Welcome to the West as I see it

By Julie Carter

I know many cowboys that, if close to a pond or other some such fish habitation, like to throw a line in from time to time.

Curly, Robby, Darrel and Jim slipped off to do little fishing one year. Curly and Robby opted to sit on the bank of the lake, casting lines and consuming adult beverages.

There were more beverages going down than there were fish coming up, but, after all, it was spring and you don’t have to clean the beverages.

Darrel and Jim were drifting along in a flat-bottom boat they’d brought along, casting lines and sometimes catching old tires and other like treasures. Once in a while, they’d even catch a fish.

One of them whipped back a perfect cast after catching a tree limb on the bank. He shook loose the lure, along with it came a snake he’d managed to pick up in the commotion.

The snake hit the bottom of the boat and both the anglers bailed over the side. When Curly and Robby, still bank-side, quit laughing, they had to go save the boat that was continuing to drift on the current.

Cowboys that live where there is a lot of water, specifically lakes, will tell you of a common phenomenon, a culture of people called the Lake Dwellers.

You know you are in the neighborhood of a clan of them by the number of catfish heads on the fence posts and the abundance of Heinz-crossed mutts in every yard. They seem to live off one another, trading belongings back and forth as available cash ebbs and flows.

Occasionally, the cowboys will attempt to mingle with the Lake Dwellers. Jim and Curly had been down to a beer-swilling, pool-playing joint and picked up a couple gals who invited them to a party down at the lake.

When they arrived, they immediately deducted they were overdressed. Having gone home and showered, put on their starched jeans and best boots, they were no match for the crew in Bermuda shorts with no shirts and rubber boots.

Immediately unpopular with the men of the Lake Dweller clan, it didn’t improve when Jim spotted a deer’s behind mounted over the fireplace, tail up.

He promptly stuck a cigarette in the deer’s south opening and things went downhill from there. It didn’t take them long to enjoy all of that party they needed as they were considerably outnumbered.

The recent event where the captain of a hijacked ship managed with the help of a few Navy Seals, to fend off some scruffy pirates, has the cowboys swapping “cowboys as boat captains” tales.

If cowboys are anything, they are storytellers and are the very best at it when it involves themselves. The running dialog speaks of leaky boats (poor folk always have leaky boats) and bailing water to the extent it drove them all to the time-honored sport of bank fishing.

Curly has rounded up a gal to fantasize about – his flavor of the week. He says she has a “just a touch of the Lake Dweller in her.” That means you don’t ever have to worry about what she’s thinking.

Over cold longnecks, they’ve had some relationship discussions about kids and child support. He pays through the nose for one but she announced she’d never birthed a baby (and she has three) from a guy that ever paid a dime.

While Curly was digesting this information, she, in her Lake Dweller directness said, “You wasn’t thinking about getting married again anytime soon was you?”

When this question came forth, Curly was just putting his beer bottle to his mouth. His hand started shaking so bad he was afraid he was going to chip a tooth, and it wasn’t the grammar that was appalling him.

Recalling a previous commitment, he managed to free himself from the immediate Lake Dweller danger, and of late, has limited his vices to full time team roping.

Some of my favorite people are Texans. In a world where we are not supposed to recognize color, creed, gender or nationality differences, the rules don’t apply for Texans.

Texans are not wealthy by chance. There was a fair amount of sweat involved in the early days – getting the somewhat unruly Indians shipped off to Oklahoma and New Mexico, the wild longhorns trailed to Kansas railheads and turned into money and, of course, getting the oil wells pumping at a steady rate.

Nevertheless, they have their own list of priorities when handling wealth. You won’t find it buried in fruit jars in the backyard. They put it in circulation in a conscientious manner and a good bit of it is still involved in the cattle business – pastures, feedlots and the roping arena.

Texas is home to 130 feed yards of 100,000 head or more and many more of them with a 50,000 carrying capacity. With more than five million Texas cattle marketed annually, the numbers represent more than 30 percent of the nation’s fed cattle.

Texas Cattle Feeders Association statistics document 14 million cattle in Texas.

Neighboring New Mexico, fifth-largest state in the nation and also a large cattle business state, reports between one and two million head.

These businesses have a trickle-down effect on the economy representing millions of dollars. The cowboys who take care of the cattle and the owners who profit from the enterprise are a vastly different economic group, but both are part and parcel of the industry.

Of the nation’s dedicated team ropers, about 25,000 are active in Texas. In the rodeo world, in the team roping event alone, ropers that call Texas home regularly capture 30 percent of the top 50 professional rodeo slots.

Bona fides established, a look at the day-to-day Texan reveals that he is loyal to his friends, his country and both kinds of Lone Star. You might find him in charge of a bank or managing a stock portfolio that represents a couple million dollars. This, right after he lines up his partners for the next weekend’s ropings.

