I suppose I knew the lecture was coming.

“Stress kills,” said Doctor Beth. She explained the biology, the physiology and the pathology of it. It would be up to me, she explained, to do something about it. I needed a break to relax. If I was in doubt, she went on, a nap was in order.

We’d had a tough winter and I had too many things on my plate the following spring. My wife told me I was burning the candle at both ends—and—in the middle.

I must have rolled my eyes in denial as I was leaving Doctor Beth’s office.

“Do you need permission to take a break?” she asked, already knowing the answer, “well, here it is.”

She scribbled a prescription and handed it to me—it said:

“Lie on the grass and look up at the sky and trees—3X per week, ½ hour each.” On the bottom of the form, in the spot where it says “refill(s)”, she made a small infinity sign.

OK, how hard can it be?

On the inaugural of my stress-relief program, I hopped on the ATV and headed for our canyon. Meadow larks were claiming territory around me and a gentle, high desert breeze filled my nose with the smell of sun-warmed sage and juniper.

I found a comfortable spot, stretched out—and fell asleep.

As I awakened, I noticed the Meadow Larks were no longer singing. Then I felt a brief, slight chill of what seemed like the sun going behind a cloud. It happened again. And again....

Opening my eyes, I saw three buzzards circling directly over my head like planes stacking up at the airport. To them I must have looked like the carcass du jour. I had never thought of myself as the main course in a buzzard banquet.

Affronted, I decided they needed to be taught a lesson.