Alone. On foot. The Eastern Colorado Sandhills stretching as far as you can see in any direction. The second scariest sound a person can hear at that moment is the buzz of a rattlesnake somewhere very close by. Most would admit the thought of that situation might send shivers up quite a few spines. If this is the second scariest sound one could hear, what, you might ask is number one on the list? What bone-chilling, blood curdling sound could possibly top the rattler? A simple click. No more. Just a click.

In order for this to make sense, I must go back a few weeks to cover some events. Granted, at first you will think I’ve totally lost my train of thought. While my particular thought train is missing a few cars and a caboose, bear with me, please. I’ll get to that horrible sound in due time.

A truly indispensable part of a rancher’s life is his pickup. We hardly go a day without using it, and many days are spent almost entirely in the vehicle. We get kind of attached to the things. I find myself mourning as the rough roads loosen and the sage brush tears off, piece after piece of my trusted companion. Finally, one day as my old side kick did, all it’s get up and go ... got up and went. I had no choice but immediately get to town and find another. I didn’t go looking for another like the old one. It was a bucket of bolts. Why would I want more junk? I went looking for a new one. It didn’t take me long to forget my old trusted friend and fall for a new shiny, fully loaded beauty. I guess I’m pretty promiscuous when it comes to pickups. I fell in love almost instantly. Soon the paper work was done. New pickup, bells, whistles and 60 payments was all mine.

Tasks which had become drudgery in the old truck now became much anticipated events. Believe it or not I looked forward to checking fence and feeding cows while listening to my favorite Patsy Cline CD and selecting either air or heat as the weather dictated. Unlike the old one, both worked on this new beauty.

The first morning after getting the new truck I could hardly wait for the sun to rise so I could go feed the cows. This somewhat boring chore would be an exciting adventure in my six-way powered seat, electric window and door locks. I fairly flew through loading twenty bales into the box and heading towards the pasture where the cows awaited me. The old girls didn’t recognize the pickup but they did recognize the hay. In a few minutes I was surrounded by a herd expecting breakfast.

Feeling a little cocky in my new pickup surrounded by probably the best herd of mama cows to grace any ranch anywhere, I set to work. This was a one man operation that morning. Sue hadn’t chosen to rise before dawn to ride in my new toy, as she called it. With great excitement I reached out with my left hand and pushed the button on the dash marked “4 low.” No grinding gears or levers to fight. Just like that I was in a gear designed to climb trees if necessary. With my right hand I pulled the transmission into low gear, insuring my pickup's ability to slowly go over or through any obstacle we might encounter after I climbed up on the load to begin feeding. As I slid from the cab I took one more loving gaze at my new motorized companion ready to serve me for years to come. A smile crossed my face as I gently closed the door on the powerful machine and it began creeping across the sandhill pasture. It was then I heard the worst sound on earth, much worse than any old rattlesnake. Click. Just a simple click, barely audible but loud enough to send a chill through my entire body. The click was the doors automatically locking as the truck moved away from me. The old one didn’t do that. This one did. Tank full of gas, 4-wheel drive, low gear. I figured she would slowly crawl about 350 miles before running out of gas or having a truck hit it as the beauty crossed the highway some six miles away. After awhile, walking along side my wonderful companion, I realized I had accidentally left one of the windows down a couple of inches. I hopped up on the running board and painfully wedged my arm through the opening enough to push the door lock and gain entry. For a brief moment I had one of those, “I wish I had thought this through a little more before acting” thoughts. If I couldn’t reach the lock or window button, I wasn’t sure I could get my arm back out. To my previous fear of my creeping pickup traveling 350 very slow miles, add a man’s skeleton hanging from the window when someone finds us. Luckily, I hit the button, first try.

From that day forward I take two things to the pasture with me. The first is a shovel in case I hear the second scariest sound a man might hear afoot and alone in the Sandhills. In case I heard that most awful of all sounds, the second thing I carry ... a spare key to my pickup.