The ol’ cook] had a bucket of snow water coming to a boil. He emptied half a pound of coffee into it, and began yelling, ‘Coffee-time, you mountain bums! Boots and saddles! The herd’s broke over the big mountain!’”
–Richard P. Hobson, Jr. (Nothing Too Good for a Cowboy)
Git yur coffee, Pard, drink it down, but I’m feared we can do little to stop the stampede! The senseless stupidity of ignorant, foolish men have started to run and I’m not sure there are enough of the stalwart ones to stem the tide.
Sorry, Pard, don’t mean to be alarmin’ yuh on a Saturday mornin’. I know this is a time for relaxin’, doin’ some talkin’ and enjoyin’ good coffee. I jist got riled this mornin’. I started singin’, “Silver Bells,” and realized that most likely those days are over. “City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style…” ha, fear has taken over. Where is the feelin’ of Christmas? Why the bureaucrats are tellin’ yuh to stay home, away from friends and family this Christmas. Looks as if Scrooge has won.
Better drink up, that cup needs to ease the bile in my gizzard. That’s it, calmed down, I’m not goin’ to let some ruin my love of Christmas, the season, and all that it means. Why, this is the Lord’s birthday! They want me to stop seein’ my family and celebratin’ His birthday?
Yuh know, what I think? Well, I’m a-goin’ to tell yuh. One of the saddest things is that those that die from this devilish virus die alone. Now think of that–family at home, beside the Christmas tree, unwrappin’ presents, and the ol’ sick person is lyin’ in bed, in some forlorn hospital–alone. I sure hope those hospital “Sky-Pilots” are there with them. Good time to snatch them from the flames if’n they don’t know the Lord.
Let’s finish up this pot, then yuh can join me, “Ringa ling, hear them sing, Soon it will be Christmas Day…” Yeehaw, Pard, let the stampede continue. We’ll enjoy Christmas! Say, in all the jinglin’ and ringalingin’ don’t be forgettin’ to check yur cinch. It’s be terrible to fall off in the midst of the stampede.
Vaya con Dios!