Ranch Horses

Cow dust in the gather

Ranch Horses

Spring, 2013

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            Bailey nickered at me through the 4:30 dark silence.

            They had all come to me as I switched the lights on to start to feed. Three bays and a seal brown chestnut that live over the corral fence with us in Mesilla. I worked through the routine keeping them quiet and settled as they got their morning feed.

            I stood there and listened to them eat momentarily before I climbed through the fence and turned the lights off. I went to get ready before I saddled and loaded.

            We were going to gather.

            First light

            Leonard had called to tell me he had nine riders that could start on Friday morning rather than Saturday. That would give us a head start and make Saturday, when the bigger crew would arrive, more efficient.

            “Good deal … let’s do it.”

            When I came out onto the back porch at 5:30, no horses were seen. They were all standing in the far corner of the arena when I found them. They know what feeding at 4:30 brings.

            I decided to take Tom. Since we were only going to pen enough cattle for Leonard and me to start sorting early Saturday, we would be finished by midday. One horse would do.

            Tom’s a dark bay horse that weighs 1250 pounds. He’s tall at 16 hands and somehow that kind of horse has become taller for me. He is a big mover and can cover country. At times he can be timid, but he is very versatile. He watches a cow with instinct but he tends to work too fast if allowed. When he’s fresh he’ll get faster and faster.

            I now match saddles to our horses. Good horses, like pickups, are too expensive to hurt. Paying thousands of dollars for a horse with a one size fits all saddle is no longer preferable. Tom gets his own saddle and I will even swap that out to reposition pressure points if he works days in succession.

            He stood there as the gentleman he is as I saddled him. He only disagreed when I brushed his mane too hard. He lifted his head and backed his ears. I reminded him he was going to endure that bit of grooming. If the trailer gate is open I can throw the lead rope over his withers from 25 feet away and he’ll load himself. All our horses have pretty much come to that point. As ranch horses, they know the difference in a ride versus a long trot anywhere. They’ll ride.

            In the trailer, you can’t feel him. He’s quiet as a church mouse and will drop his head and doze as we drive to the ranch.

            As I unloaded him, he was interested briefly in one of the other horses that would start with cowboys from that point of the gather. He knows them but doesn’t spend much time with them other than during times of work.

We scattered, set our spacing, and started our drive.

            Tom was relaxed. He worked as he always does in the open. Stay out of his mouth, get lighter and lighter with pressure, and move him laterally with your legs. He does the rest and he does it well.

            I let the rest of the world go away. The morning was a joy.

Before noon we were finished. We had 250 head of cows and calves in the corral.

            Day two

            As I fed, I noticed that Papalote was gimpy on his front left foot. I saddled and left with Bailey and, again, Tom.

            The 7-Way that was supposed to be in the cold pack from yesterday’s vaccine run wasn’t there. Dismayed with a mad on, I wound up being late waiting for the feed store to open to get the vaccine. Leonard had spread his riders and was past ready to start cutting when I arrived. I had called and told him what happened. He smiled at me when he saw me. I shook my head.

            “Let’s sort …”

            Bailey is a real ranch horse. Leonard was on Doc, one of only three ‘great’ horses that this septuagenarian cowman can get misty eyed over. Doc is 20 and I do not look forward to the time Leonard can’t saddle him. We’ll both cry.

            Most cowboys will want to rope, but I’d rather sort any day than rope. Leonard Goad is no different. With Jonna Moore and or Travis Harrison mounted behind us to keep cattle moving out the alley, we started.

            By midmorning, more cattle from three drives were coming into the pens on the south side of the corrals. Matt Matsler, Hub Hubbard, Jack Moore, and Priscilla Goad kept cattle coming at us. 

By noon, we had nearly 300 wet cows in the big pen, 32 dry cows in the cull pen, and half the bulls sorted. We had enough calves to start a branding crew. We broke to eat.

A very historical event of the West is repeated on our works at noon. Three of the Goad sisters … Doris, Judy, and Velda … had one of their old time ranch dinners ready. Those meals are no longer a standard feature on all ranches, but we are blessed when those ladies come. Perhaps the world would see our way of life differently if they could sit with us at one of those meals.

We changed horses. Leonard mounted Scooter and Tom came into the pens with me. He was nervous. Those early cuts are critical for him. I stayed really light and reminded him he was doing fine. He settled and relaxed.

By 4:30 we had worked through all the gathered cattle. The calves were branded. We rode again through the cull cattle. We sorted three more cows out into the wet cow pen, and another 20 head of cows were run through the chute to fix abscesses and horn issues. The big day was nearly done.

I loaded my tired horses … well, they loaded themselves

Day Three

I felt less sorry for Papalote as he ran at Bailey as I fed. I put a wrap on his ankle as I saddled and loaded him. He was going to go work.

Papalote is a pill. He has a tooth missing and he’ll smile at you with a goofy, toothless grin. He can be superb, but keeping him there can test your patience and endurance. He can and will trip over flat ground, but he is like a silk scarf over rocks. He is afraid of nothing … but culverts, backhoes, and javelinas. He is destructive, he can open any gate, he walks around and raises Cain in the trailer, but he is tough.

His name in Spanish is windmill or helicopter from his tendency to walk in circles when he was young. He ran twice with me at that age. The first time I had a hackamore on him and I wasn’t sure if what I felt was in fact a run because I ran him into a corral behind some heifers and we stopped. The second time I knew darn well what was happening and I decided right there we were going to have a lesson. I laid the spurs to him. He shifted gears. At about 200 yards, I was rethinking my decision, but he soon started wavering. I got braver then and laid the spurs to him again. He has never run since.

Nobody likes him, but …me.

Going through the Border Patrol checkpoint on I10, he was screaming and stomping in the trailer. I told the officer he was an illegal from Mexico and asked him if he’d take him off my hands or just kill him right there. He got big eyed and waived me through.

We recounted the steers. The replacement heifers were resorted, and the bulls were hauled to the north end of the ranch. We were ready to ship.

Just before noon the trucks arrived. Leonard and his granddaughter, Sonja, were horseback bringing cattle up. She is elegant horseback. Sonja was riding Papalote. I smiled as I watched her. She reminded ‘Pop’ that he wasn’t high on her list of celebrities and she had him working.

As the trucks left the pens and the dust settled I had the feeling of letdown that always accompanies that moment. Leonard had enough help to feed the retained calves and I headed to thank the cooks. As I gave Doris a hug, I hoped that these days could be played out for a long, long time. There is just something about ranch horses and cow dust in the gather.

I hope my grandkids feel that someday.

 I loaded Pop and told him I was proud of him for not embarrassing me. He smiled, and … we headed to the house.

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Our world has merit. We belong on this land.”

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