It was the late 80’s or early 90’s, I don’t remember exactly; I was at the top of my field with enough strength and testosterone to take on the world. I was working in Europe and all over North America, my hubris had not caught up with me and I thought I would live forever. It would take twenty years before I would realize my own mortality; but at this time, there was no one in the world who could stand against me, no one.
I could buy two ranches in one year, I drove the most expensive automobiles and had an office with several women to keep me pointed in the right direction; in other words, I was a complete fool and played the role to the max.
It was mid-winter and I was on the road East of Merritt headed for Calgary. I was driving an S series Mercedes and fueling up at a truck stop. A young cowboy walked up and asked if he could ride with me into Calgary.
His hair was a little too long and his clothes were nearly worn out, it wasn’t a fashion statement, it was from work on a ranch. He wore moose hide moccasins with rubber over shoes, his belt and rodeo buckle were older than he was.
In a matter of seconds, I took a measure of the boy using the same skill that I use to size up a horse, a skill has kept me alive with thousands of horses.
“Do you smoke or drink?” I asked.
“I don’t smoke, but if you want to have a drink, I’ll drink with you”, he answered with a smile.
I grinned and thought to myself, he was the real McCoy, a spitting image of myself almost twenty years earlier. “Throw your tack in the trunk, we leave in a few minutes”, I told him.
He pulled a blanket roll and a pack from an early 50’s model pick up, and after stowing it in the trunk, we hit the road for Calgary.
It was only an hour or so to Kamloops and like all cowboys, we began to talk. He was headed to Calgary to get a wife. He and his dad ranched near Alexis Creek and since a ranch generally runs smoother with a good woman, his dad had figured it was time that his son take a wife so that the two bachelors could concentrate on ranching and less on domestic chores.
It was logic at the most basic level. His dad gave him three hundred dollars and told him to find a wife and be home in two weeks for the calving season. He had heard of the Ranchman’s Bar on the Southside of Calgary and figured it was the best place to find a woman who wanted to be a rancher’s wife.
He asked what I thought of his plans. I asked if he had much experience with women: he told me that he really wasn’t all that knowledgeable about women, but he had the desire and he was strong and nimble.
I told him that he had an excellent starting position; but I had been all over the world and that I knew some things about women that might help him. This got his attention and he became very interested.
I started in on the things that women appreciate, “Women like men with new socks”.
“New socks?” he asked, with a look of disbelief.
I told him to look in my duffel bag and get the package of new socks; take out a pair and put them on and throw those old ones out the window.
Once that little session was over it was like a spring breeze had blown through the truck. He was a good sport about the situation so when we pulled into Kamloops, I took him to a western store and bought him new pair of Wrangler jeans and a couple of western shirts. He was really happy with the new clothes and offered to buy me lunch.
We had a couple of beers with lunch at the diner. Now those of you have never had a beer in Canada, let me tell you, they are considerably more potent than your American beer. None the less, my young cowboy was feeling pretty good by this time and once we were back on the road, he began to play with the electronic seat adjustment. He asked me what every knob was for and was admiring the wood trim in the console and on the dash when he noticed the Mercedes star on the hood.
“What’s that out there?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s my front sight”, I answered.
“Front sight, what do you need a front sight for?” he asked.
“You know, hippies, ner do wells, and hitch hikers”, he looked at me with a bit of skepticism and set the seat back like a barber chair and settled in for a nap.
Wouldn’t you know it, there was a hippie up ahead; sitting on his suit case strumming on his guitar. I pushed the throttle halfway to the floor and the new Mercedes roared to life with the front end raised up several inches. My young cowboy became very interested in the action at this point. I adjusted my seat back and looked through the star on the hood lining up the hippie. My cowboy was looking at the hippie and then back at me and becoming more anxious with each second. I was doing over 90 and headed straight for the hippie, who was considering the prospect of running into the trees. My cowboy’s eyes were wide open now and he was looking at me in disbelief. I now had the right wheels on the shoulder and at about 30 feet away from the hippie, I swerved hard to the left to miss the hippie when I heard a thump, thump and a cold blast of air. I turned to look at the cowboy to see what had happened as he was slamming his door shut.
