Even when you have good intentions, it is possible to make a complete wreck of the situation.
It is normal to cast about for something to blame, i.e., "The horse ducked his head." "I hit a pothole." "I thought it said two pounds!" "She was leaning on me." "The light was bad." "I always do it that way!" As my disasters have accumulated over the years, I have finally realized that sometimes I just mess up. It's the truth, and who can argue with it? Recently, I received a note that a wife of a friend of mine was not long for this world. She had been suffering a prolonged illness and her time was nigh. I had become close to this friend and his brother. With a heavy heart, I wrote a note to the couple thanking them for their inspiration. I offered the consolation they would be together in heaven. I mailed it. A week later I received word that Helen (not her real name) had passed away. "Helen?" I said, "I thought it was Ruth that died!" I was mortified. I called both brothers apologizing profusely for my erroneous, insensitive error. They were gracious, but I don't think I'll be invited to their next family reunion. How can I live with myself, you ask? I look myself in the eye and say, "Cowboy, ya just messed up." James (not his real name) is like that. Sometimes things start out perfectly fine. You mean well, everything's going according to plan and then, WHAM! Like the time he was riding down main street in his beautiful, Colorado high-mountain hometown. The proprietor of a local establishment hollered at James to ride his horse on in. What a great idea! It's not often a cowboy gets that invitation, so he spurred his pony up the steps through the door and up to the bar. The tourists loved it! They took pictures and bought James and his horse a beer or three. He departed with a wave and galloped out into the street. It struck him that it was such a good idea, he should just do it again. So he did. Next door. But his reception at the North Park Fidelity Bank was not nearly as warm. He was summarily arrested and jailed on a DUI, making a deposit under the influence. Another day he was pushing a big ornery bull down the trail from Pole Mountain. The bull sulled up and got on the fight. James tried whacking him with the tail of his rope. Then to even up the odds, James pulled a pair of pliers from his pliers holster and tied it to the end of his rope to give it more heft. It worked. The bull charged him, tipped over his horse, pinning James underneath. When Blaine rode up on them, the bull was standing on the horse's neck, which was on top of James, who was ferociously whacking the bull on the nose with a set of pliers that didn't weigh much more than a Teflon spatula. "What happened?" asked Blaine after he rescued his pardner. "Oh, nothing," said James, "I just messed up." Baxter Black is a veterinarian and cowboy poet. His column appears weekly and airs each Monday at 6:20 a.m. on KGNC Talk Radio 71. He can be reached at baxterblack.com or (800) 654-2550 | 
