Last weekend, Buckshot was initiated into the Mississippi River. Our trip up the river was the equivalent of a wild bronc ride. My visor flew off. I expected it to float. It didn't.
We pulled up to the sandbar where friends and family gather. Probably more so than in church. (I only mention that because it was Sunday.) The older the ladies, the more their bathing suits covered. I kept my jeans and long-sleeved denim shirt on. As fair as I am, I knew I'd pay for it Mon. I am. My forehead and the tops of my feet are on fire. Plus, I grew up with no more water to play in than the bathtub. I'm easing into this "Big Water" life.
Barges were busy moving up and down the River. The lapping of the wake startled Buckshot. He backed to higher ground. Before the afternoon was over, he waded to the boat and jumped in.
He had great fun digging in the sand. Whatever "soft" items he found, he ate, along with a little extra sand for his gizzard. Monday he pooped a sandcastle.
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