Back to the present, Cricket watched dejectedly from the front door. Her truck was out there on a mission and she got left in the house—for her own safety. That look says pure disgust!
Yikes! I remembered the clothes on the line. The southeast breeze might fan the smoke across the yard. I dashed out and grabbed them off the line!
This year, due to my limited mobility from bunion surgery in December, my role as the “amateur photojournalist” was limited—no running all over the pasture like last year. When Bill completed the back burn, I drove his pickup to the south side and waited for him to launch the big event. He calls the main burn “lettin’ her rip”!