Jaws Hates Cows, part 2

Todd on top of mountain waiting for rest
of herd before making push over ridge
coming off top.

 ...the herd was lined out nicely along the fence. Kyle was ahead of me, near the top of a rise, when I heard, "Oh, sh--!" ... Then Kyle shouted something else. I only caught one word: "Jaws!" I knew we were in trouble. At the top of the rise where there should have been tails, was a sea of faces. The entire lead was coming back on top of us in full stampede with that sorry yellow bird-dog of Todd's romping down the middle like a fox in a pen of chickens... (end part 1)


Nobody wants to be the cause of a wreck, be it himself, his kids, or his dog, and I think Todd, being the boss, was a bit embarrassed. I'll never forget looking over at him gripping that big yellow dog. He sat there for a minute, then this big grin spread across his face. In that characteristic slow drawl of his, he summed it up in typical cowboy fashion: "Jaws hates cows."

It was too soon to be funny, but after awhile I couldn't help giggling to myself as I imagined how the whole scenario would have looked to someone sitting up on the side of the mountain. And though it would have been nice to have Ray's help, it was probably just as well that Ray had missed out on this particular adventure.

As we sat there letting the herd settle, Todd's oldest son drove up, and sheepishly came to retrieve the dog--letting us know that it was little brother who had let him escape in the first place.

I was really dreading the hard part now. Entering the canyon, the narrow road is squeezed between a sharp drop-off on the left, with a boggy pond in the bottom; and on the right, the slope steepens to the point where you have to step off your horse on the wrong side, and leave him tied to a scraggly sage brush while you scramble the last 50 feet or so to the fenceline on foot.

The narrow little gate is open, and right in front of the yearlings on the road. But all they see is that old white toilet placed at the side by the eccentric owner as a tongue-in-cheek "Rest Area". That's all the excuse silly yearlings need to bolt. Usually up that steep slope. I've never seen anyone nimble enough to get them all turned back. The escapees have to be retrieved at a later time.

I don't know why, and I sure never would have believed it. Maybe the earlier excitement had taken off their edge. But we got the heifers through the gate and on up the mountain that day better than I've ever seen it done.

A couple years later Jaws tangled with a wolf when Todd's wife and the dogs were out walking. I can picture Jaws tearing back to Rita with the wolves in hot pursuit. I have a sneaking hunch Jaws wasn't totally innocent.

Todd's got a good cow dog, Max, but for some reason he had a soft spot for that renegade bird dog. I wasn't exactly sympathetic when Jaws died, but I did refrain from any smart remarks. Now Todd's got a new chocolate lab bird-dog puppy.

I hope he calls him Teddy Bear.

S. Marxer, © 2010

Ray, Jake, Jason, and Sandee bringing heifers off top, 2009

Jaws Hates Cows (part 2)

Jaws Hates Cows (part 1)



Todd and his good cowdog, Max



2006 was a tough year. Ray had knee surgery and was wearing a brace. Early in the branding season Todd bucked off and spread his pelvis which effectively sidelined him from branding and any horseback work for the next several months.

As sometimes happens, there was unrest in the troops. We had already lost two of our branding crew, and the day Todd got hurt, his support help gave notice that he was leaving the next day. We lost another good man before branding was over, and we limped by with the help of our part-timers (family) and everyone else picking up the slack.

With Todd laid up and no support help, the entire Blacktail side was left without a rider who was familiar with the new country we had acquired--about 40,000 acres; or a crew to take care of cattle movement. Clayton had worked for the previous owner in that country before we purchased it, and we needed someone who could step in and go to work without training or familiarization. We were able to get the nepotism policy waived to allow Clayton to come back and work for Todd.

Todd, with the help of Rita and his boys, was able to accomplish several ground projects, but the cowboy crew for the Blacktail that summer was Clayton, Ray and I, the assistant manager, and our daughter on her days off from her main job. It was this crew, minus Ray, who would make one of the toughest trails on the ranch. Trailing 600 yearling heifers to the top of Blacktail Ridge normally requires a crew of at least six to eight well-mounted cowboys.

