by Julie Carter
The
hallmark of a cowboy is long days, stupid stunts and never forgetting the
story. Laughing at themselves is key.
One
particularly agitated cowboy was kicking up dust with his boot as he paced a
small circle while recalling the day with disgust. His bride had promised to
deliver a barn cat to a friend in need of one and his job was to catch it and
put it in the pet carrier. No step for stepper, he thought.
The
feline was overdue to have a new batch of kittens and the cowboy was sure her
cumbersome load would slow her enough for him to get ahold of her and as he
promised, carefully place her in the cage that would deliver her to the other
side of the county. As far as he was concerned, a good cat was a long-gone cat.
The
noise from the barn was a mixture of snarls, screeches and cussing, almost all
of which came from the cowboy and only some that came from the cat. Much
crashing and banging could be heard but at last the barn door flew open. A
flash of fur gave new meaning to "running like a scalded cat."
Moments
later the cowboy wandered into the daylight wearing a dazed look and his hat
sitting slightly askew. He examined the blood running down his arm and with a
cautious hand felt of the claw marks across his face.
"I've
been to a hundred county fairs and a goat roping or two," he said,
"but I ain't never been as humiliated as I am right now. I've been bit,
scratched, hissed at, run over and outsmarted by a cat too stupid to not get
pregnant every time she passes by a tomcat.”
His
degradation plummeted to rock-bottom when his bride came from behind the house
still in her bathrobe and slippers, carrying the cat, petting and cooing
goodbyes to her as she tucked her inside the carrier.
The
cat was never mentioned again.
Challenge met
The
cowboy was day working the area ranches and not one for wasting any daylight,
he decided he was up for a little fun when he heard there was a team roping in
town that night.
With
his horse already in the trailer, he headed to the arena just as thunderheads
opened up. Even after entries were taken, the downpour continued so the roping
was cancelled. Returned entry fee money in their pockets and time on their
hands made for prime cowboy mischief.
The
local watering hole filled up fast with the rejects from the rained-out roping.
Some lively fun was "fixin' to commence."
Blake
walked in still wearing his chaps and spurs from the day's work. The barmaid, a
new hire, was a little on the lippy side and not particularly well-versed in
cowboys. As Blake headed to the bar, she shouted across the room, "Well
cowboy, where's your horse?"
He
answered, "Out in the trailer."
"Yea,
right!" she said with obvious doubt based on her ignorance of cowboys.
"You'll
believe me when I ride him inside the bar," Blake said.
"That'll
be the day," she naively challenged.
That's
all it took. Blake walked out the door and directly to his trailer, unloaded
his bay cowpony and headed back to the bar. Once inside he stepped up into the
saddle.
He
began loping slow figure eights around the pool tables while the barmaid stood
dumbfounded, mouth open in shock and shaking her head. The yee-haws from the
cowboys leaning on the bar only encouraged the show.
With
a glance toward the dance floor, Blake's intentions were apparent. Someone
handed him a beer as he passed by and the barmaid grabbed a Polaroid camera.
She
snapped a picture just as Blake spun his mount around the floor with his beer
held high as if to toast the crowd. That photo remained pinned to the wall at
the back of the bar for years to come.
It
was documented proof that there isn't much you can challenge a cowboy with that
he won't make his best, if unwise, effort to try to meet.
Julie, witness to and
part of many unwise cowboy moments, can be reached for comment at jcarternm@gmail.com.
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