Hi Friends. Pancho the ranch dog again. Ever had an ear worm? Well I heard this song on the ranch truck radio, "Mama don't your kids grow up to be cowboys," twang, twang, twang. Now I have an earworm.
Last week I broke my promise to self never to ride to town again, you know, after the I-thought-they-said-teutering and they-really-said-neutering-fiasco. Anyway, I hitched a ride on the ranch truck to the feed store with the foreman. They had a guy there, who I do not care for at all, who said "That don't look like any ranch dog I have ever seen. Tell you what, I got some worm medicine that may help, but it is probably too late for the face and tail. Looks like that affliction has set permanent."
Anyway, back to the earworm. Lyrics should say "Mamas don't let your pug pups grow up to be ranch dogs," yao, yao, yao.
No ma'am, they need to get a good job as a therapy dog. Sure they'll have to wear stupid frilly stuff and go to a spa, but the pay, hours and work conditions are much better than ranch doggin. Best if they become a therapy dog to a large person. If they get a skinny woman, the food dish will get littered with celery sticks, carrots sticks and other stuff dogs call kitchen trash. No sir, life is much better with someone who likes gravy, kolaches (if from Texas) and the occasional cheeseburger.
Your Pal, Pancho.