It looked pretty darn lonely sitting there in the corner, but it had an old pair of roper boots for company.

Every once in a while, I’d pick up the newly purchased handbag for a good whiff of “oh, so wonderful!” fresh leather. As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one smell that outdoes new leather, and that’s fresh-baked bread.

One time my senses were sabotaged for a good month after the UPS guy delivered a brand spankin’ new saddle on bread-making day. Solving my dilemma, the saddle replaced the living room coffee table, and I sat with feet up on the horn while eating fresh-baked bread. Talk about heaven!

Getting on in years, Sara, my current purse, had started to wear and fray at her seams. Knowing the inevitable was on the horizon, we’d been shopping on and off for a few months, searching high and low for a suitable replacement.

Too big, too small, strap a little short, perfect but the orange-Julius color was just a little far out.

Sara and I stayed together for as long as possible, even after her lining disintegrated and a giant safety pin held up her right side. Blindfolded, I could reach for any one of the hundred or so items stored within Sara’s multiple compartments, and she’d promptly hand it over: a tube of lipstick, any denomination of necessary coins, items as small as a toothpick or as large as a gopher trap… don’t ask.

Saying goodbye to “the ol’ bag” would be tough, but she’d be placed high up on the closet shelf beside well-worn company.

Ol’ Brown had held my shoulder up for over three years. He was a little bigger than Sara and served as an umbrella, a saddle bag, and even a rope bag once on the way to a rodeo. Shined up, he held his own at any fancy outing.

Ol’ Blue was of the denim variety, sporting rhinestones and red tassels. That guy was really, really old, with a multicolored headband and a pair of moon boots tucked away inside.

Little Bitty Tuffy had been sandwiched in between Brown and Blue. Not sure if the tan-colored bag was a “he” or a “she,” but it must have served me well to deserve an immortal place high up on the closet burial shelf.

I set aside chores for the entire day, since it was going to be a long, sad process to transfer Sara’s responsibilities over to the new handbag. I started with the outside pockets and moved in, and one by one, Sara’s innards were emptied out onto the kitchen table. Wiping away a tear or two, I remembered the exact moment the large rip had occurred in the middle compartment.

It was a hot August Saturday, and Ed had called for a parts run. I had been busy washing up a horse for a show the next day and was pretty ticked off that the broken-down combine was taking precedence over my task.

Grabbing an apple for a snack on the way to town, I stuffed it into Sara and left her on the corner post while I placed the partially groomed horse in a stall to finish up later. Turning around, I saw Old Grey reaching from his side of the fence and burying his nose deep in the purse. Not only did he eat the apple, but he was thoroughly enjoying half my wallet and using the car keys as a toothpick.

Now as Sara gave up more of her insides, the big, dark stain around her zipper compartment brought back one of the most disgruntling memories ever. It was my own dang fault, but Ed sure didn’t have to laugh for a week afterwards.

“Yes, dear, I can pick up your special pickup oil; I’m on my way home from town.” Geez, maybe my car would enjoy some of that synthetic stuff once in a while! Anyways, it was raining cats and dogs on the way to my car, and the teensy weensy plastic bags were giving up my purchases one by one onto the pavement. Everything, including the oil, was stuffed into Sara as I hightailed it for cover. Yep, nosy me had just had to take a peek and a sniff of Ed’s exceptional oil inside the store, and I hadn’t quite gotten the cap back on tight.

Now with everything, including – you guessed it – a fitting for the kitchen sink, transferred from Sara to the new bag, it was time to say goodbye.

Men will never, ever understand the bond we women have with our purses and why they can’t be just “tossed out” like a piece of garbage when their carrying days are over. Ed was no exception to the rule and happened to walk in as Sara was carefully being laid to rest beside Ol’ Blue, Tuffy, and Ol’ Brown.

Wow! The new handbag made one heck of an “Ed weapon”! He backed down in one giant leap after making the snide comment, “Just how many purses do you need?” Ahhh, she’s named: “Protector,” shortened up to “Patsy.”

You’ve got some great big shoes to fill, Patz…