Tales of the O-No Ranch

      by Mad Jack Hanks

 

I Know What I Don’t Know 

Gentle readers, we know what we don’t know! Know what I mean? Ya know? It’s kinda’ like this the way I have it figgured. I think we all know that we don’t know what we would have known if circumstances had been different. For example: I often wonder way back on that cold December morning in 1982 if I had decided to just go over to my ranch office and do paper work instead of deciding to help the cowboy crew get caught up on doctoring some sick steers we had just received. After all it was cold wet and very muddy and ole’ Jiggs was one big ole’ pony if he were to have a wreck in all that mud. The night before I read that story about that ole’ “waddie” that broke his leg in a hoss wreck and had the presence of mind to cut his boot off before his leg swelled up. I saddled my pony, went to work in some traps close to the house and in fifteen or so minutes I had that 1450 pound hoss down on top of me and yes, I had a broken leg and a seperated foot. Today I suffer from traumatic artritis in that limb and will from now on. What if I hadn’t made that decision to move my family to Colorado some twenty eight years ago? Would my little darlin’ wife still be alive? Would I be writing a weekly column, drawing cartoons and riding a Harley? See… I know what I don’t know. Most likely I would not be drawing cartoons for public consumption or writing a weekly column and most certainly I wouldn’t be riding a Harley. What if I hadn’t gotten so disgusted with my corporate job all those years ago and made the decision to change directions and hang the suit and tie in the closet and go to punchin’ cows for a living? I know that I would not be the man that I am today if I had to trade all the experiences I have had, good and bad, for staying a “townie” and acting more civilized like town folks do. What about you Buckwheat? Have you ever sat back and reflected on the “what ifs” in your life and your “comings and goings” for all of your adult years? Of course you have and you are just like me….you know what you don’t know! I reckon that’s the way it is supposed to be. Will Rogers once was quoted as saying, “it ain’t no more difficult for a man to be in two different places at the same time than it is for him to come back from some place he ain’t never been”! Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and remember to stand tall for all of the right things and I’ll c’yall, all y’all.  

John Wayne’s Bull   

 Kenneth was a neighbor of mine. He and his wife owned and operated the local furniture store and had done quite well thank you. As many successful businessmen do, Kenneth got in the cattle business. Not only did he get in the cattle business he went out to Arizona to one of John Wayne’s bull sales and bought a few bulls off of the “Duke”. Ol’ Kenneth is a wonderful, honest and decent man but he had only one flaw that I can recall. He couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Kenneth calls one day, “Jack, could you come up here and give one of my bulls a shot. He’s down out in the pasture and I am afraid that if I give him the shot and he bleeds I might pass out. You know how me and blood get along?” “Sure, I’ll be right up,” I assured my good neighbor. When I arrived Kenneth had a disposable syringe all loaded and ready to go so we jumped in his pickup and drove down to where this long yearling Hereford bull that used to belong to John Wayne lay. He was propped up on his front legs but looked somewhat out of sorts. “Kenneth, If I can get him up should we try and take him to the squeeze chute and doctor him up good?” I offered. “I don’t think he can get up Jack, that’s why I had you come up here to doctor him for me.” I squatted down beside this ol’ bull, rubbed his hip a little and jabbed him with the syringe. Well, gentle readers, that’s when he decided he would just get up and escape syringe and all. I didn’t even have time to administer the meds, I just jumped up and try to bull dog him before he got completely on his feet. In an effort to toss me aside, one of his large but tipped horns scraped my chest, ripped my shirt and peeled enough hide off my collar bone to make a holster for a large pistol. I might have embellished that just a tad. However, he did open me up enough that the blood began to run down my chest area. Well, ya know what happened next…..Kenneth in the process of trying to hold the syringe in the bull saw my bloody shirt and passed out faster than  a pilot light in a hot water heater sitting outside in Chug Water, Wyoming in a windstorm. The bull tosses me aside, gains his feet and heads to the barn. Before Kenneth comes back into my world, I wiped as much blood off of me with my shirt and if I remember correctly, I tossed the shirt in the back of his truck. Kenneth does come around rather quickly and we were able to pen the bull that John Wayne used to own and doctor him without much effort. He wasn’t quite as sick as Kenneth suspected. In fact, if that ole bull was as tough as the “Duke”, you could have shot him three or four times and he’d be ready to service the cows the next day. Well, maybe not. Kenneth is still on his ranch and still in the cattle business, but I believe the last time we visited he was running Holsteins steers. I’m not sure the “Duke” would aspprove of that, but then again….quien sabe? Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all. Remember to stand tall!

Cabin Fever

Gentle readers, it’s always just about this time of the year that cabin fever sets in. Even though we have had pretty much an open winter without much snow, it’s still been very cold at times and wind? You wouldn’t believe unless of course you are my neighbors up the road in Wyoming. I did catch a nice morning a couple of weeks back and after breakfast I stuck the “wood” (that’s saddle for new comers) on ol’ paint and we rode the perimeter of my place checking on the condition of the fences and also on how many prairie dogs had been added since I last took a tally. The morning was beautiful being fairly warm and no WIND. When I got back to the house I decided that maybe I should get the oil changed in the Harley. I called the shop and was told to bring it in at 1 o’clock. It’s about 30 miles to their shop. I went out to the garage and 12:30 and cranked up the bike and the wind started blowing. Man did it blow. It was way worse on the way home. On days like this I usually try and catch up on my cartooning, house work etc. I have a “cabin fever” story for you. Pete and his three friends always took a camping trip in the spring just to get away. Pete’s wife told him in no uncertain terms was he to go camping this year!! His buddies went on with their trip as planned and when they got to the camping site they always used, there sat ol’ Pete with a fire going and his tent set up and a cold beer in his hands. “Pete, what in the world are you doin’ here?” one of his buddies ask. “Well, it’s like this: after you guys left my wife came up behind me and put her hands over my eyes. To my surprise and shock, when I turned around she was naked as a Jay bird, took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom. She gave me a pair of handcuffs and told me to handcuff her to the bed and “do whatever” I wanted, so here I am. Well, I reckon ol’ Pete caught heck when he got back home but at least he was able to ditch that ole “cabin fever” for the time being. I wouldn’t suggest you fellers try anything like that unless you intend to be homeless the rest of your life. Spring is only a few weeks away and we really could use lots more snow. We’ll see. Stay tuned, check your cinch on occasion, stand tall, and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

What Some Words Mean

Gentle readers I have touched on this subject a time or two about what words mean. If you will be so kind to bear with me I will retravel down a somewhat familiar road to some of you with a twist at the end. Ah ha! Let me get started here. Some of you will remember a good many years ago in this column I wrote about the meaning of words. What do they really mean? “Does mean mean that you are mean or you mean well. Now you have most likely  latched onto my drift with that play on words. I went on in that particular column with some examples of how our language is structured and how confusing it might be to someone who was not familiar with it. A few weeks after the column was published I received a call from a drug enforcement agent out in Virginia who ask my permission to use my column. As it turned out he was an instructor for not only DEA agents but FBI agents as well. One of the classes he taught was on interrogating suspects and what to look for in the way they answered. In other words, there are a number of ways that give clues according to how some folks place their words. At least that’s the way I understood his explanation. Anyhoo, of course, I gave him my permission and as a matter of fact I was pleasured to meet him and his sister who was also in law inforcement at the T Bar Inn for breakfast some years later. Now to get up to date. The Sunday before Valentine’s Day I had finished my shift at the hospital and stopped at Wally World to buy flowers. It would have been Little Miss Martha’s 69th birthday had she lived and I wanted to place flowers on her grave. As I mulled over the vast varity of selections I noticed a feller next to me that seemed to also be having a problem on making a decision. I left for a little while and purched some groceries and returned to find this same feller there. He put me in mind of a cross between Jr. Sample (Hee Haw) and Larry the Cable Guy. A mouth breather he was. l spoke, “looks like you and I can’t seem to make up our mind when it comes to buying flowers.” He shot back, “oh these #$%#$% women, ya have to buy’um candy or flowers or jewelery seems like all the time. They are always expecting something!” I should have left it alone but I just had to reply, “I’M ON MY WAY TO THE CEMETERY WITH MINE, which way you headed?” He seemed to have turned stone cold and looked down and away as if to make his final selection. I turned and walked away knowing full well that words have meaning and I was wondering if when he went home if he might have found some more cheerful words for his mate. I bet maybe he did. Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

