No Horses, No Thank You

Reading Farmgirl's Tractor Tracks blog caused this memory to surface.

"Your cows are out” is a terrible telephone call for ranchers to receive, especially when their place is on a busy road. This happened to two friends I was visiting.

They, like many in agriculture, have town jobs to pay for their ranch addiction. One night coming home they hit an elk, rolled their truck, and both were seriously injured. I had stopped by to see how they were faring.

We got in my car and drove to the cows. The beasties wouldn’t be herded by a car and arm waving so back to the ranch where I saddled a horse.

I was riding a horse alone before my fourth birthday. My late father was the best rider I’ve ever seen. The second best is my sister. An uncle, third. Me, the grace of a sack of potatoes tied to a saddle horn. I don't dislike horses until they decide not to do what I want. Then we stop being friends.

Their horse and I sorted out who was the boss, then went off and rounded up the bovines, without any injuries from traffic. After fixing the fence (the most common cowboy job there is), it was back to the ranch, unsaddle the horse, and time for an adult beverage.

Sly grins were coming from my friends. Finally the husband speaks up and asks, “How long has it been since you have ridden a horse”? My reply, “Probably thirty years.” After several less than complimentary remarks about the way I sat a horse, that kind of talk was terminated with just one question, “Are your damn cows in”?

True cowboy’s main endeavors are fixing fence and stacking hay. Entering the Army, I looked forward to driving a tank or shooting a large gun. The Army made me a Combat Engineer where I worked with barb wire and stacked sandbags. At least there were no damn horses.