Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

First, it takes a rancher

Julie Carter

It comes up from time to time - those little daily events that qualify for the "You might be a rancher's wife if ..." list.

These were suggested recently.

You might be a rancher's wife if:

• you have blackleg vaccine in the refrigerator next to the ketchup;

• you remodel your house just to get a mud room;

• your stationary has a checkerboard design on it with "Purina" written across the top;

• you have bull semen straws in the freezer next to the ice cube trays.

However, in order for there to be a rancher's wife, there must first be a rancher husband, who by the way, does not come with an operating manual or a warning label.

You know, like the one that comes with the hair blow dryer that says, "Do not use while in the bathtub," or the lawn mower that says "Toxic fumes are dangerous. Do not operate indoors."

A simple description of a rancher-type husband would be warning enough.

A rancher husband is a man who:

• tromps in leaving a trail of dirt from his boots and a black hand print on the door and asks, "Any chance of cleaning this place up before my mother gets here?"

• eats potatoes 365 days a year but will say, "This must be third time this month we've had corn. Are we out of grub?"

• eats calf fries right off the branding fire and says, "Is the mashed tators supposed to have something gritty in them?"

• comes in from the branding fire, smokes a cigar, reeks of sweat and manly odor and says, "That damn scented candle of yours is plumb fogging up my sinus'."

• will write a grocery list that reads: "bunch of viannie sawseges, beer, scours medicine, don't forget the beer, 4-way or 7-way or whatever its called, and don't forget the beer;"

• gets up at the crack of dawn, turn on the Weather Channel and sit there for two hours without moving and then say, "you can't 'spect me to go to the movie and jus' sit there for damn hours without movin'."

• spends $56,000 on a big yellow machine with a first name that starts with DC, but he won't spend $298 on a dishwasher;

The operating manuals written 25 years ago were only a couple pages long, while today's resemble the size of the old Sears and Roebuck catalogs and seem to be every bit as useful in the outhouse, which is where they would end up, if we still had outhouses.

Cowboy husband manuals, if they existed, would likely follow the same page expansion trend.

There is a whole lot more to be warned about today given the opportunity of advances in modern conveniences and technology.

An entire list could be compiled of "ranch husband" issues that arise over remote controls, cell phones and even the dual control, computerized, well-lit and voice-commanded (he thinks) dashboards on today's pickups.

In compiling this list, one ranch wife offered a disclaimer.

"In no way is my list an example of my husband. I was talking about other people's husbands.

"In fact, I want to point out that there is nothing that makes me love my husband more than listening about other people's husbands."

Ain't it the truth!