He looked at me with a big grin and said, “You’re gonna have to get your sight adjusted, if’n I wouldn’t have opened the door, we would have missed that last one.”
Now, we really didn’t hit anyone at 90 mph; but it wasn’t from a lack of trying by my young friend.
Thinking you are in control of the situation, and relying on false confidence and arrogance will often leave you in deep trouble. President Obama went into the Health Care Summit with all the confidence and arrogance that he is known for and the Republicans opened the door and knocked him and his democrats right off their seats. Made to look like a fool, he has no one to blame but himself. Being unprepared and taking the other side for granted while relying on past charisma that has dissipated, set up Obama for a disaster. He had his ashes haled in front of the world and had to sit there for hours with the situation running out of control.
Being from Wyoming, I got a good laugh at this story
Too bad it wasn’t BOob, I mean BRob.
So did the cowboy ever find a wife?
Was there any damage to the door? This allegory has a few angles. Maybe Obambi is the hippie. It’s like pointing a gun at someone without intending to use it. Both people walk away dumber then they were before. If both people walk away.
Skookum, this is one of your best stories yet. They’re always interesting and a great read. Maybe you should combine them all into a book like the “All I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarden” guy.
Hmm, bad boy, Skookum. I can’t get over my own memory of walking along a road in the ’60s and having someone spray gravel on me and yell “dirty hippie!” at me in a near miss like that. He came from behind and scared the daylights out of me. All he could know about my hippiness was my having a heart-shaped patch on my jeans, a rather common fashion statement of the times. No long hair even. It isn’t really that funny, from the other side.
SKOOKUM nice picture both are good looking and also the car and did he find a wife? we will never know i am glad you drive more slow now hopefully bye
Pat’s comment gets my vote.
Nice shaggy dog story, Skookum. Like any good SDS, it carries you along until the punchline, then bam! pie in the face. Having lived in the pre-desegregated south, I heard the same story from a different angle with different subjects, sans the closing moral, which makes your story more like a modern day parable, so I think Pat can rest comfortably knowing that you did not actually try to scare hippies with your Mercedes, or did you?!?
Nevertheless, I agree entirely with your perception of the summit. Having schooled the Republicans at their caucus, Obama thought he could humiliate them on Cspan for all the world to see. He was in for a rude awakening. It was he and the Democrats who came across as uncertain and foolish, especially with their ridiculous anecdotes from “real” constituents.
I’lll be looking for a set of false teeth come this Halloween, and I don’t even have a sister, dead or otherwise. LOL!
As someone who speaks to the public on occasion, I have learned that the use of anecdotes is risky at best. You never know what the members of your audience might know and it is just likely enough that what one of them knows will render the anecdote ridiculous. Such was the case with the sistered dentures. The airhead who felt the story relevant obviously didn’t know that neither the House nor the Senate bills cover dental expenses. But more significant, the story is absolutely without credibility, for no two toothless jaws are remotely alike. The surviving sister would have had to stuff the gum side with silicon or some such and the result that she would be walking around with her mouth half open, unable to chew, speak, or hardly able to breathe. The story was BS. The point was irrelevant and the speaker was a buffoon.
Disturber
I didn’t mean to ignore my readers, but I just finished work. To all of you, let me say, cowboy humor is a bit rough for the average citizen. They, the guys who live the life, are a rough and ready crew, that you would find more than a little barbaric. They are from another time and you wont find them drinking lattes and mochas.
I don’t know if the cowboy found a wife. Alexis Creek is a fairly remote piece of real estate and I doubt if most of the cowgirls who frequent the Ranchman’s are ready to give up the amenities of city life for the role of being a real rancher’s wife. Still, you never know, it is possible. This was before cell phones were practical and they still aren’t too practical in most of rural BC. If he wrote me a letter, it was probably lost in the mountain of paperwork that made up my office.
When I retire, I will drive up to his ranch to see how he did in life.
