Bozeman Chronicles I

Big Sky Country

 Bronze grizzly claws at the airport -- people rub them so they stay shiny

The airport in Bozeman, Montana looks like a hunting lodge, decorated throughout in knotty pine and stone. 

The baggage area is festooned with more dead animals than the Museum of Natural History. Only instead of fur and feathers the mounted grizzlies, wildcats and other game are captured in bronze.

There isn't a suit or tie in the place.  Jeans, flannel shirts, workboots, and cowboy hats are the latest in haute couture for arriving and departing passengers.  Men or women. 

Mrs. Linklater has found her people.

Her friend of many years arrived to pick her up, looking like Barbara Stanwyck in Big Valley. 

A former slave to suburban living outside Chicago, she now owns a three story log house on several acres at the foot of the Bridger mountains with a view overlooking the Bozeman valley.  

She shares it with three horses, two dogs, a slew of cats, and a guy from college who called her up one day and said, "I've been thinking about you for thirty years."

 Frances and Lucy doing what they do best

Mrs. Linklater is insanely jealous. In a good way. Especially after spending last night in front of the big stone fireplace, following a dinner of hot, homemade soup and thick slices of bread and butter.  And she's looking forward to lots more of the same over the weekend. 

One of the reasons she came out to visit was to meet her friend's dogs, Lucy and Frances. Frances is a total pussy cat, even though she's a dog. Lucy is part wolf, part shepherd and part husky, and all alpha female. 

She and Mrs. Linklater took a moment or two to get acquainted. A couple of rawhide bones and other treats helped to make the transition a little smoother. 

Although there was a who's your daddy moment when she and Lucy went eye to eye on the stairs to the house and neither one of them backed down.

It's a perfect day to sit by the fire, read a book, and sip some tea. Might as well get started.