We've lived in Eastern Washington for 7 years now. Most of the time, I think I've settled into the lifestyle here and go with the flow. Seriously. I don't even pause when I see a minivan with camo side panels (do families go hide in a duck blind with their minivans?). Testicles hanging off of trucks don't faze me. Baby clothes in blue and pink camoflauge patterns are de riguer. Going to the local mall gives you a cross section of kids ranging from gang bangers to cowboys and everything in between. Heck, we're even members of the local indoor shooting range. (Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, I am a terrible shot.) Needless to say, I feel like we have settled into a rhythm here in our adopted home.
Every once in a while, however, I am reduced to being a gaping child at some new-to-me sight. Seriously. I get all wide-eyed and pull out the camera, as if I need to be able to prove that I'm not just telling a tall tale. So, look at what I saw at our local gas station one morning:
Here, have a closer look:
Yep, that is a cow in the bed of a pick-up truck. (Oh, did I mention that here pick-up trucks are for work, not show, and they're referred to as rigs?) So, some rancher/farmer had a cow in the back of his rig at the gas station. I've never seen that before.
Of course, after I saw that, I wondered if the cow was off to the slaughterhouse because that is the other part of living here. Cows aren't just scenery. They're food. I guess if my name is on the list for 1/8 of a cow, I have to own that. Those beautiful cows grazing on grass in the pasture are destined for the dinner table...that is why they are being raised. Meat doesn't come on a foam platter wrapped in cellophane. Meat comes from animals.
Still, I sure hope I'm not getting part of that cow. We bonded over the gas pumps.