That included me.
I stood there staring, completely unapologetic about it.
Ian shifted his stance, one hand braced against a fence post, chin tipping just enough to tease what was hidden beneath the brim of his hat. A ripple went through the small crowd. If the goal was distraction, it was working flawlessly.
At my feet, Mo was busy sniffing around the hay, far more interested in whatever scent had caught his attention than the human spectacle unfolding nearby.
Then a blur of movement.
A stray cat leapt onto one of the bales of hay, tail flicking, eyes locked on Mo.
Mo froze.
The cat hissed.
Mo lunged.
Hay scattered.
A bale tipped.
Someone yelped.
Another voice shouted, “Whoa?—!”
Mo took off after the cat, who shot across the set like it had planned this all along. Mo followed, enthusiastic and undeterred, knocking into a rope, which tugged loose a fence rail, which sent the metal pail clanging to the ground.
Chaos erupted.
People scrambled. Someone yelled for Mo. Someone else yelled for the cat. Cameras swung wildly. The illusion of the quiet, rugged barn dissolved in seconds.
I shook my head, so much for the brooding cowboy moment.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, here comes the cat sailing over the fence and who’s behind him—Mo. And where were they headed? Straight for the water trough.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Ian straightened, pushing his hat back just enough to look directly at me. Even from across the chaos, I could see the smile tugging at his mouth.
Cries to stop filled the air.
“NO!
“STOP!”
But to no avail.
Naturally, the cat cleared the trough. Unfortunately, Mo didn’t.
It was like a tsunami hit, sending water rushing over almost everything. It was rather spectacular, not that anyone would agree with me.
Ian, knowing Mo well, had wisely stepped aside and avoided getting hit with the water. Others were not so lucky. Less lucky were the foolish ones who remained where they were, since once Mo was out of the trough, he gave himself a good shake and headed over to me.
An angry man yelled. “Get that menace of a dog out of here.”
“Easy there, Jim,” Ian called out. “That’s my dog. Mo, go to Pep.”
Mo obeyed, walking over to me.
Ian pointed at the cat, resting casually on a bale of hay. “I believe that’s your cat, Jim. Isn’t it?”
