Tiny Cowboy Meets Tonto

     Yes, this is another Tiny Cowboy post. And no, it doesn't really have anything to do with the Lone Ranger, Tonto or Native Americans in general. It does deal with a bow and arrow, and how often do you really get the chance to mention Tonto in a title?

Ya'll remember Tiny Cowboy (TC), right? He's a fun-sized, ginger Sasquatch, who insists on wearing a cowboy hat, boots and typically shorts, of some sort, everywhere he goes.
   
     Well on this day, I was visiting my girlfriend who happens to live in TC's neighborhood. I pulled  onto her street, parking illegally in the process. She jogs up to my car and happily announces that I really need to see what TC's up to this weekend. She informs me that he's taken up a new activity that has the neighborhood more than a little concerned. I get out of my car and start heading up the hill leading to TC's home.
     I'm escorted the entire way by a giggling, eight year-old, on a bike who volunteered to show me where Tiny Cowboy lives. (I'm shocked that this nickname resonates not just with me but with eight year-olds as well. Hmm... what does that say about me? Don't answer that!) It takes only a half a block for me to understand what the entire neighborhood is concerned about.
     From the top of the hill, about a half a block away, I can see what looks like colorful confetti littering a rooftop but upon closer inspection I can tell that what I see isn't confetti, but the feathers of the arrows decorating TC's roof. And set up to the left of his garage door, in the space between the next-door neighbor's garage, (they live in the right half of a duplex) are a couple of large, square, bales of hay, that have been stacked, and have a target attached to them. TC is standing at the end of his driveway, aiming what appears to be the smallest bow I have ever seen. The thing is so tiny it really should be painted gold and handed over to a diaper clad, obese, cherubim.
     Just as TC draws back the minuscule bow the wind picks up and catches his majestic, skullet making him resemble an overweight, European soccer player; one of probable leprechaun decent. Obviously misjudging the strength of this breeze, he lets loose the arrow and it slams into... his neighbor's garage door. The boom from the arrow-on-metal-door reverberates through the neighborhood and I fight to control my laughter. Because really, I could have thrown the arrow from that distance and hit the target! TC glances around sheepishly and begins the task of moving his target just to the right of his garage door. After this brief intermission, he picks up the bow, notches another arrow, aims and lets fly another round. The sound of breaking glass is deafening. I gasp. His glass storm door is now shattered all over the front stoop and entryway of his home. Just then my lovely, little, escort cups her hands to her mouth and shouts, "A little to the left, I think!"
     I'm not sure if TC saw me standing on the top of the hill or not, because I promptly ditched my 8 year-old counterpart and ran back down the hill, choking, gasping and laughing hysterically the entire way. Upon returning home I relayed this tale to my husband and he informed me that TC had to be using a youth model bow. "Frankly, I'm not sure TC's arms are long enough to pull back an adult model," the Hubby says gravely. "I think you've missed the ENTIRE point of the story, honey," I say. "I'm just saying, there's no shame in using a youth bow.... But someone really needs to talk to him about those size 5 cowboy boots."

Check out the entire Tiny Cowboy series!
Social Media: I have a stalker(s)...
I'm Sorry, But Can We Pretend We've Never Met?
Avoidance, Thy Name is Mommy!

Peace Out!
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