Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

All in a day's work

 by Julie Carter

When life was simple and the biggest worry I had was if some cute boy liked me or not, I didn't spend much time worrying about money. That's what parents were for, I believed.

Mom and Dad did what they could to teach me about work ethics and the rewards of doing a job and doing it well. 

That lesson also happened to fill a gap for my dad who was short of cowboys to tend to 4,000 head of freshly imported yearlings.

"Working for short pay" is an old phrase used to define the low wages paid for the never-ending hours and days of cowboy work. 

Following in tradition, my first cowboy pay at the age of 15 was $5.50 a day. My brother, 13, was paid $5 a day. 

My elevated financial status seemed to make me the "girl in charge," or so I believed. My brother fell for that most of the time. He was two years younger but a foot taller than I was, so I had to use every edge I could to keep my bluff going.

Our job was to ride the pastures we were assigned, carefully counting every head of cattle we saw and search for any that the count indicated were missing. 

The sick cattle had to be driven to the corrals if possible and any dead cattle had to be tallied with proof of a brand. 

That meant cutting off the hide where the brand was located, tying it to the saddle and taking it back to headquarters. Not a pleasant smelling job in the middle of summer, even at mountain elevations.

We had no idea what life lessons we were learning at the time or how utopian our lives were.

Our world was remote, small and focused on the details of the day - like the correct cattle count to report to Dad or how many times my brother could rope a sage bush without missing.

Paying attention to the job at hand wasn't his strong suit and that of course, in a sibling situation, again gave me the upper hand. 

When reality returned to his teenage-boy brain, he'd ask me for the count so he'd know it in case Dad asked him. 

Out of irritation for his lack of participation, I'd refuse to tell him. And then, as they say, the fight was on.

Our wages were already designated to the next part of our lesson in finances - paying some of our own bills. Mine was to pay for my cheerleading uniform and associated expenses which took a month's paycheck. 

I'm not sure what plans my brother had for his, but likely it involved some expense to be incurred during hunting season. That addiction began early in life for him.

My grandmother saved a letter I had written her when I was 11 years old. 

In it, I reported to her that my brother had quit band during deer season. 

"I don't know why he did that," I said. And I believe, at the time, that I was truly puzzled. That mystery has since been cleared up.

A day's wages of $5.50 won't get my teenage son past the concession stand at a ball game in today's economy. 

The past couple of summers, he made $45 a day doing the same kind of work as I did. He is now thinking he needs to find a better paying job.

Why? Because, besides his interest in girls and a pickup he thinks he needs to buy, he has some hunting plans that need financed.

There is a definite echo in our family history.

Julie can be reached for comment at jcarter@tularosa.net. Her brother is not available for fact verification.