Ariel, Louis Lamour, a fairly good story teller, said that there were only five stories and they had been the basis for all stories since the Ancient Greeks. As far as I know, he never did explain that statement and unfortunately he passed on some years back. I respect his ability, only Karl Marx has been more widely read than Louis: if he says there are only five stories, I believe him.
I have never been to the Ranchman’s, but I suggest you go if you are in Calgary. If the city cowboys aren’t wild enough for you, give me a call and I’ll take you up to the High and Lonesome Mountains.
I have at least two in the cyber snares!
I had me a Merc just like the one above . . . I had me a wife sent from heaven . . . I drove the Merc at 100 or above and the sky it had no limits . . . I got the hot blood of speed in my veins . . . of women, of wine and money . . . I chased the sun up so I high that my wings they was a burning . . . I feel to the earth faster than light and the pit of hell was a waiting . . . the wife she took the money and life . . . gone is the youth, lost forever . . . and high on the list of seeing life’s bliss is a cold beer in the morning.
With 30 plus cowboys plying their trade on the cattle ranch my father managed 80 miles north west of Edmonton I was privy to a great deal of “cowboy antics”. This was no small operation, and things were done on a scale many would find hard to believe. We actually drained an entire lake that was over 10 miles by 5 miles in order to create new pasture land. But, as with any operation of such size, there was considerable employee turnover. Cowboys are by nature an independent lot and those on the ranch were no different than their counterparts found elsewhere in the world.
It was spring, calving season was over and the time for branding and castration was upon us. I particularly remember a green cowhand named Tim. It was his first year on the ranch and although a good horseman I don’t think he’d been around a lot of cattle in his time. This was 1965 and there were no electric branding irons. Hot coals and irons in the fire were the order of the day as was an iron skillet that would see more than few prarie oysters before the week was out.
Cowboys being cowboys, greenhorns were fair game for the pranks they played to break the monotony of repetative work. Castration was typically a three man operation. One cowpoke on the head, another cowhand with his foot on one of the calf’s hind legs with the other leg held close to his chest so the third man could safely get at the goods. Tim being the newest and greenest of those present was to be the butt of today’s horseplay.
Like a frat house during haze week, the senior members of the ranch team were vocal about what Tim’s initiation would entail. Two raw prarie oysters.. first of the season still warm from their protective pouch. Now a well floured and seasoned prarie oyster fried to a golden brown over an open fire is a treat not to be missed. However, I don’t believe our maker ever intended such fare to be served up raw. But, Tim, wishing to be a part of something bigger eventually succumbed to the cajoling of his senior peers and relented to his fate. With much consternation he managed to consume two raw testicles.
With cowboys bursting in laughter it wasn’t long after Tim’s “meal” that his color began to morph; from a ruddy well weathered tan to a green I cannot describe adequately here. It was nearly an hour before Tim’s retching subsided and he could return to the work of the day. He was now a fully accepted team member on the ranch.
I want to thank Skookum for his stories for they trigger many memories of ranch life for me. Please keep them coming.
TALL GRASS you are a real poet i also detecte a note of nostalgy, come back for more i love it and DONALD BLY great to go back is in it depending on the memorys thank you it is such a smart group here i love this blog bye
Thanks Skookum, I appreciate the invite. I know exactly what you mean by “city cowboys”. The only thing wild about them is the boozing, which does not make a cowboy, city or otherwise. Preening fops would be more like it. I don’t call myself a cowboy by any stretch of the imagination, but I know a real cowboy when I see one. If your skin’s not tanned and leathery as rawhide, and you don’t have a perpetual squint, then you ain’t no real cowboy! If I ever get up Calgary ways, I’ll give you a holler. I’d enjoy a ride up into the mountains while I still wear this mortal coil.
ps. Thanks Curt for letting us ramble on your website!
Donald, speaking of oysters, one of my favorite times was the castration of the colts. You know, I think I will write an article about it, thanks for the memories!
Skookum… when you write that piece on colt castration… can you name one of the critters B-Rob. I’d get a great deal of satisfaction from such a reference. hmmm… eunichization, now there’s a word that ought to be! We used to call the urban faux cowboys, “dime-store cowboys”.
