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Yesterday morning, after a long breakfast (cooked by my amazing husband) and few more wondrous stories from Patrick, which included the time he shot a would-be thief in the leg with a black powder 44 caliber revolver, he packed up his tent, washed a few bowls, and saddled up his horse.
He then put a safety leash on Buford and hoisted him up to his shoulders where he snuggled in for the long ride.
Yes, that’s a pug you see sitting on his shoulders.
He gave us his phone number, said thank you, and headed west.
Later that day, after I returned from picking up the kids from school, my heart sank a little bit when I didn’t see his tent in the yard. In less than twenty-four hours, I had become accustomed to seeing a horse in my back yard. I don’t think things will ever be quite the same.