 

The Farmer

Gentle readers, if you watched any of the recent Super Bowl advertizements you may have seen an ad by Dodge trucks called “The Farmer”. It was narrated by the late Paul Harvey. I understand that he originally did this at an FFA convention some years ago. It was a very stirring reflection of what it means to be a farmer or a rancher. It presented the challenges, hardships and rewards that come from working the soil, raising livestock and being the provider of our nation’s food supply. I had begun to think in the past few months that the common man, the salt of the earth kind of folks have been shoved aside for the more appropriate polictically correct left of center way of thinking and doing. I don’t think that any more and I’ll tell you why. While listening to talk radio and veiwing various programs on the “telly”, I found no one, absolutely no one that didn’t like the Dodge ad. Nada, not one. That covered both sides of the aisle: donkeys and elephants and everyone in between. There was just something about that ad that brought what America represents to the front and center and it could not be ignored. It just couldn’t! Yes, I am sure there are those out there that could have cared less. “Just a bunch of hick farmers and cowboys, trying to play on our heartstrings. I don’t need that crap I can go to the store and get what ever I need whenever I need it. I don’t need to be fed propaganda like that!” Yep, I would almost bet that there were a few way off to the left that might have felt that way. I believe that the majority of folks that watched that ad all of a sudden were proud at least for a moment, that they lived in a country where common folks played by the rules, worked hard, paid their taxes, prayed to their God and took a moment to mess up their grandson’s hair and scratch their dog’s ears. Yes, I know other folks do the same and work just as hard as a man of the soil or a cattle producer and love America like most of us do. Folks, this is America, land of the free, home of the brave and we need to be prepared to stand our ground and let anyone and everyone know that thinks they can change it to some other way of being, thinking or doing that rubbs up against personal freedom and our constitution…..it ain’t gonna’ happen!! I do miss Paul Harvey and there are others that are trying to follow in his footsteps and I say “God bless’um”! As far as this sudden panic over guns: the news media does not miss the opportunity to report every gun incident that happens on a daily basis. There is a method to their madness. Recently there was a young mother who shot all three of her children and then herself because her husband had left her. All died but the youngest child. Let me ask you a troubling question. Suppose you are that dad that left. Would you rather your children were forcefully drowned in the bathtub, had the life choked out of them with a rope, or stabbed repeatedly with the same knife mom used to cut their birthday cake. If I were in that situation I, as hard as it would be to imagine, would rather that got a bullet to the head and have it over almost before it began. How about you?

Bunkhouse Cowboys

Gentle readers, last night I watched an old movie called Monte Walsh and it was starring one of my favorite actors, Lee Marvin. The movie was based on a couple of cowboys who were buddies and where one went so went the other. They knew how to do one thing well and that was “cowboyin’”. The time period was the turn of the century or the late 1880s. Many of the bigger ranches were being bought by folks from back east with deep pockets and knew next to nothing about cattle ranching in the west. Back then cowboys were necessary and the more skills they brought with them to the ranch the more secure were their jobs. Cowboys were not married men as a general rule and they all lived together in the bunkhouse. I never was a bunkhouse cowboy as I was married when we lived and worked on the bigger ranches. I am inclined to think that bunkhouse living would be a lot like my living in the barracks when I was in basic training. Early to bed, early to rise, eat what the cook comes up with for that particular day and your shirt tail is not likely to hit your back during a normal day of ranch activity. There are still some of the larger ranches that have bunkhouse accommodations for the single cowboys that work there. It may be for seasonal work or full time work. I adjusted to the barracks living because I was a young man and had no other choice unless I wanted to go to the stockade for some time. You do what ya gotta’ do. Back to the movie. These two cowboys seemed well adjusted to their situation. They had a roof over their head, two, maybe three meals a day and a place to roll out their bed and have a small space of their own. As they got older they began to realize that “cowboyin’” was a young man’s game and unless they wanted to be relegated to cooking for the cowboy crew at some point and time they just might have to find another occupation. Lee’s buddy decided to marry a widow in town who owned a hardware store and give up the bunkhouse style living. That left our hero to just do the only thing he knew how to do and that was to be a cowboy for as long as his body could endure the aches and pains of everyday ranch living. It has been said that there is not a piece of machinery that will take the abuse that a cowboy will. I find some truth in that. To all of you young cowboys out there that throw a saddle on a pony most every morning. You have my admiration but I will tell you that there will come a point and time where those little incidences of getting run over by some irritated cow, or getting bucked off to many times and wrestling calves at the branding fire will pay you a return visit. I have to say that I would not take one day of city living for one day a’horseback tending cows….unless it was that cold winter day in the Texas panhandle that I got severe diarrhea some five miles from the house on that ol’ rough trotting grey….yeah, I might consider makin’ a trade there. Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

Main Thing

Gentle readers, not to long after my Dad passed away my Mom had a stroke and it limited her speech to two words. As strange as it may seem to you as it did me at the time, she could only utter these two words, “main thing”. Now let me tell ya children, it’s really hard to carry on a conversation with someone in that situation. For example, Mom would call me on the phone from the nursing home down in Texas and when I would say “hello”, I would hear those two words, “main thing”. Now it depended on how she phrased those two words or the emphasis that she placed on them which forced me to decide if she was having a good day or one not so good. “How are you doin’?”, I always ask. If it was a “MAIN THING”! I could maybe expect that she was in a good mood and felt pretty good. If I got a “main….thing.”..then I expected she might not be havin’ a really good day or maybe someone was ill that I needed to know about. “How is uncle Joe doin’ these days?” I might ask. Uncle Joe was one of her younger brothers that had been having some serious health problems. If he was okay she might reply with a moderate “main thing” which meant things were still about the same. If I got a big “MAIN THING”! it could mean that he was doing better than expected or that he was doing really really poorly. I just had to decide which one it was or ask her if he was doing better and see what her reply was and the same visa versa. Mom had always been a big talker. In fact when she could talk, many times if I needed to lay the phone down and go set something off the stove or whatever, I would just go and do it and when I returned she would still be blabbin’ away about something that was most likely important to her and her alone. Her opinion seemed to be the only one that mattered. She could literly drive you crazy at times as you wanted to have a conversation with her and if you started talking she would just talk over you until you shut up. It was rude to say the least but that was a big issue with her for whatever reason. Now talk about karma!! I stand amazed many times how “what goes around comes around” works in this world we live in. As I was going in the post office yesterday a feller stopped long enough to hold the door open for me and I was a few steps away. I offered, “thank you sir, you are a good man.” To which he replied, “what goes around comes around.” I agreed. Bless my mom’s heart. Here she was so used to controlling every conversation and not letting anyone share with her what was happening in your life, and now she was forced to be the one that had to listen. She lived that way for a couple of years before she passed. I went down to see her in the nursing home a few months before she had another stroke that took her and we comunicated a lot with our eyes. You can say a lot that way. She has been gone since 1996 but on occasion I wish whenever the phone rings I could pick it up and hear, “MAIN THING”! Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all!