Tall Grass you are either able to see into my life or we have had similar lives. The only thing is I have lost two fortunes, well not on the level of a CEO or the Goreacle; but significant none the less. I have often wondered what was wrong with me, maybe too much lead in the pencil. This is my last go round, I will make it big in the next couple of years or be bankrupt. It doesn’t really matter all that much to me, the end result will be the same, a good rifle, a good saddle horse and two good pack horses, a couple of good dogs for surprise Grizzly encounters, that’s all I really need, and into the mountains I will go. I’m not sure if OT and his crew could find me with a search warrant. The only difference will be is whether I have a home ranch or not. I don’t really need one, but it is nice to have a secure home at times and if I die in the arms of a nightmare, I will have no regrets.
Keep checking in, although, I have thousands of friends, most of them have four legs and don’t talk in a manner that most people understand. You guys are kindred spirits that give me comfort during the conclusion of a long career with horses.
HI SKOOKUM you are forgothing your laptop and your friends here if you go north we needto hear from you and give some comments too we could not do without you bye
Yes Bees, the computer is a serious consideration. Communication is extremely rudimentary in the High and Lonesome. I am hoping that satellite communication technology will improve in the near future, that will probably be a benefit of this war that we weren’t counting on.
I still plan to write of the colorful characters of the north, the weather, the wild animals, the fish, horses and survival; I also want to keep in contact with FA, I just hope we only need to concern ourselves with Conservative fiscal policy and not defeating Socialism within our borders.
It will be interesting to see what kind of reception you receive at 10,000 feet. When I am in CO near Aspen, I am at 7,000 feet and must drive down to the end of the driveway about 3/4 mile from the ranch house to use my computer or my phone. The technology gets better each year, so I am sure it is only a matter of time.
Bees when you are ready and if you have access to Nopale cactus in the grocery let me know and I will send you a recipe. That’s Nopale not Napolitano!
Skookum, give me a start point GPS read and I could locate you and of course the drinks will be on me.
I think of myself as the man who has lived many lives. I was born and raised in West Texas on the Staked Plains, where the cap rock meets the Pecos Valley. Not a lot to see there but the black and white of the desert southwest . . . a lonesome and long distance place where the horizon is 30 miles away. I woke up one day to the sound of whales in the water and ice creaking and groaning above me . . . on a submarine above the Arctic Circle where the only sea breeze was caused by the opening of a sea water vent to let the water stir the fumes of man mixed with hot lube oil. I never saw the sunshine in this place of the never setting sun nor saw the sea birds flying for the missiles we carried were far more important than the men whose lives were at stake. I came back from those years of crazed filled stress to the life of a wandering engineer. I saw most of the eastern states and come to realize that the attitude of the man is the defining factor in dealing with the people of different places. I have two children and grandchildren who don’t know me and really don’t care to. I traveled more than I wanted because there was something calling me and telling me that I had to do what I had to do. I found that I was at home in a foriegn land and wondered why I came back to a place where respect was less on the man and more on the accomplishments. I have always sensed this thing about myself . . . that I am a man out of time . . . a man whose bent to be of before . . . I can take a road and feel like I have been on it before and know that my destination is soon or far. The only time in my life I have ever been lost was dealing with the “white man” . . . and as strange as that may seem . . . I am more white than other. I know that my time is limited . . . mortal soul I am . . . but I will not struggle nor pray for another day . . . but I will prize beyond gold those that I am given.
Old Trooper, an American Patriot
OT, I was wondering if you would pick up on that one. If I ever meet you and some of your guys it would be a high point of my life, I think Mata wants to be there also.
When you finish up over there, we are going to have a drink somewhere. I have so many questions that I would never as over the wireless, but anyway, trust that there are many of us patriots who back you and your mission and think about your ordeal every day.
From here it seems that you must be facing one of the most insidious and dangerous enemies our troops have ever faced.
I assume your troopers on the ranch have fought the weather successfully this winter and that the cows must be nearing calving time; hope all that, goes well.
It makes me proud and I am sure it makes others proud that you share the web site with others in your command. Hopefully, we offer a diversion now and then from the very serious business of war.
