SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE WESTERNER

Two women, a rope and cow

By Julie Carter

Sometimes roping has nothing to do with skill with a rope. It can simply be fun, a challenge, or a survival tool.

When the neighbor calls and prefaces the conversation with "Feel free to say no" immediately after she says "good morning" you know it's not a good sign for what is to follow. And even when you react immediately with a “no” you realize she didn’t really mean what she said because she then tells you she already has the horses in the corral.

With anything resembling “man” power gone far away last weekend just we “wimmen folk” were left here at the ranch. The project outlined by the phone call was to get to the corrals a big 4 year-old cow who had gone blind and not been to water for a few days.

For those of you that haven’t tried it, cowboying a blind cow anywhere is not a feasible project. But we tried. She followed the fence the fair distance to the corrals and was within spittin’ distance of the gate when she decided to go back from where she’d come and did so at a fairly rapid pace.

This is the place where it becomes not really about getting the cow in but about not having to tell the men we tried and didn’t get the job done.

That left the only option remaining to two of us who really didn’t want to do it. Rope her, load her in the trailer and haul her home. Short sentence, long project.

The roping was the easy part. The getting her in the trailer turned into a battle of wits, cuss words and strained body parts. The cow, while not wild, was not cooperative in the least. With no help whatsoever from her; we got her snubbed up close enough to have her head in the trailer with great hopes of finding a way to get the rest of her to follow.

Pulling her in the trailer the traditional horse and rope method failed. It wasn’t a pretty sight and unless you’ve done it, the explanation wouldn’t make sense anyway. So with the horse tied elsewhere, we resorted to “brute” strength and sinister plotting.

We seemed to have an adequate amount of "know how" but fell considerably short with the physical ability to execute the plan.

At one point the rope on the cow had her a little short of air so she decided to lie down and quit completely. We loosened her up and after she revived she didn't want to get up on her feet. My partner suggested pouring a little water on her nose from her water bottle hoping it might make her feel better and she'd get up.

I doubted it would work but what do I know. It could. So I poured water on her nose and hoped she’d either get up or drown and we could go home.

The water baptism didn’t work but a little nylon rope therapy did. She got up and it was shortly thereafter she got her front feet and most her body up into the trailer. It was progress.

We were now totally committed. Everything but her back feet was in the trailer. We bodily tried to shove her in but no budging. Too much cow, not enough muscle from us.

I was getting tired and very aggravated over the cows lack of cooperation. But with a little more nylon encouragement she decided that getting up in the trailer was better than where she was. It only took a minute.

I laughed when my friend said, "Well maybe that's why my husband just gets mad first." I agreed. A cow can make a man angrier faster than just about anything in the world!

There is no glory for the rope burns I wear in places I can’t show. Three days of hot showers and ibuprofen and I’m as good as new and with a new story to tell on myself.

And I have new wisdom. I either need to quit this line of work or get in much better shape. I’m not sure which is harder to do.

Julie can be reached for comment at jcarter@tularosa.com. Bring your own rope.

© Julie Carter 2005


Do you know any old cowboys?

by Larry Gabriel

Western folklore and cowboy poets say heaven has a special reward for old cowboys. They may be right.

This is a story I heard…

Cowboy: Excuse me mister. Can you tell me where I am?

St. Peter: Sure I can. You're at the pearly gate.

Cowboy: It looks a little like a cattle chute.

St. Peter: Well I am sure it does to you. You see, each person has his own kind of gate and his own brand of standards by which he will be measured.

Cowboy: I'm not sure I am up to being measured. I didn't always spend a lot of time in church.

St. Peter: I know that, but you do recall hearing things about reaping what you sow and the measure you use is the measure you will receive, don't you?

Cowboy: I remember hearing that, but it was never very clear to me what that was all about.

St. Peter: It is very simple really. I will apply to you the same standards you used all your life. Cowboy: That's fair enough.

St. Peter: It says here you always believed in honor, integrity and trying to do the right thing. Is that true?

Cowboy: Yea.

St. Peter: Did you always try to do that?

Cowboy: Yea.

St. Peter: Did you regret it anytime you didn't live up to that?

Cowboy: Yea.

St. Peter: Well, that's the only test we've got for cowboys. You passed. You can go home.

Cowboy: What do mean go home?

St. Peter: Pass through this chute. I'll put a little brand on you and you can go back to your ranch on the Moreau River. It won't be exactly the same, because you don't have to work unless you want to and you will never be hungry or tired or cold or sick, and when the horse throws you your bones won't break. It's your new Moreau River ranch.

Cowboy: I can't quite get my mind wrapped around all you are saying. How is it that you talk just like me?

St. Peter: Have you ever heard of "speaking in tongues"?

Cowboy: Yea.

St. Peter: Well, that just means that when I speak each person hears it in his own language. So I talk "cowboy" when you hear me speak.

Cowboy: That's really something! If I had known how great this was I would've spent less time talking to my horse and the cows and more time visiting with religious folks about this stuff.

St. Peter: But then you wouldn't be a cowboy and you'd be standing at a different gate.

Cowboy: I see your point. Maybe I'll just shut up and be on my way.

St. Peter: Good choice.

I don't claim this story is a fact, but it is dedicated to the memory of my uncle Frank, a real South Dakota cowboy from a West River ranch on the Moreau River, who headed home this week.

Larry Gabriel is the South Dakota Secretary of Agriculture


We welcome submissions for this feature of The Westerner.

===