My Friend Jan

Barry called me the other day and told me my best friend had passed away. It wasn’t unexpected. He was a chain smoker like three to four pack of Winstons a day. Most of us smoked way back then and not only did I , but his darling wife and daughters always encouraged him to use some common sense about the amount he smoked. Years ago he had open heart surgery and one would have thought that would curb the smoking. It didn’t. He died on Christmas day and I talked with him last a few weeks prior. It got to where he didn’t have the strength to visit. His mother named him Jan Lajuan Brooks. I reckon she wanted a girl. That was almost like being named Sue. He was all man, always busy, always into some project or other. I met him in 1963 when I worked for Sears in Odessa, Texas. I sold T.V.’s and he managed the mail order catalog business. We had many, many adventures together besides our families sharing much of our lives. I think the thing that sticks most in my mind was our trip, just Jan and I made down to Big Bend National Park along the Mexican border. We took a couple of rubber rafts, a supply of food, our pistols and some fishing gear and had a buddy drop us by the ranger station. Now, gentle readers, this was before the movie Deliverance. The rangers ask us where we planned on putting into the river, did we have adequate medical supplies and food and were we armed? “Yes, we have all that taken care of,” we offered back. The ranger warned us this was dangerous territory as we were going to float roughly 60 to 75 miles down the Rio Grande. “There are bandits, mountain lions and rapids in the river. We will fly over you every day in our plane and be sure and look for us. If there is a problem wave a white flag at us when we fly over. Check back in with us when your trip is complete.” We assured him we would. Our buddy took us as close to the river as he could get and we packed our gear down and off we went. There are some deep, deep canyons and some really rough country. We were excited. The third day out we were not sure if we were in tune with where our maps indicated we sould be. Some time later we spotted a Mexican man and four young men we assumed where his sons. They were peasants. Very poor dressed if dressed at all. I told Jan I was going to row over to their side and see if I could get some sense of exactly where we were. I spoke very little border Spanish and understood less. Jan warned me about getting out of the raft and approaching them as they might decide tojump me, take my pistol and shoot both of us and take our bounty. They all smiled as I waded to shore. “Buenas tardes, I spoke and received the same reply. “How far to Boqouillas canyon,” I asked politely in English. “Si,’ he said and pointed in the direction we were headed. He didn’t understand me and I had no way to get him to as I tried drawing a map in the sand, but didn’t know enough to get the “how far” understood. He had been eyeing my large knife on my gun belt as well as my pistol. He said in English, “knife” and stuck out his hand to receive it. “Don’t you give him that knife Jack, he’ll cut your throat and I don’t want to have to shoot anybody,” Jan barked. I took out the knife and handed it to him and stepped back a step or two. He admired it and passed it around to all the boys in age from maybe 14 to 25. They all agreed it was a good knife and the old man handed it back to me. “Pistola,” he offered as he held out his hand. Oh, so now he wants my pistol does he? “Don’t give’em that gun Jack he’ll kill both of us,” Jan barked again as his eyes blinked rapidly through his thick glasses. We called him “Blinky” at times because of his nervous habit of constant blinking. I pulled out that big ol’ chrome plated 45 and cocked it and pointed it at the old man’s head and replied, “see”! “Si, he said, bueno,” and they all  retreated from me and we thanked them and tossed them a can of tomatoes and corn the best I remember. That was quite a trip my friends before it was all over. to much to cover but I will miss my buddy. We talked every week, sometimes twice a week on the phone. I did tell him I loved him in our last conversation and as hard as it was to repeat it for him, he said, “I love you too buddy.” Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all all y’all.

Way Back Then 

Gentle readers, as we prepare for a new year, my thoughts have taken me back to the middle 1940′s. The big war had just ended and I was five years old. Way back then there were a lot of things that were rationed. Gasoline and tires were rationed and the best of my memory we had certain coupons that entitled us to this or that and how much of either I don’t know. I remember that photo of my mother leaning against our old Ford sedan and she is wearing her overalls, a bandana tied around her hair and a paint brush in her hand. She was in the process of painting our family car, which we were lucky to have, with a can of paint and a brush. My oldest sister, may God rest her precious soul, worked at the bank and at the end of each work week, as I recall, she would bring home ONE piece of bubble gum for my older brother and I to share. It cost her a nickle and a nickle was a lot of coin in 1945. My brother and I got a half of piece of gum and at night we would, yes, put it on the bed post so we could continue to chew it the next day. It had to last all week. Simple little pleasures way back then. I recall one cold snowy day as my brother, my mother and I had been to Amarillo from where we lived at Pampa, Texas, some 70 miles distance. We were about one third of the way home when mom stopped to pick up a soldier standing along the highway braced against the wind. We gladly took him down the road to White Deer, Texas where he would be home for Christmas. We never gave it a second thought, we owed him and owed him a lot for our freedom. I remember as a wee lad standing on an old Coke container (wooden) and an empty coke bottle in my hand as I listened to the Grand Ole Opera on that littlel wooden radio. I was pretending that I was on stage with the stars and singing right along with them. I knew a few of the songs as I remember. I also remember the old black man that came by each spring to plow up my mother’s garden with his mule. He let me sit on that mule one time because I told him I was a cowboy. We were happy the best I recall. Sure mom and dad had quarrells as did my two sisters and my brother and I. Life was good. I went to school not being afraid of anything except there were two girls that like to chase me at recess. I remember that night my dad, my brother and I laid out on a blanket and just observed that beautiful summer night with all those stars in the sky. That was where heaven was, We would all go there some day. Life was good way back then. Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and may God continue to bless, and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

 

Big Oil

 I wonder if some of the folks out there, maybe even you, have considered where we might be without big oil? I’ve began to give it some considerable thought as we slip into another year with lots of problems to solve. Or should I say, “that need solving”! Gentle readers consider this: with Christmas right on top of us, where would be be without oil production? It most likely would depend on a steam engine pulling freight cars to deliver the “goodies”. Ya see, there would be no trucks to deliver the freight and you would need to get a’horseback or hook up your wagon or buggie to go to the mercantile store and buy those Christmas presents. Most likely your house would be heated with wood ( no bad deal there) but there would be no oil unless it was of some animal to light your lanterns. You couldn’t ride a bicycle unless you rode on the rims as there would be no tires. I think you may have begun to see where I am going with this. Is “big oil” a bad deal for us in this country? It’s not a bad deal in Russia, China Yeman, Saudia Arabia and all those middle eastern countries. I think the P.C. crowd is trying to make us “rethink” our options about trying to become not so dependent on foreign oil. I am going to guess that the present administration is not going to allow much if any drilling offshore or on federal lands at all. In fact, I hear the other day that the “prairie chicken” is about to be labeled an endangered species! Wow! I didn’t know the prairie chicken was endangered or was that important to our livlihood or our enviornment. Okay, let’s exanime that for a moment children. See, private land owners (like myself) can let oil companies (big oil as some would have it) drill on my little place here without the consent of the feds. Well, I could unless I happen to have endangered prairie chickens in or around the O-NO Ranch. Then of course, we wouldn’t be able to upset the balance of nature and to heck with being able to be self sufficient in this good ole U.S. of A. No, no, no, we have to protect every feather, every scale of a fish and every hair on a rodent’s back because we are wise, gentle and understanding of nature and of course, we are politically correct! All across the plains of the Dakotas, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, eastern Colorado and all the plains states that happen to have petroleum, or gas and “endangered species” anywhere close, there could be no drilling at all. How does that help our economy? Of course it doesn’t. Fracking is now the “F” word in our present vocabulary. They have been fracking wells since the 1950′s. I know, I was there, I lived it, I participated in the process as a young lad on his first job out of high school. I know of NO UNDERGROUND WATER BEING RUINED OR EARTHQUAKES FROM fracking a well…period! I heard of one in Wyoming and a couple of instances where gas got into a water system here in Colorado in the last few years. I think those issues were resolved, if not I’m sure a reader will inform me of my statement. Bottom lline, common sense is just not that common any more. God bless you and me and the good ole U.S. of A. Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

