Steer Clear
Shortly after our first cactus sighting, a truck full of steer skulls passed us. We had to have one. We revved up the little VW engine that could, and caught up with the truck bed of bones. “Could you pull over? We want one!”
The man smiled and obliged with a right blinker, parked in the shoulder and put on his hazards. We jogged over to his truck, careful not to get hit by the 18-wheelers speeding by. Perhaps the skeletal remains in the near vicinity were a good PSA about our own mortality.
We were staring at the mound of cow and bull skulls, and scratching our own noggins. How does one pick out the best looking dead cow? What are the criteria?
“That one looks like it had a lot of personality.”
“That other one has a healthy set of horns.”
“Are they horns or antlers?”
“I dunno. Oooh, let’s get that one!”
We have a new passenger in our car now. Looking in the rear view mirror, I can’t help but chuckle. I keep waiting to get scolded, “Eat Mor Chik’n.”
At night the eyes glow from the headlights behind us. It’s a lonely ride from El Paso to Las Vegas. Phoenix rose from the desert ashes.
