t even aim our mud missiles worth a damn.

Our fight was interrupted when a passerby, out on the road, stopped to check on us. Seems they had never seen a couple of old folks engage in a mud fight….go figure.

I weakly assured the panicked fellow that all was well and we were just debating the use of mud as a therapeutic tool for old foggies. The guy got back in his car, shaking his head, and muttering about crazy old people.

 And so ended the very first fight Mel and I have had in over ten years of marriage. I am proud to report that I won the fight though. Well, in truth, while we were in the mud it was pretty much a draw, but when we finally got up and trudged into the house there was the matter of getting cleaned up…..in the shower......together.  YEAH, BABY, I CAME OUT THE WINNER AFTERALL!

Just another day on the farm at Almosta Ranch. Ya’ll come see us, hear!