Charlie Brown

Gentle readers, do you or have you ever felt as if you were a lot like Charlie Brown? No? Well  I have and still do at times. For example, that little filly that I had a terrible crush on back in high school…it turns out she liked my best friend better. Yep, that was Lucy yankin’ that football away from me just as I put forth my best effort. Little Charlie Brown has such a good heart and willing attitude most of the time only to have some unexpected occurance jepordize his best laid plans. Take the time I had just started my cowboy career and it appeared that when I was in the pasture doctoring cattle all by myself, I could not, I repeat, I could not throw a bad loop. All I had to do was wind up my arm and toss my twine and my prey was caught. That worked pretty well until I had my best friend from down the country come and stay a few days with me and help me on the ranch. Of course I had bragged about all the ropin’ I would be doing and how good I seemed to be at catchin’ what I went after. I’ve told this little tale before but it bears repeating. We rode out in the pasture and prowled for at least an hour before I spotted a steer with a bad case of pinkeye. I was mounted. I was riding an extremely good ranch horse. Some 13 loops later I had this poor ol’ steer down and out, totally exhaused as I was, but I finallly got a loop on him. He almost just fell over when I got off to tie him down and doctor him. There was this other time when I took my ten year old son back to my high school that just happened to be open that particular summer. I had told him of my daring escapades on the football field. I told him how I had been selected to be on the all district team both my junior and senior years on offense as well as defense. We stopped at the trophy case where in my senior year we lost one game that would have put us in the state playoffs. All the player’s names were on the trophy. All of them except mine. I was astounded! I couldn’t believe that they left my name “Charlie Brown” off the trophy and I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t noticed it when it was presented. Oh well, sometimes me and ol’ Charlie just need to shuffle along and do the best we can with what we’ve been given. Ol’ Linus just seems to hang onto that blanket and be a survivor. I know guys like that. As a sidebar, Charles Shultz, the creator of “Peanuts’-Charlie Brown has a daughter who is an mule and donkey expert and she has a ranch just west of Loveland, Colorado. I call her a friend and she is a wonderful, boni-fied, country girl. Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. Y’all, all y’all.

I’m Getting Shorter 

It doesn’t seem that long ago, gentle readers, that I preferred a horse that stood sixteen hands or over and weighed in that 1300 to 1400# range. Ole paint, Howdy is about 15.3 and weighs about 4 million pounds and I have to do deep knee bends before I  ever attempt to get on him. I know that as we get older we do start to shrink a little. My kids and grandkids were all here for part of the Thanksgiving holidays and Gavin, my first born grandson is almost taller than me. I thought I was 6′ 3″ and at one time I might have been. Then again, I always wore those high heeled boots. Gavin is as tall as I am (almost) and he says he is six feet tall…hummmm. I may be shrinking. I have noticed that when I buy my usual 38″ lenght in Wranglers that they do seem to wad up more at the bottom. That must be it, I am gettin’ shorter. I could be down to 5′ 8″ by the time I’m 106 years old. Man, Charlie Brown, that really discourages me! Most of the women that I would be dancin’ with would all be lookin’ down at me. Oh well, I reckon there are just some things that are meant to be. I can’t wear the high heeled cowboy boots anymore as I have to have a fairly flat heel to get around these days. I had a bad hoss wreck when I was 42 years of age and it did a number on my right ankle and foot. The ole’ bone doc. says that I have traumatic arthritis in my ankle joint and there is just not a lot they could do to give me much relief if any at all. I keep the ankle in a brace or a wrap most of the time and seem to get by fairly well. Now I also have bone spurs on each heel and not the kind you poke a horse with and they can be a little agrivating at times. Working in the E R at the hospital on marble floors doesn’t help my situation as I am on my feet all the time, but it is something I feel compelled to do and I like it. So I reckon the next time I buy a pair of Wranglers I’ll wind up buying shorter britches as I must be gettin’ shorter! I don’t know if I’ll be buying any more horses before I retire from riding but if I do it may be have to be a Shetland! I do hope your Thanksgiving went well as ours sure did. I just got back from the cement pond working off some of that ham and turkey and I noticed when I took a shower I had to lower the shower head just a little….hummmmm, I must be gettin’ shorter! Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

Jack, Glenn and the Bobcat   

Gentle readers, I was watching a program called Yukon Men the other night on the “telly” and it took me back to a place in time when I was just plain “Jack”. This feller was out checking cows there in Alaska when he spotted a wolf runnin’ in his herd. He shot the wolf and decided to haul it back home on his pony. That created some problems as that ole pony didn’t want that wolf on his back.    In 1972 I was lookin’ after some grass steers in a four section pasture that joined my place there north of Amarillo, Texas, My friend , Glenn was riding with me that day and he was packin’ a sidearm. I wasn’t armed. Now Glenn was one of those “herky jerky” kind of fellers. By that I mean he was sort of a Barney Fife on steroids at times. If Glenn was anywhere around you could look for something to go wrong and usually that meant your life might be in peril of some sort. As a sidebar I flew with Glenn once after he had gotten his pilot license and only because I knew that if I didn’t he would be crushed as he would think I didn’t trust his ability to fly. I didn’t, but there I was in the plane with him sweating like a pig at a pig roast. We landed safely but a few years later he and one of his buddies didn’t. They both died in Glenn’s plane. Meanwhile, back at the ranch….Glenn and I had checked all the windmills and all the pastures and had headed back to my house when he blurts out, “hold up Jack…there’s a bobcat under that mesquite there!” I pulled up, took a close look and thought it to be a large feral cat. It wasn’t. It was indeed a young bobcat. Glenn wanted to dispatch it so I took the horse off some distance away as he shot the cat once and it was dead as a politician’s promise. Now that was one pretty cat and I wanted to take it back to the house to show my two year old son. Problem was, I was riding a green broke horse so I was a little concerned he might get somewhat excited if I loaded that bobcat on behind the saddle. I let him smell the cat and then I placed that ole cat behind the cantle of my saddle and tied his legs down on each side with the saddle strings. I walked the horse around for a minute or two and then mounted up. The ol’ bobcat slipped off to one side and the blood started to run. That wasn’t the only thing that ran, so did that pony. Let me tell ya children, he took off like a tree hugger in a forest fire. It was about two miles to the house through a mesquite covered and cactus laden pasture. I most likely could have placed in the Belmont Stakes on that given day. We did arrive back at the house in record time and without any major injuries. I had “Little Miss Martha” bring out the boy as I tied the cat legs over the hitching rail so I could skin him. “Whatcha’ doin’ Daddy? Whatcha’ doing to that kitty cat Daddy?” my son probed. “Son, this here is a wild cat, it’s called a Bobcat and I’m gonna’ skin him. I’m gonna’ take his coat off!” With big eyes and lots of anticipation my son’s voice got a little lower, “won’t he get cold Daddy, won’t he get cold?” That little incident could have been the root cause for the name, “Mad Jack.” Stay tuned, chech yer cinch on occasion, and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

