You Da Ho? No. I Da Ho...

Greetings from the gem state. It's the autumn tot-tour, 2005.

That's right, the traveling circus carnival show that I call my life, is on the road once more. With the raw-hyde slayer left safely behind in the watchful care of our buddy, Ann; the missus, the howler monkey and I ventured out onto the open road looking for adventure, or whatever comes our way.

Unfortunately, the first thing that came our way were some angry cows. Now, the first thing you think of when I say, "angry" is not necessarily "cows." Nevertheless, there they were.

Having driven through the night to maximize the cover of the monkey's sleep schedule, I pulled off of I-84, into the sleepy rural paradise of Baker City, Oregon. Strangely, and unexpectedly, roadside motels in Eastern Oregon seem to close at 10:00. I'm not sure how that is possible, but there was more than one locked lobby door with a very politely handwritten sign thanking you (me) for stopping by, and inviting you (us) to stop by again in the future, but also delicately suggesting that you (we) bugger off because they were closed. Crapass bastards!

We eventually found, in the less-than-genteel district of this not-quite-civilized slightly-glorified truck stop, a perfectly adequate Super 8 motel, which unlike a certain other well-known chain, actually DID leave the lights on... A truckload of possibly-gay cowboys (seems to be the rage these days) got out in front of us. It was nearly 1:00 a.m., and the rodeo queens seemed to be having the same problem as us. The road gods be praised, however, Janice the mustachioed desk maiden had room for all of us.

It was on the walk back to the very-comfortable new car, that I first heard them. Cows. Very angry cows. There is no mistaking the sound. While a happy cow may sound something like "mmmoooouuuu..." An angry cow simply says, "Moo!" Usually, there is some stomping and snorting to along with it, both of which there was plenty of in this instance.

There seemed to be a small herd held in a nearby trailer. I cannot speculate about the cause of the disturbance. Perhaps it was a chupacabra. Maybe it was one of the wayward ass-slapping ranch hands. I just don't know. What I do know is that their protest persisted well into the night.

The following morning found us on course for Boise, where we lunched with our fabulous friend Mary, played disc golf in a swamp, visited with the monkey's aunt and uncle, and watched Belle the wonder dog jump into trees in search of squirrels. So, stay tuned, more about Boise, naked cheerleaders, and Ernest Hemmingway coming soon...