Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell’s life.

Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.

I woke up Monday morning right at eight o’clock daylight.  I stoked the fire then stepped outside to face the winter’s bite.

I was hankering for some bacon.  Thought I’d drive to Merkle’s store.  I cranked up my old truck and turned the heater to full bore.

It didn’t make a lick of sense to sit cold in the seat.  So, I left the truck a running, went inside to soak up heat.

My easy chair was beckoning, “Just sit here for a spell.”    Then I drifted off to sleep.  I should have set a wake-up bell.

I woke up feeling cold.  My toasty fire had plumb burned out.  And why was I still sleeping?    Caused my mind to think about.

I listened to a noise outside, my neighbor’s water pump.  They always leave it running.  Like to haul it to the dump!

I drifted off to sleep again for two more hours or so.  Then I woke up thinking, “Sure be nice to hear a rooster crow.”

My brain was so dang fuzzy.  Guess I needed extra sleep.  But the clock showed one p.m. I’d never slept so doggone deep.

And that danged old noise was there again, my neighbor’s noisy gear.  I wanted so to snag it and drag it to next year.  

So, I thought I’d drive on over.  Maybe read the riot act.  Or trash the pump with my sweet Massey driving full impact.

When I stepped out to the carport, saw my truck idling away.  I’d warmed it five whole hours.  I was speechless, so to say.

At times like this you wonder.  Has your mind begun to slip?  I really shouldn’t wonder.  Guess I should have got a grip.

So, I drove on down to Merkle’s feeling just a bit forelorn.   But I must admit my worn, old truck was cozy, nice and warm.

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