I like to be the one in control around the home place. You fellers know what I am getting at, the one who wears the pants. I prefer to be right when I make a statement, to know the answer to questions, select the best bulls, drive better than anyone else and never say anything ugly about my fellow man. I said I liked to be, I didn’t say I could pull it off.

We had an old cow that I sure enough hated to haul to town. She was in pretty good shape but I could tell it was gonna be hard on her, and me too, to keep her going to calve again this fall. Rather than watching old Rose - that was what I always called her - go plumb to skin and bone, maybe lose the calf and all the misery that would incur, I decided to sell her. I called her into the trailer out in the pasture with a sack of cake and she seemed pretty happy to take a ride. Maybe she thought she was going to the fair!

To make this long and sad story short, I visited awhile and hung around outside so I didn’t have to see Rose sell. I know the boys punch them around pretty hard and I didn’t think I needed to witness that sort of punishment to Rose. I talked to fence leaners and dirt kickers until I was pretty sure my check was ready to be picked up.

You know that today’s market scares us old cattlemen half to death. I am happy to put money in my pocket, but understand it? I just can’t. I got my check - now pay attention - I folded it and stuck it in my hip pocket. The left hip pocket is where I put the check. I patted it down and I know it was there. The whole wad of paper that comes with your check is not small, but it folded up nicely and I stuck it all in my hip pocket. I wish someone had been watching.

I went back to the headquarters, unhooked the trailer, got the post hole digger, put on my gloves and fixed the fence out in the catch pen. The posts do rot off after so many years, and I had a new one in the ground in about an hour and went to the house.

I washed up, took time for a cup of coffee, watched the news and went on back out to start evening chores. I was thinking about feeding hogs when I was a boy and wondering what a fat hog would bring now days when I remembered the check in my pocket. Only problem was, the check was not in my pocket. I finished feeding the sick pen and Snip and headed to the truck. We all have had things slip out of our pockets while driving down the road. It wasn’t there.

I beat it to the house, fished around under the cushions of places I know I didn’t sit, turned the recliner I claim upside down and still found nothing. By this time, my close relative was watching and wondering. I sure didn’t tell her what was going on, just kept on searching.

It is my opinion, and everyone has one, if your home is your palace, shouldn’t a man be the king? If the man is the king, is it a crime to make him worry and stew? I believe it is a major crime, deserving of punishment. Laughing at the ordeal is even worse, should cause additional days on the bread and water diet.

Seems my close relative saw the paper flying around in the driveway, rescued it and knew all the time what I was searching for! Dang it, once again I am not perfect!

Bill is a pen name used by the Gravette author of this weekly column.

Opinion, Pages 6 on 03/13/2013