Absolutely, a priority for him will be feeding the horses and taking care of the practice steers. Every afternoon, unless it’s raining right straight down, he will give the Corrientes a little exercise. In some cases, if it continues to rain a while, he might put a roof over the arena.

The rodeo rigs, pickups and trailers were designed with the Texas competitor in mind. When cost is not an issue, comfort and convenience is.

Top of the list? The close proximity of a bathroom facility, right where his horse is tied and his beer is cold.

The women of the roping arena are just dedicated as the men and, whether they admit it or not, the cowboys tend to get a little tense when some of them ride in the arena.

These women are not just beautiful, but always competent roping hands. They will be fashion trendsetters and are never without their customary jewelry.

Comfort is a priority and it has become stylish for them to wear T-shirts while roping. T- shirts and diamonds big enough to blind the competition.

Shy and understated are not terms normally applied to Texas women. They, like the men, figure if you get too much money you can just trade it for something you would like to have.

By Julie Carter

Having secured a sort of left-handed proposal of marriage from her cowboy last Sadie Hawkins’ Day, the soon-to-be-bride began to work on her Hope Chest.

You don’t hear much about that tradition in this day and time, but pragmatic future brides of cowboys still know the wisdom of having a few essentials before the check book becomes his sole territory.

While shopping for linens at Big Lots, this prospective blushing bride found a fantastic world-beater bargain in paper towels. She had already decided that the reception menu would include barbeque ribs, beans and potato salad so paper towels would be a priority.

The ones on sale just happened to be decorated with orange and turquoise designs which inspired her to select those colors for here wedding theme.

As planning progressed, she found the perfect dress. It fit, was in her price range and was bright orange. Nobody was going to miss her at this fiesta.

The bridesmaids’ dresses arrived in a stunning shade of turquoise. There was a slight hitch as one of the bridesmaids ordered hers in a size smaller than actually required.

The bridesmaid’s Plan A involved a diet before the wedding. The bride’s Plan B was to line up a cousin who was the right size.

Her cowboy was not as totally committed to this project as she would have liked, and in an effort to get him involved, she decided they should each write their own vows.

Her vows were very lovely prose, mentioning hearts, flowers, lifelong commitment, a steady partner and love eternal. When his were finally, reluctantly, presented for inspection, she was somewhat taken aback.

The only thing he had planned on saying was “I do. Let’s party.”

Of course, they were going to be married outside on the hill overlooking the ranch. The setting would be beautiful. Concerned about her dress, the bride borrowed the long carpet used for the sidewalk at the Post Office to walk down the aisle.

The boom box was tested and required only an occasional slap on the side to keep it playing. Waylon and Willie would do fine.

Helpful neighbors had designated who was to carry the shotgun, who was to usher the guests away from the keg and to seating, who was to keep the dogs quiet during the ceremony and who was to dig the pit for the barbeque.

For quite some time the bride had been waiting for a ring to appear. On their next trip to a real town she borrowed her cowboy’s credit card and headed to the nearest wholesale jewelers. There she bought a ring that fit perfectly and looked almost authentic.

Only detail left was to line up a few married cowboy friends to watch her groom. That faraway look in his eyes was beginning to be worrisome. She knew that married males would be more dependable. Something about “if I can cowboy-up, so can he.”

After all, the bride-to-be was a good cook and these guys liked good food. They also knew they’d be eating regularly at the new couple’s outfit when they neighbored at cattle workings. Certainly, it was smart plan to make sure he married somebody that could cook.

Her good cooking won the heart of her cowboy and the loyalty of the neighbors. Never underestimate the power of a perfect chicken fried steak and good gravy.

Julie Carter
Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Most folks think that if a cowboy has a brain, he wears it under his hat.
Truth of the matter is everything of importance that he might know is
written in a little book carried in his shirt pocket. In fact, it’s been
said that was very reason for inventing pockets for shirts – that and a
place to carry cigarette papers and a bag of Bull Durham.

The tally book usually sports an embossed name on the cover endorsing the
company that provided it to the cowboy. This is typically a bank that has
a vested interest in the cowboy keeping track of his business.

It’s his little black book, often red or green, but has little if
anything to do with collecting phone numbers of girls, albeit there is
occasionally a need to jot one of those down.

Preprinted dates and categories in the book mean nothing. The cowboy
keeps his own style of books and may mark the spot he needs to turn to
often with a folded dollar bill or a toothpick.

The data that may set the course for risk management, purchases, hedging,
selling or retained ownership could ultimately end up on some computer
run by a guy in high-water britches and a pocket full of mechanical
pencils. However, the origin of all cattle information is recorded first
in the cowboy’s tally book.