Something New

Howdy, gentle readers and if you were here at the O-NO this morning you would be enjoying a not only delightful, but beautiful morning. This is something new as the last few days have brought dreadful winds. However, change is always good as I think we get a little stagnant when it’s the “same ol’ , same ol” thing. If things stayed the same without change, I think we would not only be bored out of our minds but be looking desperately for something to change for us. If it was 80* every day with no snow or cold weather I think most of us would be headed somewhere at Christmas looking for cooler weather with some snow. No? I would. It’s my humble opinion that most of us would like to do some things differently as we go along through life to have a change of pace if possible. I recently decided to go down to one of the large hospitals in our area and volunteer my services whatever that might be. I will start some training this coming Sunday as I will be placed in the ER (emergency room). There is a great deal of responsibility there and I have been faithfully reading all the info that has been furnished to me. So…now it’s going to be hand’s on training with an experienced volunteer. Like I have said in the past, I think sometimes we need to pay some things forward. I think we need to, if we are able, to step out and do something that is beneficial to others and not expect a reward of some kind. You see youngsters stepping out all the time to help others in time of need. The recent murder of a little girl in the Denver area and the way it was done sent chills down my spine. There were hundreds and hundreds of volunteers out looking for anything that would help find this monster that killed this sweet innocent little girl. It’s going to be Holloween in a few days after you get this. We don’t have to pretend that there are monsters out there because they are there. Please don’t send your children out alone to trick or treat. Be sure that you are close by or that there is an adult that you trust going with them. If you can find the time in your schedule to shovel the snow off of a sidewalk for the elderly or just go by and check on your neighbors once in a while if you feel they could be in need. You know….something new for you to do when time allows. Not only will you suddenly find a new spring in your step, but the kind deed will certainly not go unnoticed and if it does, does it matter? Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and i’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

Misconceptions

Gentle readers, have you ever pre judged someone or something only to discover you were way off base? I bet you have. I guarantee ya I have many, many, to many times in my life. Let me take you back to my junior year in high school. I went out for the varsity football team. As you know “Friday night lights” are everything in every small west Texas community. Football is king and it was my perception that if I didn’t play I would be considered what we would call a “nerd” by today’s standards. Plus all of that I played football in Junior high and loved it. It was my sport. I was tall and skinny and of course didn’t shave my peach fuzz as of yet. John Gerald Thomas was a senior, was very muscular and had a beard like an Oregon lumberjack. He and I were competeing for the same spot. I knew I didn’t have a chance. Heck, my face had never even felt a razor and my legs had been sued by my body for non support. They were very skinny. I was surprised when I made the starting line up and went on to be an all district player on offense as well as defense. I had a misconception about J.G. Thomas. He just wasn’t very good at football.    We rode out into that mesquite covered pasture north of Amarillo, Texas that crisp fall morning to meet some other cowboys at a windmill and then proceed to gather and ship some yearlings. I was just a button or “gunzel” when it came to “cowboyin” as I was as green as fresh guacamole but I had a vision of what a panhandle cowboy was supposed to look like. Now, I had all the trappings. I had a fairly good ranch horse, could rope a little. I could hold my own when it came to navigating the brush when a’horseback but lacked the necessary skills of being able to read a cow correctly at that time. We rode up to the windmill and I was somewhat offended when I see this ol’ farmer lookin’ guy wearin’ kakias, lace up shoes and a baseball cap. He was in his sixties and sitting a purty good lookin’ bay gelding. His saddle looked as if it had seen duty for many years. Everyone knew him but me and they all liked him. I figured I would like him also and give him a little smypathy. Children, this feller was a hand and he certainly didn’t need any of my sympathy as he quicky made me look like the “gunzel” ( a person pretending to be a cowboy and not having all the necessary skills) I was in short time when he broke off into the brush after some bunch quittin’ high tailed heifers and brought them back in what seemed to be an effortless attempt. I had had a misconception about that ol’ farmer lookin’ feller. And to think that he WASN’T EVEN WEARIN’ CHAPS IN ALL THAT BRUSH! Well, I reckon these are some of life’s little lessons that we learn as we stumble along. Sometimes we get it right, sometimes we don’t until we get another opportunity. Judge not lest ye be judged! I’m still workin’ on that one. Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

Grandfathers    

There are no manuals that instruct one on how to be a grandparent. I think it just one of those deals where you learn by trial and error and by watching and listening to others. It’s different when you are the grandpa (in my case) than when Little Miss Martha and I raised our two kiddos. As I have stated in this column before I adore little kids, especially babies. I was watching a little toe headed kid in the post office with his mom just the other day and it made me somewhat joyful just to watch him tag along and pretend he knew all that was going on around him. He was maybe two or three and walked with an abundance of authority and confidence. I wanted to be his grandpa just for a few moments and just pick him up and give him a good ol’ grandpa hug.    I didn’t really get the grandparent experience when I was small. My dad’s folks had already passed before I was born. My mom’s folks were seemingly really old and lived in an old house on the outskirts of Lubbock, Texas. I never saw that grandpa out of bed as he was always sickly. I just remember him laying there with watery eyes and trembling hands and not being able to speak above a whisper. He had been sick for a nlumber of years as a result of a bout with whatever, I don’t remember plus he had been bitten by a rattlesnake on their ranch years before and mostly treated it himself with the help of family members. No anti venom was availabe back then. My grandma was a sweet little woman who always had sugar cookies baked when we came by. Always in an apron with her hair in a bun like you would expect a farm wife to be in the fifties. I have worked on being a good grandpa ever since the first one was born 16 years ago. I have six and the youngest are twins and they are 11. The others with the exception of my sweet little granddaughter who is handicapped are starting to date on a limited basis. Wow! That just means that the last 16 years have passed by seemingly so fast I’m still feeling the breeze from it all. What a bunch of great kids all of them. I am one proud grandpa and I miss grandma not being here to share in this joy that they bring to me. It used to be that they always wanted to go out to grandpa’s and spend the night. Not any more and I knew this day would arrive and I’m good with it. It just means that I get to look foreward to being a great grandpa one of these days. I can’t hardly wait! Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.

Losing My Way 

No way I’m losing my way. No way! I get amused at times because some of you guys are getting concerned that I may be losing my way. No way. Yep, ever sinch I started to ride a motorcycle it threw some of you gentle readers off my trail. I have to confess that when I have my biker costume on and I am at the post office or grocery market and run into you I get this sad puppy dog look. I have been asked twice this week, “DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANY HORSES ANY MORE?” Yes, of course I have horses but I don’t ride them 12 miles into town to pick up the mail or buy a few groceries. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt them any but it would sure hurt me. I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. It’s sort of like this: Cowboyin’ is a young man’s game. Heck, everybody knows that or at least they should. Now some of you old timers out there that still get a’horseback every week in the good months and take care of your livestock I apoligize. You guys never get old. Now if I had a bigger place, a woman companion (married or hangin’ onto my shirt tail) I might consider gettin’ back in the game for a little while longer. I’m satisfied with runnin’ a few steers in the summer and checkin’ on them from the back of a horse. I get that good ole time cowboy feeling each and every time I am a’horseback checkin’ livestock. I don’t team rope, sort or pen as entertainment which it is for a lot of folks. God bless’um! Thirty years or so of that on a fairly consistant basis on the ranch will take a little starch out of your britches plus it can get expensive. I bet if I would just go and do a little of it I would get hooked. Right now I would rather go dancin’!    I was in the post office today getting my mail and I heard somebody come clompin’ in behind me and I thought it must have been a yeild grade four female in high heels. Wrong! As I stepped over to one of the tables ( in my biker costume) this loud clompin stomped right up beside me. As I glanced over I realized it was a young “buckaroo” or at best a “wanna be” puncher standing beside me with his chaps on, a huge pair of spurs, long sleeve shirt, vest and big hat. He was lettin’ this ole biker know that a “real cowboy” had arrived. He kept glancin’ over in my direction to see if I had noticed his presence. He stayed as long as I was there and I was there for a while going through my mail. I chuckled as I thought I most likely had thrown a leg over more “snotty broncs” than he had ever been on gentle ponies. Of course I don’t know, he might have been the best “buckaroo” this side of Elko. I also thought that could have been me forty years ago. Nope, I haven’t lost my way. I am still me and by golly, I’m having more fun than any old guy ought to have. The Lord’s been good to me. Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all. As a sidebar I do appreciate your concern!

