During one of our family car trips this past summer we stopped at a rest stop along the interstate so everyone could do whatever it is they had to do. I don’t ask questions I just pull over upon request as quickly as possible because kids being kids will generally wait until they are past the point of prolonged refrain when they get around to asking. My kids are older now so the buffer zone between the request the action has increased considerably but I’d rather not take any chances.

I noticed that apparently the health of our pets has become high priority at rest stops nowadays as most have a designated “Pet Exercise Area” for Rufus to get in a quick jazzercise session. Do pets know they are in an exercise area or is “Pet Exercise Area” a less graphic way of saying watch your step and check your shoes before hopping back into the sedan.

I was in a “Buffalo Exercise Area” once during a family trip to Medora in my grandparents Southwind motor home. I remember I had just received my free Time Magazine 35mm camera that I had gotten by simply signing my Mom up for Time Magazine. Not wanting Dad to feel left out we signed him up for a magazine as well…strictly for the articles.

When you’re 13 years old a trip becomes much more exciting when you have your very own camera dangling around your neck waiting to capture the majesty of a 13 year olds world. I think this may have been before the time when it became necessary to warn people about obvious things as I don’t recall a “Angry Buffalo Are Bad For Your Health” sign anywhere as I strolled out into the “Buffalo Exercise Area” to capture a Pulitzer prize winning photo.

I also don’t recall any of the grownup adult types in the motor home warning me about the obvious and it’s highly unlikely that I wasn’t listening. I’m not pointing fingers or making accusations but they all seemed fairly relieved and overly encouraging when I asked if I could get out and take some pictures of the buffalo.

So I strode out towards the buffalo herd, free Time Magazine 35mm in hand, to capture the essence of tatanka in its natural environment. Snapping a picture every few feet so that the forensic report accompanying my trampled, but not torn, tuff skin jeans would have sufficient photographic evidence to confirm my stupidity.

My Grandpa, after reading the paper, eating a bakers dozen of Grandma’s world famous rolls, and drinking a pot coffee must have noticed that I had gotten closer to the herd than a sane boy should be and blew the horn in the motor home in attempt to get my attention. It got my attention and the attention of the buffalo that were enjoying their day out on the range. Even as a 13 year old I knew that it probably wasn’t healthy to get the attention of a buffalo herd.

I also knew from listening to my grandparent’s 8-track collection that you couldn’t roller skate in a buffalo herd and hoped the same wasn’t true for running. About two steps into my retreat I firmly planted my foot in something soft, ankle deep, and aromatic. A buffalo giggled, Grandpa gagged, and the Southwind headed north with a hand-me-down Converse dangling from the luggage rack.