Passing on the stories
Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Julie Carter

The Native Americans pass legends down through the generations through designated storytellers.

It's the job of a gifted tribe member to be the keeper of the stories and to pass them on to the next generation from the many generations before.

Cowboys do much the same thing. Where the Native American storyteller will have a name like Grandmother Two Bears or Old Father Story Teller, the cowboy will simply be named Ben, Joe or Charlie.

If those same fellows were in a tribe somewhere, they could possibly bear names such as Man Who Walks Like Penguin. Old cowboys tend to be shorter than they were in their youth, a bit bow-legged and waddle when they walk.

The days of that long-legged strolling stride left when the "Itis boys" (Arthur, Burs and Tendon) showed up in every limb of their body. What they don't have left in athletic ability has been enhanced with humor and their imaginative re-telling of "legends."

The number of topics from the old days when cowboys were king is endless. First, know that things were bigger, better and wilder "back then." They may not be able to accurately give you their wife's full name, but they can name every one of the jug-headed horses they rode during the past 40 years.

In every story of every wreck they were ever in that involved a rope and cow, they can also describe, in detail, the appearance, personality and pedigree of the horse they rode. And not always in the verbiage fit to repeat in polite company.

For whatever reason, that same horse will consistently be either be the best he ever rode, or the sorriest. There doesn't seem to be any recollection of any mediocre nags from that era.

The topic second in line for the windiest stories includes incredible tales of snakes. There are generations of big ugly diamondbacks that slithered into bedrolls, traveled up a catch rope to meet the roper or fell out of a tree on an unsuspecting cowboy riding by.

Snakes, in their mystical ability to strike the fear in the heart of all men, garner a corner of cowboy history dedicates to that species. Ask any old bowlegged, cowboy-booted hombre you run into for his best snake story. It is guaranteed he will have not just one.

Additionally, there are the "goin' to town" stories. In the old days, not so long ago, cowboys went to town only to buy a few groceries and other necessary supplies.

During that same trip they might eat a steak at the local restaurant, spend a couple bucks for a haircut and then wile away a few hours of sundown time at the local watering hole, imbibing in adult beverages.

One of my favorite cowboy storytellers told a great tale that had all the going-to-town ingredients. He gleefully recalled, often upon request, riding a young barely broke horse into a bar.

The blaring jukebox music didn't frighten the colt until it stopped and then the silence brought him to life. He blew up, fell over on the pool table and in doing so, broke the cowboy's foot. Decades later, the cowboy delighted in detailing the reason for that particular limp.

The cowboys that fill my pages with their stories have had no expectations that their shenanigan-nonsense would entertain so many.

I delight in being able to pass on those reasonable presentations of the truth

They don't all stay at the ranch
Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Julie Carter

Ranch raising is the best way any kid could grow up. It teaches life's lessons in the most basic ways for all the formative years. Then one day the ranch kid wakes up and he is an adult with big-people dreams and plans that often don't include staying at the ranch.

Cowboy life is not always awash in glamour. A good bit of it involves farm implements, a shovel, plumbing tools, fence stretchers and carpenter skills. It's that seedy side of the career than will send a young man looking for the excitement.

My own younger brother was a good example of this natural migration. Being the last one left at home - his older brothers already gone, making the big bucks in the construction industry - he was the last cowboy standing. Well into that stage of maturity where Dad didn't know a thing about anything, ranch work was just another frontier of disagreement. To improve his circumstances, he joined the U.S. Army.

The irony was that after basic training, they sent him to live on an Army-owned ranch in Colorado to be in the cavalry regiment that performed in parades and re-enactment. In this newfound career, he cleaned stalls, tended to horses and preformed other ranch chores.

Eventually his tour was up and he moved back home. However, cowboy glamour at the ranch soon left again in the midst of moving sprinkler pipe in the hay fields and other such tedious chores.

The lad re-enlisted, but not without throwing in a tour of duty tending bar in a big city honky-tonk, teaching country dance lessons and landing a role in a beer commercial for the really big bucks. His cowboy expertise came in quite handy.

Through the years, the armed forces have been the "great escape" for a number of cowboys.

In Texas, Donnie was still at home, helping his dad out with the family ranch while considering his career opportunities. During the last rainy spell, his dad decided that the house roof needed new shingles. Donnie came to mind for this job.

Soon, Donnie found himself up on the ridge row with a shingling hatchet, a bundle of shingles and a nail apron firmly in place. After the first couple of rows of shingles, the summer sunshine was losing its charm.

Donnie managed to work the head off the hatchet and was climbing down when Dad, who was paying more attention than Donnie realized, tossed him up a hammer. It took Donnie a while to break the handle on the hammer, but he got it done. Dad had another one ready for him.

While nailing on a couple more rows of shingles, he decided that Dad was preoccupied. The hammer slipped out of his grasp and landed about 500 feet away in the stock tank. That just happened to be the last hammer on the place, so Dad sent Donnie to the hardware store in town for more hammers to finish the job.

On the way to town, Donnie noticed he had a couple of extra shirts and pairs of Wranglers in the truck so he went on down the road to Mineral Wells and joined the Army.

Three years went by before Donnie returned stateside and got back to Texas where he headed home. On the way, he remembered what started it all.

He stopped by the hardware store, got a couple of hammers and when he walked in the door at home told his Dad, "Here's your hammers. I got them just like you told me."