….Ol Clancy and Me 

Yep, ol’ Clancy and me are buds. You remember Clancy. He is my big ol’ German Sheppard that I rescued from the shelter some almost 6 years ago. What a dog. We have watched each other age as the years have passed and we both are a little grumpier as we get older. When Clancy goes I won’t be getting another dog as there would really be no need. He is just not replaceable and it’s as simple as that. The first day I brought this big (100# plus) excited entergetic dog home I thought I had made a mistake. At first I had the thought that he would be unmageable but that was resolved in a matter of half an hour. We were playing in the back yard getting aquainted and I tossed a rock for him to retrieve. He did and he lay down with it between his front paws and looked at me with an interesting look. It was a cold stare. I got down on all fours and creeped up to him and reached for the rock. He uttered a low but menacing growl. I have to tell you gentle readers that I was more than a little alarmed. I found my courage, slapped him on top of the head and took the rock away. I was now the alfa male. Never again did he ever offer to be disagreeable with me. He doesn’t follow me around, he takes the lead a few steps in front and is always looking back to be sure I am still there and everything is okay. Any time we are outside regardless of what my chores or lack of are, he watches me constantly and ever so often he makes a trip around the house to be sure there are no probems or danger lurking. What a dog! He would prefer that I always am available to watch him eat. He doesn’t like to eat alone. I try to accomodate him most of the time except during the harsh winter months. Clancy is an outside dog and loves cold weather and of course I am at the point where I don’t look forward to working outside when it is frigid and blowing snow. Even as an old dog Clancy jumps around in the snow slinging his head from side to side as if to say, “come on man, let’s do something!” He seldom barks at folks pulling up in the yard. He just approaches their vehicle and waits for them to exit. Sometimes they don’t unless I am there to give them comfort as Clancy has a black face and looks like a timber wolf. He will walk right beside our guest sniffing their leg and on occasion will glance at me as ilf to say, “do we know this guy and is he okay?” I’ll call him off and he always responds to every command given to him. He groans when he lays down and groans when he gits up. So do I. I do not look forward to the day that i have to bury him and live on memories from that time on. I have been so blessed to have such a wonderful faithful, protective, loving dog. I reckon every man needs one good woman, one good horse and one good dog in his life and friends I have had all three. What a deal! Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all all y’all.

 

Double Your Trouble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How Hot Is It?       

You want to  know how hot it is, gentle readers? IT’S HOT ENOUGH! Doesn’t that about say  it all? Is it due to global warming? I would say yes, butthen we have to explain exactly  what global warming is. My uneducated guess is that our planet heats and  cools every so many years and it happens to be the time the planet is heating up for a  period of time. I have written before that when you see the weather girl give  the records being set it has always been colder and it has always been hotter at  different times and sometimes decades ago. So, there you are Charlie Brown.  It has been hot here in Colorado as it has and is all over the country. It’s  nothing now to hear that yes, it went over 100 again today. Then you throw in  all these dreadful fires that seem to pop up out of nowhere. Combine that with all this heat and this terrible drought in progress and it is really HOT! As I write the worst of the fires, at least in Colorado have been brought sort of under  control. The big fire that burned up so much country just west of me is now  contained, or so they say. God bless you fire fighters and all that put yourself  in harm’s way to do such a good job under terrible circumstances. What have we  learned you “tree huggers”? Have we learned by now that IT IS GOOD  BUSINESS  to clear out dead timber and use those logging roads to benefit  fire fighters in the future. Is it GOOD BUSINESS to allow livestock along with the  deer, elk, moose and antelope to graze those heavily forested and  other areas to reduce having overgrown areas that turn into tinder boxes at times  like these? I would bet that if it was indeed your house that fell victim to  these raging fires, you most likely would say, “yes”. This is such a heart  breaking situation for so many who have lost so much. Those of us that don’t  have to regroup like you, we think of you often and of course our prayers are for your  future and hopefully the good things it may bring. We really do need to use  some common sense when it comes to managing our public lands and not fall  victim to the cries of the environmentalist that feel a need to save every tree,  every blade of grass and in effect they let it all, “burn baby burn”. I was  watching the huge plumes of smoke that covered the horizon and much of the  heavens and I’m thinkin’, “how many 18 wheelers would it take on the  interstate to create that much pollution? Friend, it would take a bunch, a whole  bunch bumper to bumper for miles to do that much damage. Insurance will be  harder to get for folks living in those fire danger zones and many companies  just may not offer fire insurance at all in certain areas. It all comes  down to being of a practical mind, using common sense and not folding to  each and every bug , frog, lizard and owl saving radical. That’s all. Betcha’  things just stay the same, whatta’ ya bet? Our forest are like gardens.  They need to be thinned at times for the good of the whole. Mother Nature when she  get’s her belly full begins to vomit and we have seen the results of beetle  killed timber left to stand and forest floors full of dead pine needles and dead  grasses and brush that could have been used for grazing at some time or other.  Just my humble opinion and mine only. There will be some of you that  agree with me and some that don’t. Regardless we have witnessed some of the  worst fires our beautiful state has ever seen and may ever see. Stay tuned,  check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c. y’all, all  y’all. 

“That’s Funny Stuff”

Joe is one of those guys that is  not always funny when he tells a story. The other day was a little different.  First, a little background on this feller Joe. Before he retired he  was responsible for the draft horse program at the Budwiser plant in Fort Collin’s Colorado. Joe’s humor is usually from left field and a little dry. “Did ya see that bumper sticker that  said, “honk if you love Jesus, text if you want to  meet Him,?” ask Joe. “No I didn’t Joe, but that’s funny, that’s funny stuff,” I  shot back “Did I tell ya my pirate joke?” ask Joe. “I’m not sure, I responded, try me again.” “This pirate  goes into a tavern. He has a peg leg, a hook for his right arm and a patch over  his eye. Joe goes on, the bar keep says, “I’ve seen a lot of pirates, friend but you are the best  lookin’ pirate I’ve ever seen. Do you mind if I ask you how you lost yer leg?”  he mumbled. “No, not at all, says the pirate. I was on me pirate ship and had drunk a wee too much rye and me  fell overboard and a shark came up and snatched me leg and away he went. The  boys helped me back on board.” “Wow! That’s some story, tell me how did you lose that  arm?” wondered the bar keep. “Well mate, I was on me pirate ship and was  tussling with one of me ship mates. I had had a little to much rye and he got the best of me and off the  ship I went. A big shark swam by and snatched me right arm and off he went.”  “Man, you have had some really rough luck, how did you lose that eye?” “Well sir, I was on me  pirate ship and looking up at the mast to be sure the sails were in order when a  sea gull flew over and he dumped right in me eye.

 

Kids Say The Darndest Things 

Gentle readers, one of my  favorite people of all times was Art Linkletter and if you are over fifty you  have at least heard of him. He was a television personality long  ago and far away. He loved to interview little kids  because as we all know, “kids say the darndest things”. In one segment he was  observing a little girl about three or four years of age as she was drawing a picture. “”What are you  drawing there honey?” ask Art. “I’m drawing a picture of God!” she quietly  responded. “That’s nice, but did you know that no one has ever seen God so we don’t know what  he looks like?” he prodded. “She never looked up from her masterpiece and  responded with,” well, they do now!”

 

A Cowboy’s Rain 

 I have had “rain on the  brain” for the last few weeks. I reckon that’s because I just can’t seem to  bargain one to arrive here at the O-NO Ranch. My neighbors off to the east and south of me have had better luck. I got to thinking about some of the rains that I have enjoyed and been somewhat dismayed by in past. To a cowboy I think, or it’s just my opinion, that  “rain” can mean different things at certain times. By that I mean some of those  rains are so special and such a “God Sent” they are never forgotten. Other times I  remember rains that caused so much destruction that one could only hope it  wouldn’t rain another drop for a long time to come. I remember moving to that little ranch at McLean, Texas. Just a little eight section ranch full of sagebrush, sand and some good solid short grasses.

