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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required SAGEBRUSH RANCH holding his small hand, jumping up and down, in the silver box — a playground with mirrors and three buttons. people that look like us are all around. when the box is full they disappear. the ding-ding sounds and doors part ways, as we exit into the gallery, where only grandma takes note of the paintings that blur as we hurry to the Sagebrush Ranch. the stagecoach rocks, horses hooves sound a steady beat, as we watch the scenery (on a little screen) the buckaroo protects his grandma, with fingers cocked, ready for an impending shootout. the checkerboard sings as we press buttons — the crooning of a cowboy in our ears. we “sit a while” in the wicker rockers. there’s a room in the ranch with a rope-style bed, and a treasure chest of play clothes. the four-year old grins, as he digs, putting on boots way too big and a black and white faux-cowhide vest. i help this towhead into the saddle of a life size horse, teaching him the little that grandma knows — “giddyup” as he stirs the rein and “whoa” as he leans back on his critter. the boots oft slip, and he orders “the princess” to pull them on again. assisted with a dismount, he runs to the chuck wagon to beg a carrot from the nearby cook, pats down the horse and urges him to eat after the long and dusty desert ride. the excitement as he gallops to each station, enterprising in each task, never letting “the princess” relax. he climbs the ladder into the loft, and makes her ascend. they watch cowboy t.v. at the end, they ride the stellar box, up and down then to the cowboy store, where his cherub cheeks blush and his eyes twinkle, with a dollar in his hand. he pays for a lollipop in the shape of a cowboy boot. this cowpoke falls asleep, as the modern carriage rocks him and grandma smiles as she wields the reins. 2/27/2019
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