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o’ weird habits.” He dug into the fridge again for another beer. “Now, this being your first Sunday, I’ve taken the liberty of doing the laundry shit myself. Next week, that’s all you. And I’ll have to test out your cookin’ tonight, just to make sure it’s up to snuff before I get started in the mornin’. Besides that , tonight you’re free to do whatever. Work starts tomorrow.”
     
    “What do you want for dinner?” I asked politely, picking away in the fridge. It seemed pretty well-stocked, with plenty of the essentials: eggs, condiments, sausages, roast beef, vegetables, milk…and that overlooked the pantry.
     
    “Oh, surprise me,” he chuckled with a wave of his wrist. “I’m takin’ a load off in front of that there TV. Have somethin’ in three hours, would you kindly.”
     
    *              *              *              *
     
    Dinner wound up being grilled barbecue-smothered chicken with garlic mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts, and stewed green beans. He wolfed down the food quickly before fetching himself seconds.
     
    “What do you think?” I asked politely, reaching for the can of beer that he’d set by my plate. “Hold up to expectations?”
     
    “You know, you’re makin’ me wonder why this is the first time we’ve thought of this here arrangement.” He sat down with the plate and set about wrecking the food again. “Sure as Hell beats my signature fried grits and toast.”
     
    “If I were you, I wouldn’t want my signature anywhere near that.”
     
    We shared a laugh, and caught up on each other’s lives. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have much news to report since Grandpa had passed away last year. There had always been a few extra ranch-hands around, and I was surprised to see that Uncle Jack seemed to be taking care of everything by his lonesome.
     
    “Oh, I have a few…friends,” he mentioned after a sip of beer when I brought it up later that night. We were absent-mindedly watching Formula 1 racing on television. “They pass on through sometimes and lend a hand. In fact, you’re gonna meet ‘em soon.”
     
    “Oh yeah?” I asked, intrigued. I hadn’t been aware that anyone else was going to be around while I was here.
     
    “Yeah, probably should’ve mentioned them before…pack of boys, those lot. Ranch hands that help out from time to time. Young fellers, real tough. Only lot I’d trust to help care for this place. Known ‘em for a while.”
     
    I thought about this as I drank more of my beer. Part of the whole reason I’d come up here was to get away from boys, but it sounded like these weren’t my typical fare. I wondered what they were like, how tough they really were.
     
    This trip was about to get a whole lot more interesting…
     
    *              *              *              *
     
    Bright and early that morning, I was up and fixing breakfast for Uncle Jack and myself. He quickly scarfed down a plate of scrambled eggs, seasoned sausage cutlets, and French toast before taking me outside to teach me how he expected the chores done.
     
    Milking the cows was less squeamish than I had imagined, but it was still tedious work. I listened to the milk striking the metallic pail in bursts, and it reminded me of the way the rain would hit the metal roofing above the lunch tables at my elementary school. When done, I settled the cows back in under his watchful eye, and he helped me lug the buckets back indoors to be chilled and prepared later.
     
    Next, he showed me how to clean the stables. It was messier work, and I was always rubbing my brow with the back of my forearm, but the animals sure appreciated it.
     
    “Now, when the boys come in, they’re probably gonna take care of the more laborious side of things…you’ll probably only have to do this one other time before they show. But it still needs to be done, and I’m goin’ to be too busy tending to the cattle