As with most things, I learned to adjust, mostly. The silly notions and fleeting romance of cowboy life, fell by the wayside, and you quickly learn that it's just another way to earn a living. Yah, it's a hell of a lot better than putting on a suit and neck collar, that's how I refer to a tie. The hours and long and hard, but what job doesn't have the same pit falls? You do have to love being outside, a lot. I guess the biggest difference is smell. Yup, a dude can get pretty ripe by the time the day ends, and you get dirty. If you don't walk away with mud on your face or a new hole in your jeans, you're doggin' it. You're also prone to injury if you don't pay attention to what you're doing. I fell into, well, actually, I backed into that category one time.
I really took a shine to this one horse, a paint. He and I just seem to fit personality wise. Once and a while, he'd show his stubborn streak or do what he wanted instead of what you wanted him to do, just like me. Around twi-light, I was brushing him down in his stall, when he had like a hissy fit for some damn reason and nudged me backward, hard. The next thing I knew, I felt this twinge of pain in my ass, and when I turned, it freakin' got worse. I'd caught myself on an errant nail, ripping a hole in my jeans and a nice three inch long gash that started bleeding like some oil gusher.
I remember feeling real light headed, and that's about it, until I woke up with three dudes looking over me, my jeans down around my ankles, the owners daughter staring at me, and his wife's hands on my ass. I could have like stopped traffic, my face was so red. She got the bleeding to stop, but told me that I was going to need stitches. My ears perked up when I heard that. I don't like needles of any kind, and yah, it's embarrasing to be a baby about it. I tried to get across to her that I'd be fine, but the look on her face, well, there was no room for argument. The next morning, there I was, stretched out on the doctors table. When I finally got back to the ranch, the first thing I did was head for the stall and pounded the crap out of that nail.
I guess you know that you've "fit" in when everyone starts in teasing you, and that's exactly what happened. Man, every time I turned around, there was (or so it seemed) some smart ass (pardon the pun) comment coming out of the guy's mouths.
Like the saying goes, all work and no play, well, it began to eat away at me for some reason. I mean playing cards night after night can only go so far. A couple times, one of the married dudes, Davey, invited me over to his place for dinner. He had a pool table, and whipped my ass up one side and down the other. Thank goodness we weren't playing for money. I asked him if there was anything to do in town, and he chuckled.
"Richie, we got a Exxon Station and a Subway, that, son, oughta answer your question". After that, he buried the eight ball and smiled. "What, you wanna get laid?" My mouth hit the floor.
"Um, yah, somethin like that," I replied shyly.
"Well, Sully gets the same itch, and it's been a while for him. Try talking to him about it," he said. And so I did.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
The first day...
I follwed the foreman, Hank, out to the ranch. It was one long ride, and all the way out there, my stomach was churning. I came real close to turning around and heading back home. What the hell did I know about cowboying, other than those late night reruns on TV, where some dude just rides around on a horse all day yelling at cattle. Could it be that simple? Something told me it wasn't.
Hank slowed his pick-up and put on his left turn signal. My last chance to back out of it, but I didn't. Another mile or so, and there it was, my home for the next three months. I honestly didn't know what to expect. I had visions of some rundown ranch house straight out of the Texas Chainsaw movies, and others of a mansion with the "quarters" for the hired help "out back". We crested a hill, and off to my left was a really cool looking house, big windows in the front, it sorta reminded me of one of those lodges I'd seen in Yosemite. Of course it wasn't that big, but it was nice. I was hoping that Owen would take a left and tell me this was where I was gonna bunk, but, nah, never happened.
We drove on a little further, and down the road apiece (my first piece of cowboy slang) was the place I'd be calling home for the next few months. Once again, my stomach was filled with those freakin' butterfiles. Off to my left was a corral, and beyond that a barn. To my right were a couple cabin's, I guess, to me that's what they looked like. In front of one was a bright red pick-up.
Hank pulled up right beside it, as did I. My silver Dodge looked kind of puny beside it.
Before I had a chance to do anything, two guys came walking up to us, and another came out of the bunkhouse. I knew right away he was Sully. I knew I was on display, and that first impressions are the ones that usually last, so I took the offensive, introducing myself, extending my hand, and a grin on my face, hoping they wouldn't see the piss running down my leg. That never happened, but it makes for good copy.
Right off, they teased me about coming from Minnesota. Some of them thought it was a foreign country, and was amazed that I spoke such good English. I knew it was all in fun, so I went along with it, tossing in a 'yah sure, you betch'a, and 'dont'cha know'. I felt a little more relaxed, until my head hit the pillow that night. I didn't sleep much. My mind kept wandering to things I'd seen on television about the "new guy". What kind of crap did they have in store for me? Did I have to break my own horse? Would they put a snake in my gear? What kind of cowboy frat joke would they pull?
I worried for nothing. It never happened.
What did happen was Sully shaking me the next morning in what I thought was the middle of the night. When I asked him what time it was, he said 4:15 a.m. I'm sure my mouth gaped open. I'm not sure how I dragged my ass out of bed, but I did. I wasn't sure what to expect, I mean, outside of pulling on my jeans and a shirt, was I suppose to put on my chaps, etc? So I followed Sully's lead. Nope, no chaps, just jeans, a shirt, jacket, that's it. And he pulled out a baseball hat. A baseball hat? Screw that, I put on my black cowboy hat.
When we walked outside, there was this layer of fog hovering near the ground, really eerie, especially when you walked through it. After downing a couple cups of coffee and some bread, Sully and I were headed towards the barn. I figured this was going to be my first test, working on horseback. Never happened. Nope. Instead, he hitched up a flatbed trailer to a truck, and told me to start loading on bales of hay and some other kind of cattle feed. In some ways I was disappointed, and others, relieved. The next thing I knew we were headed out on this trail to feed the cattle. I learned real quick like that this was to become my daily routine.