 

Going Up In Smoke

Everybody,  well almost every one smoked when I was a kid growing up. My dad, my uncles and  some  of my aunts also smoked. It was a pleasurable thing to do. My bro and I would sneak a cigarette every  now and then from one of the above and slip off to become real men. At sixteen I  began to smoke full time as a lot of the kids did. I did hide it from the coaches at  school and some of the teachers. They knew, of course they did. In the sixties  the surgeon general came out with a report that flatly stated that smoking was hazardous to  one’s health. My brother in laws, my brother and my dad had already quit for the  most part. At thirty when son Andy was born I did not smoke in the house. I never was a  heavy smoker. I loved those cigarettes. A cup of coffee in the morning without a  smoke was sinful. When I decided to change my lifestyle from sales person to cowboy, of course  I had to smoke. You saw those Marlboro ads just like I did. Cowboys smoked no  two ways about it. I even got so confident that I would “roll my own” on occasion.  That’s what real cowboys do. They got that Bull Durham tag hangin’ out of their  shirt pocket. I heard about that Marlboro cowboy dying from lung cancer. I began to hear of  and see folks that I knew die and die hard from smoking and it began to scare  me. I cut back to just four or five smokes a day. Some twenty one years ago I was over at the  Flying M Ranch outside of Gunnison, Colorado for a couple of days to help friend  Wade work some of his cows. After dinner one night I left the main house and started  back up the hill to the bunk house and stopped to light a smoke. It was a cold  night and the stars were out as bright as could be. My God what a beautiful sight! I took a  couple of drags off the smoke and started up the hill. All of a sudden I  couldn’t get my breath in that thin cold night air.

 

Summertime 

Tell me , gentle readers, who doesn’t  like summertime? As we get older most likely it doesn’t mean as much to us as  when we were in school and thinking  about all the fun things we would get to enjoy in  those three special months we had away from our studies. Summertime for me when  I was a mere lad of nine or ten meant I would ride the old skinny paint  horse out to that windmill in the pasture and try to catch a yellow catfish.  Maybe, just maybe I would take my  22 single shot rifle and shoot a rabbit, skin it  and cook it over a little mesquite fire and force myself to eat some of it  regardless of how it taste or looked. A mountain man would surly do that wouldn’t he?  Always on the lookout for rattlesnakes as the pasture had it’s share of those  pesky and dangerous critters.

 

The Joy of Living

 It dawned on me once again today,  gentle readers, how much I enjoy living. Living is to be filled, I  believe, with all the joy we can cram into it. By the time you read this I will have turned 72 and one of my  sisters will have her 81st birthday on the same day. There are certain times  when KAPOW! I am sucker punched by the joy I receive from living. I was out on the  Harley today after my morning swim in the cement pond and stopped off at our  local Burger King for a cup of senior coffee. That fifty two cents that I pay for coffee  is just one of the small joys in life. There was a grandpa with two of his  little grandkids in there also. I observed how much this feller was enjoying those two little  ones. Man were they a cute pair.There was one little girl of two and a boy about  five. I thought about my own grandkids and how much I enjoyed them when they were just  tykes like these two. Of course I still enjoy them. I go to their track meets  and watch them compete with kids their own age and older. I gotta’ tell ya, I got some  fast grandkids but it just makes me realize how fast they have grown up and how  fast time is passing for me.

 

The Waltz 

I love to dance, gentle  readers, I really do. It’s one of my most favorite things to do. I have been  told that I am a pretty fair country and western dancer. I know, I know, I sound  a little pretentious and maybe a wee bit smug. Dizzy Dean,  that famous baseball picture, always said , ” if ya done, it ain’t braggin’ “. I  got an email today from a dancing partner from the past that is dating someone else and after dancing with  her once last night she requested that I always save her a waltz. Just one,  could I just set aside one waltz during the course of the evening. She assured me her boyfriend wouldn’t  mind. I told her I would. The waltz is my favorite dance as it is sort of a  sweeping eloquent dance. I am not a ballroom dancer I am just an old country boy that has always been an admirer  of folks that really were smooth with the waltz. My “little Miss Martha,” bless  her heart, was not a dancer. She had very little rhythm and was very uncomfortable on the dance  floor. We never went dancing and I really missed it all those years. After she  passed away I began to go out some months later and tune up my dancing skills. As a result I have  a good many dancing partners and I really enjoy taking some young cutie that  wants to get on the dance floor and learn how to two step, waltz, polka, cha cha or whatever and  get her started. I know, I know that sounds a wee bit pretentious, but Dizzy  Dean said, “…………………………..

 

Breakfast

 Gentle readers, I soundly  believe that breakfast is the most important meal of the day especially for farm  and ranch families. Agreed? You just gotta’ have that ole tummy full and ready to face a long day sometimes of uncertainty. As a widower sometimes it’s a little hard to want to put together a big breakfast because you have to fix it and then clean up afterwards. This morning I had biscuits, gravy, sausage and coffee. Believe it or not it was easy to prepare! No longer do I use the bacon grease and flower  and milk to make my gravy. Nope, sure don’t. Listen up girls. I know you already  know this, but you may not.

 

Spanking

 

 

SNAKE TIME 

 Yep, gentle readers, in a few more  weeks it will be time for us here in the country to be watchful for those pesky  rattlers. They will be coming out of their winter hibernation and wanting to warm up and find a good meal. As most of you  know I am not a fan of rattle snakes. I kill them where ever I find them.

  I had  a horse bitten last year and that can be a costly recovery if things don’t go well. He was bitten on the nose and suffered greatly. I have had rattlers in the garage, flower bed, my yard and any and every where. I almost stepped on one in the back yard and again out at my mailbox. I was watching The  Discovery channel last night and it was about folks that try to entertain crowds  by playing with dangerous vipers. In this case, rattlesnakes.

 

            The Cowboy Brain 

Gentle readers,  there has at times been much discussion around the campfire, the bunk house and  the local café or bar about the “smarts” that a cowboy or cowgirl might have in between their ears.  Personally, I think most cowboys, we’re talkin’ working ranch cowboys, feed lot  cowboys or cowboys that have fallen on hard times and had to wrangle  “dudes” to get by for a while are usually pretty savvy. Now I don’t consider  most bull riders to be cowboys. I do realize they carry that tag because they dress  up like cowboys when they perform in the arena. There are exceptions, of course,  as there are working ranch cowboys that come to town to ride bulls or  rough stock during the local rodeo. To me, a “cowboy” is someone who works on a  ranch and looks after someone else’s cattle. It’s just that plain and  simple. With that out of the way let me get to the subject matter once again.  Most cowboys are comfortable pokin’ fun at themselves and any one else that is  handy they feel needs to be stirred up a little. Now my poem…The Cowboy Brain.  (as a sidebar, I do admire anyone that rides rough stock, real cowboy or  not)

 

 

 

 

 

To Cry or not To Cry                                                              

 

Texas

  

………..Charlie Brown

Gentle readers, I first heard of  Charlie Brown and his misfortunes in 1959. I was just a pup a year out of high  school and did I ever have a lot to learn. One thing that I did learn was that ol’ Charlie and I  had a lot in common. Sometimes as hard as we may try, we just could never make  four out of two plus two.I have often written about this circle of life that  we sometimes find ourselves in the spin cycle. It’s interesting to say the  least. Back then in Odessa, Texas working in the oil patch I never thought that I would in  fact become a cartoonist or live in the beautiful state of Colorado or become a  cowboy, all of which were my fantasies. Of course, the very idea of being  friends with the daughter of Charles Shultz, the creator of Peanuts would have  had to have come from outer space.

