FarmWife thought she could get away with using my ratty old pair, but they are in such tatters that when she put them on me in the pasture last week I promptly stepped on the disfigured heel area and ripped one of the things to complete and utter smithereens. That sort of hang-up does not bode well for a long life among the serviceably sound, so into the garbage they shall go. (Not really into the garbage: FarmWife's Scottish blood compels her to keep every potentially useful article in the spirit of "waste not, want not," so it's into the parts bin for these boots.)
Wish me luck as I save up for new boots, and even more luck as I try them out this fall. We can all hope, together, that my performance warrants the expense.
|I wear boots only on the front—can you tell?|