The Power to Control the Universe

It is Bitsy’s opinion, when she sits on top of the hay on top of the pickup — and nothing can convince her otherwise — that she has the power to control the whole universe.


We jumped into the pickup this morning, Bitsy whining her delight, and drove a mile or so down the road, across the cattle guard and slowly through a little herd of multicolored Texas cattle. Visualizing (well I was visualizing, Bitsy was probably thinking about running and chasing) the amazing biology of the pigment cell. Red cows, beige cows, brindle cows, black, and an outstanding grey individual I could not imagine the genotype.

But the rancher said, while he tossed the square bales of coastal into the back of Bitsy’s pickup and I was already wondering about next year, he said that it might not rain at all this year.

If not, there won’t be any hay.  He’ll have to send his cattle to market, and we will have a problem filling up the pickup.  There will be nothing for Bitsy to control.

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