He runs his massive-toothed monster, gouging holes in the backyards
of his neighbors, putting in their pipes and even the occasional
swimming pool, and does it with the grace of a surgeon.
McFarland's place the other day, he was there to install Bud's new
septic tank. This was to be a massive septic tank, Bud said, "big
enough so if I want to put in a hotel, I don't have to worry."
It was a balmy day in March, past coffee time, and the backhoe
master was at work. Bud was standing there watching Jim work his
digging magic in the backyard, along with half a dozen others,
including us. Now and then Jim would just do something to show off
his skill. At one point, when his backhoe cut through a buried tree
root, there was about a footlong section of root lying alone at the
bottom of the hole.
"Hey," Bud yelled at Jim, good-naturedly, "firewood!"
Jim grinned and reached his long steel arm down into the hole,
gently picking up just the one piece of wood, lifting it out of the
hole and delivering it to Bud's outstretched hand as though it were
the crown jewels.
[to top of second
As we watched, Jim lifted the massive concrete vault of the
septic tank and placed it gently in the hole. Then his helper hooked
a chain to the septic tank lid and Jim lifted this into the air and
swung it over the hole. But instead of lowering it, Jim stopped the
machine in mid-stride and hollered at the new septic tank owner.
"Hey, Bud!" he yelled, "Got any bodies you want to hide?"
The perfect place for a murder victim. Agatha Christie didn't
even come up with that one.
You have to admire professionalism wherever you may find it.
[Text from file received from
Read "Saddle Up: A Cowboy Guide to Writing,"
by Slim Randles. Just released. Contact
www.nmsantos.com for signed