Similarities to methods and information end there. The detailed cowboy
will record the exact date cattle were purchased, their weight and price
per pound. He’ll record when they were moved from one place to the other
and give an estimated weight based in prior knowledge of gain per day in
a specific pasture.

Death loss will be noted and counts corrected. Medicine given is
accounted for, as are dates, amounts and types of feed and
supplementation.

Dates are noted when the bulls are turned in with cows, how many, where
and when they were pulled back out of the pastures.

At branding time, numbers of new baby heifers and steers calves are
recorded from each pasture and how many are left as bull calves. Those
same calves’ weaning weights and price per pound will be recorded in the
fall, giving historical value to the tally books that end up in a desk or
dresser drawer to be found by the generations to come.

A few pages may be dedicated to phone numbers for the feed salesman,
parts house, veterinarian and fuel dealer. Others will detail well
information, pump jacks and windmills, including when it was last pulled,
if new leathers were put in place and when pipe or sucker rod was
replaced.

The personal nature of the business showed up when the cowboy recorded
information about a particular cow, one of a thousand, like it was
someone he knew personally. The notation would read, “White-faced cow,
short in the hind quarters, 3 years old, late to breed, check next year.”
Or “motley-faced cow, horn cut, open last spring, light bred
now.

All this critical information in one little book that, in theory, is
close at hand and available, always.

But things happen. If he bends over a drinker to fix a broken float and
the pocket flap wasn’t snapped, the book falls in the water and it’s a
cussing-fit accident.If the little woman snags up his dirty shirt off the
floor at the end of the day and loads it in the washing machine without
first checking the pockets, it’s the end of the free world.

There’s no question, there are now computer cowboys who ride a variety of
noisy,expensive motorized “horses,” but even so, they still have a little
tally book in their shirt pocket. Likely, right next to their BlackBerry
smart phones.

Julie Carter — Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Since winter seems to be just around the corner, the subject of “meatier women” has frequently begun creeping into the cowboys’ vocabulary.

It has to be a throwback gene to the cave man days and the survival of the guy with the “warmest” wife.

Dan the team roper is reminding his friends that he lives alone and has an old, drafty trailer house which is conducive to, and an incentive for, snuggling for winter survival. He is clear that, under those circumstances, the anorexic-type woman is completely out of the question.

With all his good friends, you are sure to know they will fix him up better than he could ever have imagined.

One idea was that he troll the buffet lines in town for the love of his life, but that scared him speechless when a photo preview was included with the email suggestion.

Another offered herself up with the caveat of considerable age, an extremely accurate cowboy B.S. detector and a large cast iron skillet.

Dan thought it might be OK, but she had to bring her own microwave. You ll recall he recently blew his up in the tater tot explosion.

Not long ago, Dan’s ole buddy Donnie called him and said he was moving back to the area. Dan began recalling “the best of Donnie” stories.

Dan and Donnie were working on a ranch, but not living there. In money-saving mode, Donnie rode a Moped to and from his job.

A Great Dane on the route liked to chase the motor-scooter cowboy.

One morning, Donnie came limping into work, somewhat bloodied up. “You know, I have no idea if that Great Dane is still in the ditch underneath that Moped,” he said.

At lunch, they took a ranch truck down to the crash site and sorted everything out. Dog 1, Moped 0. Donnie got a truck.

Donnie invited everybody over to eat one night. He was going to cook it up himself. The gang showed up and he handed them each a bowl teeming with unidentified ingredients. Someone finally asked. Ranch Style Beans and tuna fish.

When he called, Donnie told Dan he had been shopping in the horse trading magazines because as soon as he moved back, he wanted to take up roping again with Dan and his pals.
He said, as he understands horse ads, there are two categories, “He’s a good’un,” and “He has a world of potential.”

“Don’t want none of them potential ones, that sounds like work,” Donnie said. When Dan asked him if he was looking for heading or heeling horse, Donnie said it didn’t matter, he had decided to get the cheapest “he s a good ‘un” he could find.

Dan reminded him that he never was very good at roping and Donnie’s response was, “Don’t matter. I’m mostly in it for the beer drinkin’ . I figure six or eight 12-packs and I’ll have this team roping thing down.”

When Dan asked Donnie how many times he’d been married, he said, “Four and half.”

“How do you figure to have been married a half a time?” Dan asked.

“Well,” Donnie explained, “I’ve been married four times in a church building. Then one time I got drunk in Oklahoma and had some sort of Indian ceremony with a fat woman. I might have been getting married then.”

Likely, it was close to winter when that happened. Wonder if she had a microwave? Dan, perhaps, could give her a call.

Julie has already put in an order for firewood. It’s just simpler.