Unable to ride horseback, Todd and Rita helped by using 4-wheelers to make the big circles, while the four of us on horseback--Clayton, Kyle, Kristy, and I--gathered the rest. As the herd came together, Kristy was sent up past the lead near the creek in front of Todd's house to make sure the lead turned up the road to the mountain. We had taken things slow and easy, and the herd was lined out nicely along the fence. Kyle was ahead of me, near the top of a rise, when I heard, "Oh, sh--!" My first fear was that Kristy had ridden out too soon and turned the lead back. 

Then Kyle shouted something else. I only caught one word: "Jaws!" I knew we were in trouble.

At the top of the rise where there should have been tails, was a sea of faces. The entire lead was coming back on top of us in full stampede with that sorry yellow bird-dog of Todd's romping down the middle like a fox in a pen of chickens. From that point, things happened so fast they became a blur.

Those of us on horses kicked into high gear, riding hard trying to keep the herd rolling back into itself so we wouldn't lose it. To make matters worse, I was riding Drifter, who is convinced that motorized vehicles coming at him are going to eat him. Rita, working the side by me on her 4-wheeler, had kicked into high gear too, and it took a couple of passes before Drifter would pay attention to the task at hand.

Jaws was totally oblivious to us. He was in his glory. He'd tear after one terrified heifer, running her in circles, then light out after another one going the opposite direction. Everything else was scattering in every direction trying to get out of the way.

I'd never heard Todd yell before, but he was yelling now. "Jaws! You yellow son-of-a-bitch! Come here! Next thing I saw through the churning dust, was Todd on his 4-wheeler chasing Jaws in circles right smack in the middle of the swirling herd. What a wreck! Todd finally got Jaws captured and hauled off behind the herd. We got the herd stopped and held up against the fence before sitting still to catch our breath...

part 2, next week

Sandee's good cowdoys patiently waiting for us to get the steers through
the gate after bringing them off the mountain in 2009.

Home, Sweet Home

God Bless America,

Land that I love,

Stand beside her,

and guide her,

Through the night

with the light from above.

From the mountains,

to the prairies,

to the oceans,

white with foam;

God Bless America,

my home, sweet, home. 

 *****************************
"Posterity, you will never know how much it cost the present generation to preserve your freedom. I hope you will make good use of it. If you do not, I shall repent in heaven that ever I took half the pains to preserve it."
John Adams

"Can the liberties of a nation be sure when we remove their only firm basis, a conviction in the minds of the people, that these liberties are a gift from God?"  Thomas Jefferson

"It cannot be emphasized too strongly or too often that this great nation was founded, not by religionists, but by Christians; not on religions, but on the gospel of Jesus Christ. For this very reason peoples of other faiths have been afforded asylum, prosperity, and freedom of worship here."  Patrick Henry - The Trumpet Voice of Freedom: Patrick Henry of Virginia, p. iii.

 Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD;  Psalm 33:12



Kite Day on Washington DC mall, March, 2004

 

More Branding from 2004

Clayton starting 3-yr. old in branding trap.

June is always a busy month for ranchers. We're hardly in the house long enough to eat and sleep. Besides branding, there's also shipping, sorting and putting bulls out. Some years heifers are artificially inseminated. There's farming and yardwork. And, all this is done while working around the rain and mud. Not complaining though. We talked to a friend in Oklahoma today. He had to ship all his cattle 250 miles away. The drought down there has devasted the country.

This year it's even wilder since Ray retired this month after 37 years on the same ranch. I really don't have time to sort photos. I need to be sorting everything we own since we are in the moving process. We're not going far. This is home.



I still have a brace on my right hand, but hopefully that will be gone next week. I only wear it now when I'm working, so at least I can type now. Next week is the 18th annual camp meeting at church. It goes all week, and is a great time, but very busy since the ladies feed 3 meals a day, and Ray and I always help clean up after the late evening meals. At  least this year I don't have to get up at 5 a.m to brand!



Using nordforks.

Here's some of my favorite branding photos from a few years back. Not a whole lot has changed. One thing I look forward to with our new freedom is being able to get out and get cowboy photos from other places. I doubt that we'll be retired long. Ray's already looking forward to new opportunities. Only at a little lower stress level.

That's good. I'm not ready for "driving Miss Daisy"!

Vernon heeling on Little Brown Jug.









