Our friends have friends who own a buffalo ranch in Northern Montana, just east of Glacier National Park. The weather wasn’t supposed to be that great and so Sherry was concerned about all of us making the several hour drive for “nothing.” Paul and I knew that we would have a good experience just getting there and that staying at a buffalo ranch would be a thrill, whether or not we made it to Glacier or even if we saw any buffalo. We headed North after church and then stopped in Missoula for supplies. By the time we arrived it was after dark. The drive had been beautiful and the ranch house was wonderful. Sherry and Andy were feeling especially saintly and split up to each host a Girl and Boy Cabin, respectively. Andy’s dad, Tom, Paul and I were all in the main house.
The dog was actually happy, but it looks like he’s being strangled with love. In our house we calling that “George-ing someone” ala Bugs Bunny, “And I will love him and hug him and kiss him and he will be mine and I will call him George.”
I had escaped to the gazebo to do a little work. Jack was at my feet happily chewing the settee. The kids all trooped out with a little refreshment tray they had assembled. Lydia carried out the broiler pan with four cups and a 2 liter of ginger ale.