Steve was walking down the sidewalk the other day to get from the barber shop to where he’d parked his pickup. It was a nice kind of day. Chilly, of course, but not bolt-freezing cold.
His mind was on what he had to do that day. In addition to the usual ranch chores, he had to catch up the horses and give their hooves a mid-winter trim. There are only a couple of horses shod at the moment, in case one is needed, and the others will get iron on them before the spring gather.
Steve stopped and turned to see a girl about seven or eight years old coming up behind him.
“Hi there,” said Steve, smiling.
“Mister, I think you dropped this.”
She held out her hand, and there was an old pocket knife. It was old and beaten up and Steve automatically slapped his left-side vest pocket. Gone.
“Thank you so much,” Steve said, taking back the old, worthless pocket knife that had been handed down from his grandfather. He put it back in the vest pocket and buttoned the pocket shut.
“Can I give you anything? A dollar, maybe?”
“No thanks,” she said smiling. “See you later.”
Steve thought, she did this and didn’t even know my name. Well, I don’t know hers, either. But that was really nice of her.
Sometimes love can be just a little thing like handing a knife back to someone who dropped it.
Brought to you by Home Country (the book) available from www.riograndebooks.com.