Cowcamp Summers

1986 - "Let's Do Lunch" This was a fun way to pack a lunch during cowcamp summers. It's still a fun way!

"...feed me with food convenient for me: Lest I be full and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord?"

Cowcamp Cooks, pt. 2



1986 Branding Crew at Cowcamp Cookhouse

Virginia left me with lots of story material. I need to get them written down before they fade away. Ray always says those are things he'd just as soon forget.

Ray ended up hauling Virginia to town before she ended up killing someone with the .45 she'd use to threaten the cowboys with, until they'd finally gotten a belly-full and told the Cowboss (Ray) what was going on. He tried to get some backup, but the Manager told Ray he'd have to handle that one on his own. He'd seen enough guns in Korea.

The night Virginia left her mark in the wall,  (part 1), Harold managed to get her bullets away after the fight, and escaped out the door. The cowboy wasn't so lucky. He'd been visiting in the cookhouse after they'd come home from the laundromat in town. He was sitting at the backside of the table against the wall.

When Harold escaped, Virginia picked up a big butcher knife. The cowboy told us she stood there shaking that knife at him while yelling about what a rotten s.o.b. Harold was. He said he just sat there, shook his head up and down, and agreed with her. As soon as she turned around for a minute, he escaped out the window.

She couldn't cook anyway. She used cream of chicken soup for everything. To cook eggs in the morning, she'd just break a dozen eggs into a cake pan, and bake them in the oven.

One poor young fellow who was away from home for his first big adventure, couldn't handle those eggs in the morning. That ticked Virginia off to the point that she stuck that .45 in his face and said, "you little s.o.b., you will eat those eggs!". He did. But he never went in for breakfast after that. I think she ruined it for him. The romance of cowcamp life wore off real quick. He only lasted a few months.

She was the first. We never did find a good cook that year. From February to November we went through five cooks. Including me since I was usually the back-up between cooks. I never really minded, except for having to haul and heat water for dishes. Once I'd get the place cleaned up, it was actually kind of cozy.

I missed the old cookhouse on branding days though. We all got to eat at the long old table and benches out front. In 1990 everyone was provided with their own cooking facilities, and the cookhouses were shut down. Since then the crew either packed a lunch or waited until they got home.

One cowboy who later had a horseback wedding in summer cowcamp, liked the spring camp so much he took his bride to the old cookhouse for their wedding night.

They're not together anymore.

Cowcamp Cooks, part 1

The best cook in the world!  No one could cook like Tom.

I guess I'll have to do this in parts. And I haven't even really got to the stories yet...

Up until 1990 we used a cowcamp that consisted of an old homestead cabin that doubled as a cookhouse and cook's quarters, a couple of outhouses that were full of bullet holes, an ancient long, low rambling so-called barn (full of rats), pole pens, a tiny little old bunkhouse, and a quonset shed. Six single cowboys would live there from mid-February to the first part of July when they would move to another cowcamp until November. We would also park a couple of little camp trailers there so the cowboys could spread out a little.

There was no electricity, and the water came from a pump in front of the cookhouse. We had propane refrigerators on the rickety porch. One had to be cranked up to use for a freezer. There was a propane cookstove inside, a barrel wood stove for heat, and propane lights. The original settlers must have been pretty small, because the cupboards and sink were back-breaking low. There was also a little old set of kitchen cabinets that good cooks would clean the mouse droppings out of prior to filling.

Cowboys were pretty easy to come by then, but finding a good cook to work under those conditions was a little trickier. A cook set the tone for the entire spring. A good cook that was easy to get along with meant we'd have a pretty content crew. A bad cook could lead to disaster. Obviously we tried to avoid young single women. Usually we'd try to have a married cowboy whose wife would cook. More often than not we'd end up with some guy who was half crazy, or a drunk who needed a job for awhile to dry out--or a combination: A half-crazy drunk.

The "living quarters" consisted of a cramped little room in back with an old double boxspring and mattress that mice always lived in the rest of the year. There's a head and shoulders hole in the bare wallboard where Harold tried to put Virginia through after she'd put away most of a bottle of whiskey--which they weren't supposed to have in camp in the first place...

To be continued...

*Between part 1 & part 2, on 6.7.11, Ray retired after 37 years. It was time.*