Despite the cool weather, by the time we, make that -I- finished tossing off those bales, I was shirtless, and whipped. I sat on the back of the flatbed, feet dangling over the edge. When we got back, Sully, got out of the truck cab, and patted me on the back, "nice job, man". My first reaction was to lay one on his chin, but the more I thought about it, I realized it was a test to see if I could hold my own, so to speak. And, if they were allowed to make assumptions about me, I could do the same, and my impression of Sully was he was one lazy dude.
With the feeding of the cattle out of the way, we got to eat, and I met the owner of the place, his wife and kids. They were really nice people, and probably still are. He had a twelve year old daughter, who conned her father into letting her show me the place. I made a joke about her being to young to drive, and she says "on horseback, silly." For some reason, I was disappointed that my first saddle bound experience would be with a twelve year old seeing the sights. On the other hand, by the time we got back, getting off the saddle was a tad more difficult, and I was freakin sore.
So the first day ended, and that night, I was out like a light before nine. Two more days passed, with basically the same routine, but toss in cleaning out stalls, brushing down horses, even painting a fence, and what I had expected, just wasn't coming true. Then again, when I stopped to think about it, which was somewhat depressing, my expectations were straight out of fiction, black and white old movies, and historial re-creations. By the time the first week ended, I was, oh, I dunno, disappointed. I began to wonder if things would change.
They did, some of it was good and some of it, far from it.
Hank slowed his pick-up and put on his left turn signal. My last chance to back out of it, but I didn't. Another mile or so, and there it was, my home for the next three months. I honestly didn't know what to expect. I had visions of some rundown ranch house straight out of the Texas Chainsaw movies, and others of a mansion with the "quarters" for the hired help "out back". We crested a hill, and off to my left was a really cool looking house, big windows in the front, it sorta reminded me of one of those lodges I'd seen in Yosemite. Of course it wasn't that big, but it was nice. I was hoping that Owen would take a left and tell me this was where I was gonna bunk, but, nah, never happened.
We drove on a little further, and down the road apiece (my first piece of cowboy slang) was the place I'd be calling home for the next few months. Once again, my stomach was filled with those freakin' butterfiles. Off to my left was a corral, and beyond that a barn. To my right were a couple cabin's, I guess, to me that's what they looked like. In front of one was a bright red pick-up.
Hank pulled up right beside it, as did I. My silver Dodge looked kind of puny beside it.
Before I had a chance to do anything, two guys came walking up to us, and another came out of the bunkhouse. I knew right away he was Sully. I knew I was on display, and that first impressions are the ones that usually last, so I took the offensive, introducing myself, extending my hand, and a grin on my face, hoping they wouldn't see the piss running down my leg. That never happened, but it makes for good copy.
Right off, they teased me about coming from Minnesota. Some of them thought it was a foreign country, and was amazed that I spoke such good English. I knew it was all in fun, so I went along with it, tossing in a 'yah sure, you betch'a, and 'dont'cha know'. I felt a little more relaxed, until my head hit the pillow that night. I didn't sleep much. My mind kept wandering to things I'd seen on television about the "new guy". What kind of crap did they have in store for me? Did I have to break my own horse? Would they put a snake in my gear? What kind of cowboy frat joke would they pull?
I worried for nothing. It never happened.
What did happen was Sully shaking me the next morning in what I thought was the middle of the night. When I asked him what time it was, he said 4:15 a.m. I'm sure my mouth gaped open. I'm not sure how I dragged my ass out of bed, but I did. I wasn't sure what to expect, I mean, outside of pulling on my jeans and a shirt, was I suppose to put on my chaps, etc? So I followed Sully's lead. Nope, no chaps, just jeans, a shirt, jacket, that's it. And he pulled out a baseball hat. A baseball hat? Screw that, I put on my black cowboy hat.
When we walked outside, there was this layer of fog hovering near the ground, really eerie, especially when you walked through it. After downing a couple cups of coffee and some bread, Sully and I were headed towards the barn. I figured this was going to be my first test, working on horseback. Never happened. Nope. Instead, he hitched up a flatbed trailer to a truck, and told me to start loading on bales of hay and some other kind of cattle feed. In some ways I was disappointed, and others, relieved. The next thing I knew we were headed out on this trail to feed the cattle. I learned real quick like that this was to become my daily routine.
Despite the cool weather, by the time we, make that -I- finished tossing off those bales, I was shirtless, and whipped. I sat on the back of the flatbed, feet dangling over the edge. When we got back, Sully, got out of the truck cab, and patted me on the back, "nice job, man". My first reaction was to lay one on his chin, but the more I thought about it, I realized it was a test to see if I could hold my own, so to speak. And, if they were allowed to make assumptions about me, I could do the same, and my impression of Sully was he was one lazy dude.
With the feeding of the cattle out of the way, we got to eat, and I met the owner of the place, his wife and kids. They were really nice people, and probably still are. He had a twelve year old daughter, who conned her father into letting her show me the place. I made a joke about her being to young to drive, and she says "on horseback, silly." For some reason, I was disappointed that my first saddle bound experience would be with a twelve year old seeing the sights. On the other hand, by the time we got back, getting off the saddle was a tad more difficult, and I was freakin sore.
So the first day ended, and that night, I was out like a light before nine. Two more days passed, with basically the same routine, but toss in cleaning out stalls, brushing down horses, even painting a fence, and what I had expected, just wasn't coming true. Then again, when I stopped to think about it, which was somewhat depressing, my expectations were straight out of fiction, black and white old movies, and historial re-creations. By the time the first week ended, I was, oh, I dunno, disappointed. I began to wonder if things would change.
They did, some of it was good and some of it, far from it.
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