Whisk broom and window cleaner: A Smelly day on the road
First thing on the list - stop at a hardware store and buy a live trap, a sturdy whisk broom, and window cleaner. 
This day brought me back to when I was a just budding teenager who worried about what everyone thought, especially those of the opposite sex, and I also practically lived on my horse, Ginger.
I needed a pair of cowboy boots. My mom became insistent on that shortly after a local girl, who was a few years older than me, while riding her horse, somehow got her foot caught in a stirrup and was dragged to her death. All of my friend’s mothers and my mom then were adamant that we couldn’t ride unless we had proper cowboy boots.
It was a lean time for our family, so my Uncle John Roberts, gave me a pair of his old cowboy boots. The only problem was the boots were at least three sizes too big. Ever the problem solver, Mom stuffed each boot toe with tissues until my heel was snug at the back. I think she was secretly glad they were big, because they easily would flop off if I wasn’t careful, like a built in release should I ever get my foot caught in a stirrup.
I kind of felt like a cowboy clown with his long floppy shoes, but I knew better than to complain to Mom because her answer would be then just don’t ride Ginger.
All of the 4-H kids knew that either the Christian place or the Savitz house was the rendezvous for anything horses. We practiced drill team at Christian’s arena, and just a quarter of a mile down the dirt road called Stingy Lane, at the Savitz house, we met for horse-shoeing days, vet checkups, and meeting to have Harvey Savitz haul our horses to the fair.
It was early when Mom woke me up that summer morning - still dark outside - I had to ride Ginger about three miles to Savitzes because the horseshoer wanted to get an early start. I got dressed quickly, pulled on my big boots, and ate an obligatory bowl of oatmeal before saddling up Ginger and heading off.
There is nothing like watching the sunrise on horseback. Ginger was a wonderful horse, broad backed so I could easily ride bareback if I chose to. She was a dark sorrel with a white blaze on her face. She and I were best friends, so it was easy to keep a running conversation with her as she walked down the road with me continuing my non-stop chatter with her. She understood me and knew all of my deepest secrets and worries. On that day I was telling her how much I hated my hand-me-down boots that were so embarrassing and why couldn’t I have new boots like most of my friends.
The trip passed quickly and I galloped down Stingy Lane, a trail of dust billowing up behind me. When I pulled on the reins at the driveway of Savitzes place, I saw that two other 4-Hers got there before me. The horseshoer was already working on one of the numerous horses that belonged to the Savitz kids, and with those plus two more horses ahead of Ginger, it seemed like it would be an unbearable wait as the sun and heat rose steadily.
I unsaddled Ginger and tied her up by the barn in the shade, and walked up to Louise’s garden oasis. I couldn’t wait to kick off my boots and sink my toes into the cool moist grass. Ron Christian was already sitting on the grass and watched me throw off my boots, one by one, by kicking out hard with each foot. Ron sat up quickly when I kicked off my left boot and said, "Are you alright?"
I said, "Yes, why?"
He pointed to my sock, which was dripping with blood. I immediately panicked, sat down on the grass, and peeled off my socks, expecting a ripped off toenail or something worse. My foot was bloody, but not from any wound. Ron walked over to the boots thrown across the lawn and looked inside of my left boot.
"Oh, yuk!" he exclaimed as he dumped the big boot over. (Now this is the gross part if you want to skip this paragraph.) Laying on the lawn was a squished bloody mouse, long dead. I almost gagged and to this day, I still get reminded at every class reunion by Ron about my mid- morning catastrophe at the Savitz place.
This the reason I still have a bit of a phobia some forty-seven years later. I regularly turn each of my shoes and boots over in the morning and shake them before putting them on.
The second thing on my list was a whisk broom. This morning we spent about an hour cleaning house (RV) and everything smelled clean and looked spotless. We both agreed we needed a stiff whisk room to brush off the steps where the dogs bring in in the occasional pine needle or piece of dirt when they jump up the steps of the RV.
I won the game of cards but it was a mutual decision to take the scenic route south from Custer State Park to Wind Cave National Park and on to Nebraska.
A lady with a name tag Charlene was a perfect help at the local ACE hardware store. I read her my list and followed her as she limped from aisle to aisle to help me find my items. I asked"Is it your hip?"
She crisply replied, "Yes and my knee and my back. I hardly notice the limp anymore but everyone else seems to."
I felt bad for asking, and said "Good for you for keeping on keeping on." She asked me where I was from as we slowly wandered around the store. She knew exactly where each item was and seemed pleased as I was that she found everything on the list. I shared that we needed more window cleaner because the dogs stand on the wide dash of the RV and rub their noses making hieroglyphics across the windows. I explained that cleaning the windows was the last thing we needed to do to have our RV perfectly clean.
I asked her as I was checking out if there was a place close by where we could let the dogs off the leash to run around a bit, as they had been cooped up for most of the morning. She suggested Chadron State Park.
When I got back into the RV, kind of on the run, (Gary had to circle the large block a few times because there wasn’t much parking and the place he was parked left the backend of the pickup hanging out just a little ways into the street, and an older man who Gary described as a crotchety old fart shook his fist at Gary, so Gary felt obliged to move) we then headed to Chadron Park a few miles out of town.
When we pulled into the park, it was a dog’s dream - lots of trees and grass with a bucolic little stream meandering through. I opened the door to let the dogs out, without their leashes, and grabbed the whisk broom so Gary had to wait for me to finish tidying up the steps before going out. When he stepped out of the RV and turned towards the stream, I heard him say, "Oh Shit!" Gary doesn’t cuss very often so I knew something was bad.
The dogs had already plunged into the creek, and instead of a pebbled bottom, they sunk to their bellies in deep, stinky sticky black mud. You know that swampy smell of muddy places where cattails and skunk cabbage grow? It was that kind of stink I could smell several feet away. Because they weren’t wearing their leashes, and Gary’s outburst scared Paige our Sheltie, she came running back to the RV, and before I could catch her, jumped up my freshly cleaned steps, across the just vacuumed rug, and onto the couch where she normally lays. The smell immediately took over the interior of the RV and I was close to tears as I looked at the muddy tracks and our sad little Paige, who looked at me like she was in trouble. Maui wasn’t any better, but Gary caught her before she jumped into the RV. We have an old green towel we keep by the steps to wipe the dogs’ feet before they get into the coach. One pass on Maui’s underbelly turned the once green towel to ugly black. Gary tried as best he could to clean Maui off and I did the same with Paige. As I write this, several hours later, the RV still has that pungent swampy smell.
I lost my enthusiasm to wash the windshield - it is now the least of my worries when I look over at the floor, the couch, and the dogs.
I kind of wonder if Charlene knew what the creekbed is like, and got her laugh for the day thinking about me and our soggy dogs in our once perfectly clean RV. Yes life in Nebraska can be kind of exciting, despite the long straight roads with cows and cornfields.
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