My Friend, the Pitchfork

My new "favorite" tool has become my pitchfork. I have been pitching tons and tons of hay, because my tractor is still basically disabled. I never thought I would covet a pitchfork. It fell out of the pickup box the other day and I had to backtrack a couple miles to find it before I could go on with my day.
There is a difference in pitchforks. I had been using manure forks to try to pitch hay, and it made the job even more onerous. I finally bit the bullet and spent the $35 for a hay fork. I now guard it with my life.
The handles kept falling off those old manure forks I was using, and even off the new one a friend had given me. I would jamb the handle back down on the tongue of the fork and struggle with it for some time. Then I tried duct tape. That worked for a time, too, but soon the fork was flying off into the hay again with every forkfull.
Mr. Dent had a drill press in his garage, so I took fork and handle over to him one afternoon. I asked him to drill a hole through the handle and into the fork tongue so I could bolt the handle to the fork, which he was happy to do.
When he finished, I exclaimed, "Oh boy, now I have a good pitchfork again!"
Clark shook his head and smiled a wry smile. "I'll bet those words haven't crossed a woman's lips in a hundred years," he said.
Clark always trys to act gruff and grumpy, but he sure has a heart.
Being the country bumpkin that I was when I moved to Cheyenne, I knew outdoor burning was allowed, because we were in the county, but I didn't know there were laws that said you had to call in and inform dispatch when you were going to burn. One Saturday, I had a yard full of neighborhood kids, and was trying to keep them entertained and out of trouble. I had a pile of old, moldy hay out by the shop that needed disposed of, so I decided a bon-fire would be fun for the kids. I stretched a hose out there and set the hay on fire. It wasn't long, and the dad of some of the kids came screeching into my driveway in his mini van. He jumped out and grabbed the hose and started dousing the fire.
I didn't know him from Adam, and was yelling at him not to put my fire out, and he said excitedly, "They're coming. Someone called the fire in and they'll give you a ticket!" The guy had a police scanner, heard the dispatch, and he knew his kids were in my yard.
Right then, I could hear sirens. Most of the kids had bikes and they bailed on them and flew out into the street. Some of them jumped into my stock trailer to hide. These kids were from the wrong side of the tracks, and they knew what policemen meant--someone was going to jail!
There were so many kids on bikes out in the street, the fire trucks had to stop and the Deputy Sheriff's vehicle in front of them slowed down. I went out to meet the nice deputy. When I explained to him that I was new in the neighborhood, he just told me I was supposed to call the emergency center about a controlled burn next time before striking the match. I said, "OK."
The emergency vehicles left and the kids began filtering back into the yard.
"Did you get a ticket?" they asked with eyes wide.
"Nope," I said, "I told them you were all my kids, and they felt sorry for me, so they didn't give me a ticket."
When I told Clark that somebody in the neighborhood had called in my fire, because they didn't like the horses, he guffawed and said, "Why, you're the best thing that's happened around here in years," then he realized he'd just said something very nice, and continued, "well, you know what I mean."
"Well, I know what I heard you say," I replied, "and thanks!"
The day I told Clark I was moving back to the ranch, he said, "You can't move," and then quickly added, "you have a tractor," to save his reputation.