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Recent Fiction

Excerpt from "I Flirt with Ian Tyson"


-You smell like a saddle.

-Thank you. I appreciate that.

-Ol’ Eon, they call you.

-Some do, yes, some did call me that. Will you accept a slug of Courvoisier in that mug of coffee?

-You are credited—thank you, I will—you are credited with reviving the lost art of cowboy poetry and cowboy songs. The Atlantic Monthly called you the “leading voice of cowboy culture.”

-Well, the men did all that. I’m simply the one pickin’ and singin’ and posin’ for the nice liner notes. I’ll calve the heifers at forty below come spring, but I’m no John Wayne or anything. It’s not the money.

-I appreciate what you did for the men who rode the range. I appreciate your compassion for the Navajo rug. And I like your white hat. Maybe take it off.

-Not just now.

-What kind of dog would that be?


-That black and white dog way out there chasing the mallard, over by the pond, the trembling aspens. See it?

-My wife’s border collie. Somewhat haywire.

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