Only Dewey could do it. Our local disaster zone, Dewey, is one of the kindest hearted guys you ever met, but Ã¯Â¿Â½ well, things happen when Dewey's around.
No one can forget how Dewey managed to get his dad's pickup truck stuck in the only mud hole in the county during a three-year drought, and tongues are still wagging about him turning over the grease truck on the interstate. He's finally settled into being what he calls an "entre-manure," hauling truckloads of cow manure from the feedlot and dairy into town and selling it for garden fertilizer. So recently we headed in to the Mule Barn truck stop for the morning coffee and philosophy encounter only to find our resident cowboy, Steve, moaning and holding his head in his hands.
"Dewey," he moaned. Sometimes there's a complete novel in the pronunciation of a single name.
Turns out Bob Milford out at the Diamond W put out the word locally that he could use some help with the gather and branding. Steve and Dud both went to help, but so did Dewey. Bob didn't know what to do with Dewey, but finally put him on a gentle horse. After all, it's been two years since Dewey helped Bob with the branding and managed to vaccinate Dud for blackleg.
"We were doing all right and working along this ridge," says Steve, "when here comes ol' Dewey just a foggin' it and he tells us we have to help him because he has a cow up a tree."
Oh yeah. This is gonna be good.
"Seems Dewey chased this old black baldy cow right off this big rock outcropping and she landed in the forks of a tree below. He was almost hysterical. So we looked at this and Bob told Dud to go back to the truck and get the chainsaw.
"And you should've heard Dewey begging us not to cut up the cow because it was all his fault." Steve grinned and shook his head. "We just let him go on like that until we cut the tree down."
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