The Star-Spangled Banner

 

Old Friends

The Star-Spangled Banner

Trailer Treasures

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

 

          O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand

          Between their lov’d home and the war’s desolation!

            Old Friends

            Manuel called this afternoon.

            It was an unfamiliar number, and I almost cut it off. It was from Roswell, though, and maybe it was legit.

            It turned out to be a voice from the near past, a cow hauler. Every time I think about him, I have to smile. He’s one of the great individuals of which this business seems to bless us. The record could show that a story is certainly possible with each encounter.

            The first was a hot prolapsed cow.

            Leonard and I had gathered her with the full intention of saving her from her predicament. Of course, the situation was dire with a full uterine displacement in play. The matter ran its course with our unsuccessful attempt to get everything reset, and it got worse when we got her out of the chute. Trying to shield himself behind a gate, she wound up running over Leonard.

            I left her in the alley while I loaded him in the pickup and carted him off to the emergency room at Memorial. We were really worried she had hurt him badly.

            The next morning, I was alone trying to get something resolved and was told Manuel was at dairy row picking up packer cows. I got his number from the brand inspector and called him. He said he couldn’t come to the ranch for just one cow, but he’d take her if I could get her to him.

            Getting her loaded was one of those cowboy moments of record. She was wicked and meant business.

            When I got to the scale house at Dominguez’, he was there.

            How’re we goin’ to do this? I really don’t want to unload her and have to reload her.

            Back your trailer up to the back of mine and we will transfer her.

            OK, but she’ll get you if you’re not careful.

            Manuel got in his trailer so he could open the gate of our stock trailer when it was matched up. He’d deal with her when she came out.

It was epic.

The bawling, yelling, steel clanging, trailer rocking, and final punctuation mark

on the slamming of the last gate in the deep confines of his trailer was vintage punchy. It was as if a rangeland war had been fought in there. I was a bit concerned.

            I pulled forward and Manuel let himself out of his trailer. He tugged his sagging pants up and, without a hesitation, said.

            Yea, Esteve, you call me anytime you a’need me. I’ll a’haul yer cows.

            Old Friends, continued

            Blest with vict’ry and peace may the heav’n rescued land

          Praise the power that hath made and preserv’d us a nation!

          I had met Burt and was using him steady going to Clovis in February and March.

            He not just a good guy, reliable as gold, but he’s a Christian who just makes you better by being around him.

He’s among the few.

            The first time he was at the ranch his truck had rolled away from the chute and I ran to set the brake. It didn’t get done. When I opened the driver’s side door, a mouth full of teeth reinforced with an emphatic fury was right in my face. With good sense, I wasn’t going to enter that little heeler’s cab.

            I didn’t think she’d let you in there. She’s kinda’ protective of her truck.

            The next time she and Burt were backed up to the chute we were intent on loading 35 head of mainly horned Beefmaster bulls. It wasn’t elegant. Rather, it was raunchy. Starting with the first draft, their discussion point was to have nothing to do with it. Burt watched us for a while with his loyal heeler sitting by him. He finally offered a solution.

            You want me to send her in there?

            Well … yea!

            By herself, that little dog loaded every one of those bulls.

            Trailer Treasures

            Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,

And this be our motto … In God is our trust

Charlie often runs with Bert.

            He’s a good combination of the Marlboro man and Carol Shelby. He’ll talk to you about intake manifold temperatures, dynamic timing adjustments, valve settings, and linear fuel burn rates. He’ll also be on time each and every time, he never misses a calf count regardless of the jams, and he’ll thank you for the business.

            He could have ridden with Sul Ross or Charlie Goodnight as well as filling this modern role. He’s a Westerner.

            Then, there was the guy who could scream like a mountain lion when he was loading calves. He didn’t yell or whistle. If he had a name, we never knew. What’s a name anyway if your distinguishing feature is to scream like a mountain lion.

            Darndest thing you ever saw.

            Ramon got the biggest kick out of it. He’d be bringing calves up horseback and you could see him laughing when he heard it.

            Ju’ see those bacerros run right up in that truck, Esteve?

            And, while we are at it what about the inside of those trailers?

            The other world will never understand the feeling of standing in a crowded truck in the midst of those living, breathing end results of all the effort that the year has demanded. The early mornings, the long days, the endless droughts and the too few sweet summer rains are all part of the business and all part of the legacy and the gift of these animals.

            God, forgive me for loving it so.

            And, the Star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

          O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

 

          Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “The lyrics are the fourth verse of the Star-Spangled banner … the verse we should now be singing.”