Imagine That

I'm sitting in the front seat of Otto, watching the clouds consume most of the mountains in front of me at Cache Creek, BC. And I'm sipping delicious hot coffee.

It rained all night long, giving the pastures a welcome drink and turning the rutted roads quite muddy.

It's OK. We're not going anywhere. I've got my coffee and we're camped at the Historic Hat Creek ranch, where yesterday I met Fergus, a 60-something grandfather (I met his granddaughter, Shelby too), who drives the tourist attraction's stagecoach.

Now, Fergus is a small man. I'd say he's a wisp. So when I see him this morning, I chuckle a little because he's nearly swallowed up by his 10-gallon hat, chaps and the ankle-length suede coat he wears as part of his stagecoach persona.

And he, like me, is sipping his coffee, but he's outside, walking down the muddy, rutted farm lane to where the Belgians graze.

I grab my binoculars because I'm curious how he beckons these massive beasts to come to work. Will he whistle for them, holler out? Does he hold up their harnesses and rattle them for attention?

So I watch. As he walks. And sips his morning coffee.

Then what do I see?

I see this pint-sized cowboy pitch his paper coffee cup into the woods.