Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Wrong before right  

by Julie Carter 

Life's lessons aren’t learned in the classroom. For country kids they frequently involve an event that includes pain and disappointment on the way to that eventual "Aha" moment.

My dad wasn't one to spend a lot of time explaining things. As a kid, I didn't know any better but as an adult looking back, I know I learned most of what I know by paying attention. My lessons were caught more than taught.

He wasn't loud or aggressive about letting my brothers or I know we’d done something wrong. With the same quiet, he didn't often acknowledge to us if we had done something right. We just had to figure it out by watching for any subtle reaction.

When he was pleased, he would tell my mother. She would, in the way mothers do, pass that on to us.
In this manner, I learned how to read a horse, watch a cow and know how to not get in the way when working cattle in the pasture or in the corrals. He "showed" more than he taught about working with colts, riding with easy hands, a light handle, and when it was time to establish who was in charge.

Sometimes for kids, allowing them to do things the wrong way is the best way for them to learn how to do it right, and more importantly, remember the lesson.

When Frankie was just a young button about 7-8 years old, his grandpa lost the coin toss and was delegated the job of teaching him the art of calf roping.

They worked their way through the correct positioning of the horse behind the calf, loop size, proper swing and then the tie. At last, they were down to the part where Frankie was actually to get on a horse and make a calf roping run in the arena.

Frankie’s excitement had been building, listening as patiently as he could while his grandpa explained each step of the process. With great enthusiasm, he got on his horse, backed him in the roping box and nodded, all the time keeping his eye on the calf in the chute.

The calf flew out and headed at warp speed toward the other end of the arena. Frankie’s horse broke from the roping box clean and smooth. Frankie threw a big loop, catching the calf somewhere around his belly button. 

Not quite textbook style, but a catch just the same.

He correctly made a quick dismount off the right side, only to land in a heap in the arena dirt. Getting up, he tackled the calf, managed to string two instead of three of the four feet that were kicking around. He stood up and threw his hands into the air with the triumph of a winner.

About that time, the calf used one of his free legs to take a kicking swing, tripped Frankie, and put him back in the dirt.

Undaunted, Frankie jumped up and made a mad dash back to his horse, careful to not spook him into a backward run. About the same time, the calf managed to kick loose of the piggin’ string and stood up shaking his head.

Frankie got back in the saddle, rode forward and took the rope off the calf.

When he got back up to the chute, he asked his Grandpa "What do you think I should do next time?" 

With a serious look and tone, grandpa said, "Well, I think you should take dead aim at that calf, get a good break from the box and run right over the top of him." 

Frankie stood there a minute thinking about that and finally asked, "Why should I do that?"

Grandpa answered with a deadpan look on his face. “You did everything wrong that you possibly could on that last run. Running over the calf is the only thing left.”

There are days like that --when it seems that nothing will get better until absolutely everything goes wrong first.
 
Julie can be reached for comment at jcarternm@gmail.com.