Check your cinch
by Julie Carter
Working on a big cow-calf operation, a
cowboy’s days are routine to his job title. With 4,000 head of momma cows and
their babies by their side, a typical day was long and mostly seen from the
back of horse. It also required the steady use of a rope.
The day would include doctoring pink
eyes, scours, foot rot and any other bovine malady that showed up. During
calving, it was usual to rope 50 calves a day to tag or stuff a scours pill
down their throat.
As the story went for this cowboy
Frank, not far away from his place of employment was a feedlot with
backgrounding pasture and plenty of corn stalks.
Lloyd had worked so long at Deer Creek Feedlot
not many even knew his last name. He was just Lloyd. He talked real slow, and
for the most part, seemed in all ways, "slow." But he ran the feedlot
and did his job well.
The cow boss of the outfit Frank worked
for sent him and another puncher to go help Lloyd doctor shipping fever in a
load of yearlings. They loaded their horses and headed to Deer Creek, arriving
just as Lloyd was catching his big grey horse that he called Frog.
Frank and his partner unloaded their
horses and walked over to where Lloyd was saddling Frog. Frank couldn't help
but notice that Lloyd's rig was an old center-fire bear trap that had no breast
collar. On the horn, there was an old
rope tied off that had been broken and then tied into a square knot. More
noticeable was that the cinch holding the saddle on had maybe a dozen strands
still intact and the rest were broken in two and hanging frayed.
Frank always carried a rope bag in the
trailer with a couple of extra ropes, leather punch, leather, awl and an extra
cinch just in case tack repairs were needed at any time or place during a day
of cowboying.
He told Lloyd that he had a better
cinch if he wanted it and was sure welcome to it. Lloyd replied in his
signature slow speech, "Nope, I reckon this one will do."
Frank nodded his acceptance of Lloyd's
decision and the trio rode to the pasture to get started on the doctoring.
The very first steer they saw needed
medical attention. He was a big, soggy Simmental. Lloyd put the spurs to Frog
and built to the steer. His loop caught him deep, far down on the brisket and
included a front leg.
Lloyd jerked his slack and old Frog put
on the brakes hard, laying some classic 11s on the ground. When things came
tight between the steer and the horse, the cinch on Lloyd's saddle snapped.
There went Lloyd, saddle and all, right over Frog's head.
Since Lloyd had the steer’s head and a
front leg in his loop, that steer might as well have been a Siberian husky in
the Iditarod and Lloyd's saddle was the sled. Lloyd was the musher, except he
was sitting down instead of standing and he was holding on to the swells of the
saddle with both hands with his legs stuck out in front.
The steer was running full out and not
showing any signs of slowing down. Frank and his partner were laughing so hard,
they both missed the steer with their first loop. Frank managed to catch him on
second try and when he got the steer halted, he took Lloyd's rope off of him.
They had to pull Lloyd's spurs and
stirrups down from around his knees to free him from his saddle.
Old Frog was
standing calmly right where the cinch broke, munching on some grass.
Undaunted by the event, Lloyd said with
his very slow drawl, "Frank, you reckon I can borrow that cinch?"
Frank laughed and said, "After
that spectacular wreck, you can just keep the cinch."
No one seems to know what became of
Lloyd over the years, but Frank was certain it was a safe bet that Lloyd
forever more used good cinches.
Always good advice. Check your cinch.
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