 

Black Gold      

I got just enough of a whiff of  gas the other morning to know that it had to be coming from the newly drilled  oil well across the road. Presently the well is flowing with the oil and frac water being  separated into the appropriate storage tanks. That little smell of gas and just  the site of the newly installed  tank battery gathering system took me back to my  roots in West Texas. Yep, most of you readers know that I grew up on the Mallett  Ranch west of Sundown, Texas. We lived in an oil field camp on  the ranch. It consisted of three houses. One for my dad, one for the geologist,  and one for the construction foreman. My dad was the production foreman for the  oil production on that vast ranch. Just outside my back door were cowboys,  cattle, oilfield hands and pump jacks and tank battery systems in just about  every direction you looked. My first summer job at age fourteen was to work with  the construction crew building pads for the pump jacks and tank  gathering systems. In fact, gentle readers, every job I had until I was twenty  three had something to do with the oil patch. If you have every watched that new  television program called Black Gold, you will have seen the country I grew up  in. The show is filmed in the Permian Basin area around Midland an Odessa,  Texas. I know every character on the show. I don’t know them personally of  course, but when I was a young man I worked with individuals that were  exactly like the folks featured on the show. I never worked on a drilling rig  but spent a good amount of time on the work over rigs. The smaller rigs that pull  the pipe out of the hole to change a pump or to replace old pipe with new pipe.  As an eighteen year old kid I was forced to see the world through the eyes of  these types of men. Most were good guys just out to make a living for their  families. There were a few “roudies”, rough guys, some ex convicts and some  real “dummies”. In the series Black Gold there is always conflict on the rig  floor and it appears as if there is always going to be “fist-a-cuffs” sooner  than later. Most of that is just drama I’m sure put on them by the producers to  make the show more appealing. From my past experiences working with men like that  and managing ranch crews, most of that is just that, “drama”. Fellers that are  always trying to stir the pot or looking for trouble don’t last past dinner  on most crews. The show does give you the big picture of what it’s like to work  on the floor of a drilling rig. It’s loud, it requires a great deal of muscle and to say  it’s dangerous is an understatement! Back to the rig that was across the road. I  looked out one cold December morning when the wind was blowing wave and wave of  snow and there was the derrick man up in the crow’s nest stackin’ pipe that was  being pulled from the hole. “Man, I’m glad that’s him and not me,” I  mumbled to myself almost out loud. This patch of oil my neighbors and myself are  sitting on will pay some dividends sometime in the future we hope. If not, I  get a little taste of West Texas right out my front door. Stay tuned, check yer  cinch on occasion and don’t forget your sweetheart this Valentine’s Day. I’ll  c. y’all, all y’all!                                       

                                    

 ”Purt Near”

Ol’ pard, ya purt near convinced me that you  wouldn’t tell a lie. I wuz purt near believin’ that that ol’ hoss of  yours could fly. Ya bragged ’bout his breedin’, Fast Freddie by  Ain’t Got A Clue, and I had purt near decided there weren’t  nothin’  he couldn’t do.

  The bad news is yer deader than dead, and the good news is I purt near loaned you my new  saddle!  Well, gentle readers, with that said, I’m purt near  fed up with all this politicin’ goin’ on and and am dang sure fed up with what’s  coming out of Washington these days. Like I told my neighbor Phil  this morning, “If the sons of biscuit eaters want to fight, then BRING IT, LET’S  FIGHT!  It’s to cold to ride the ol’ Harley so I’m off to  the barn to ride my ol’ fat paint hoss, Howdy! It’ll cool me down some.

Stay  tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c.y’all, all  y’all.

THE BORDER                          

                                                                                                      TIME                                                                                                         

 

WHO AM I ?        

 

HANG AND RATTLE (Nov. 2011)

In the cowboy’s world, gentle readers, the phrase “hang and rattle” usually refers to trying to stay on an ol’ pony that sometimes can be a hard bucker. I’ve confessed before many times that I never was and will never be a bronc rider. There were those limited times when I was able to grab the night latch and “hang and rattle” and boy was I ever proud of myself. Any cowboy worth his salt has had horses that intimidated him. To many times he was required to ride those ponies on a regular basis as that was just part of his job. And….I have seen some young bucks that could just sit up there on a hurricane deck and knock the hair off of some dysfunctional horse.

That was just not one of my talents. There was that warm July morning in 1985 when the cowboy crew, my teenage kids and I set out to gather a small pasture of fairly wild steers that had been sold and the trucks were on the way to load them up. Ol’ Jiggs was my favorite horse in my string but let me tell you children when he got upset and decided to buck, you’d better get hold of every thing you could if you were going to “hang and rattle”. The details of what caused this wreck are not important, it’s just that stuff happens sometimes when you are workin’ cattle. Jiggs caught me off guard, blew up and I found myself way outta’ the saddle in a whisper. I kept reachin’for the night latch but I just couldn’t seem to grab on. I was airborne about nine to ten feet in the air and I was on my back lookin’ up at that beautiful blue sky.

JIggs was a big horse. He was five years old, stood over 16 hands and weighed almost 1500 # with the saddle on. I bought him as a two year old and broke him and I was partial to him most of the time. Not today. I must have looked like a “Jack In The Box” that was out of the box and floppin’ around just before I made contact with the terra firma.

I landed on the back of my head and neck and yes, it hurt a lot. I was layin’ there watchin’ flashes of light. Through the light I saw my kids lookin’ down at me and of course, they were worried. Their mom was out of town as her dad had died a few days before and she was with her mother making funeral arrangements. Ol’ Jiggs ran off still buckin’ like a world class bronc. The boys caught him up, helped me get up and remounted and we penned the cattle. I took myself to the hospital as soon as the steers were in the pen and they put me to bed and put weight on my head and let it hang off the bed. Heck, that hurt worse than you can imagine. After about twenty minutes, I took that contraption off my head, checked myself out against doctor’s orders and went home to be with my kids. It took a little over two years before I could put a pillow under my head at night. I wish that I had been able to “hang and rattle” that morning, but then, my story wouldn’t be as good. Right now I am “hanging and rattling with a bad chest cold. I think in a couple of more days I’ll be okay.

At this writing, the date is 9-11. I remember with sadness the events of that day. There were folks that “hung and rattled” as long as they could. God bless’um! Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c.y’all, all y’all.

Oct. 1 , 2011

THE SAFETY MAN                                                                                                  

Sept 12, 2011

HARD TIMES 
One of my uncles told of the depression era and how my dad would sometimes help out on my grandfather’s farm by driving a tractor. “Your dad would carry a wrench on the tractor and if he saw a jackrabbit, he would stop the tractor, jump off and throw the wrench at the rabbit,” my uncle said with fondness towards my dad. He went on, “ya know he could throw a baseball really well and he brought home lots of rabbits for the skillet.” Times were tough during the depression, gentle readers, and I know some of you were there doing the best you could. I havehad my own depressions as I’m sure that most of you have had also. I have written before that when LIttle Miss Martha and I were first married there were times I couldn’t scrape up a quarter for a cup of coffee with the guys. That in it’self is depressing. Of course things got better. I got better jobs and was able to better provide for my family. I worked for Sears and later for Procter and Gamble before I decided that “cowboyin’ ” would be the best place for me and my family when the dust settled. It took a couple of years of “hard times” before the dust settled and I was manageing a large ranch. Times were good then. Ranch and farm work is always going to be harder than your run of the mill sales job or most other jobs. I know that some of you are on hard times now. Times are tougher than they have been in a long long time but there is always hope that this rough ole road will get smoother as we travel down it. Right now farming and ranching in most of Texas, Oklahoma and some parts of Colorado and Kansas is tougher than an ole boot that has been on the fence post for a decade. The drought has devastated many farms and ranches in those states. My thoughts and prayers are with those folks who have worked so hard to build up their places and now many will be lost. Hard times build character. At least that is what I have always been told. We are tough people and we will get through these hard times, but I betcha’ that they are not soon forgotten. Ths country is going to change and I believe for the better. Check yer saddle pad for burrs, check yer cinch, be sure the pasture gates are closed and tight. It’s gonna’ get better sooner or later. Stay tuned and I’ll c. y’all, all y’all.