Tallgrass, you have a richness of spirit that begs to be released. If you are retired, I ask you to consider writing a book; like I’m doing with the Skook series, actually, I am sure I already have a 120 pages, for the first book. Your thoughts need to be preserved, for in a few decades, those like us will be gone forever!
Despite what you may think, there are children yet to be born that will be hungry to know what it was like for us, the last of the wild spirits.
Excellent prose by the way, I expect to see more in the future!
Donald, “Dime Store Cowboys” that brought back memories. I remember my parents telling me about drug store cowboys and the soda jerk. I was fascinated, needless to say, when the big occasion arrived, I was extremely disappointed. People think parents can be mean, but actually they are preparing you for the disappointments of life.
SKOOKUM i was just thinking that in your book on each story you might add also the comments you receive on each that would increase the interest of the reader ,just a thought bye TALLGRASS it is now the full moon and i always felt that we humans are somwhat diffrent during its fullness even more sensitive or also emotional do you beleive that? bye
Skookum, Your stories are often the high point of the week here amongst a few Troopers from Montana, Wyoming, Utah and three Texans. We are an odd bunch here but are just doing our part.
Your and Donald B’s contribution on the culture of ranching, branding, castration and calving brought a few smiles to some tired faces. I have some slack time today as we just set up a new camp outside the snake pit. (Kandahar). We called Marjef “Dog Patch” while on that Op. It was truly Six Flags over Nothing and my Group has a new mission.
I acquired three donkeys that are the orneriest little SOB’s ever for pack critters. I took them aside and gave them some figs on flat bread and they no longer kick or bite. Local color. You FA folk offer a touch of home for some folks that need that.
The spread is doing well and properly managed by good folks that are rough cut but have a work ethic and are Cowpokes of the spawn of several generations in Montana. When I am deployed they know that they have both the brand and the heritage to look after and do keenly in my absence.
Mata has a yearling Quarter horse named for her that is the product of a fine mare and my Father’s old horse back home.
A drink or two and a pit roasted half steer over a wood fire with You and some FA folks will be in order this coming Fall unless I get extended. I was recalled from retirement last Fall because the Stans were not going according to plan. I have a good trout stream on property as well if you like rainbows or brownies. Mr. Rich Wheeler is on the invite list as well. A dose of ranch life and Capitalism that works despite .Gov interference can be refreshing, alluring and life altering.
0833 Hrs. here and it is a Monday. 52F and showers here. I had coffee three hours ago and an MRE breakfast so I’m set for another day in the Land that God Forgot. No Dime Store Cowboys here but a few NATO types that want a briefing in an hour. I have a Brit outfit and some Canadians nearby that come over for pound cake sent from home, beef jerky, ribbon hard candy and coffee. Infantry types that are Mechanized but mesmerized by the fact that a few of Us have campaign decorations that predate their birth.
FA is Curt’s gift to Us and a tip of the Beret to Him from some deployed folks!
Cheers to him from the other side of the world.
OT: It’s an honor to have you and all the other readers making FA a home away from home.
How nice that you get to work with Patriots from the heartland, although, I have no doubts as to the abilities of any of the patriots over there.
I used to have customers in Mexico, one day while working in Mexico, I was catching my breath and noticed a pile of sugar cane was moving. At first, I wondered if we were having an earthquake, but no the earth didn’t have its bowels in an uproar.
I ducked down for a closer look and there were little hooves moving under that stack. then I realized, a donkey had sugar cane piled on him, until there was nothing showing. He was walking away with at least an eight foot pile of sugar cane piled on him.
Now I have no idea how much sugar cane weighs, but I am willing to wager that the 350 pound donkey had at least 350 pounds of sugar cane laced on his back and the only way it was coming off was to walk home. It’s a good thing the equine has a good sense of direction, because there was no way he could see where he was going.
I usually work at least once a year in Ireland and in Ireland the donkey has a special place in the folk lore: at one time the Irish were only allowed to have donkeys and horses under 12.2 hands, thus the donkey was transportation the farming animal and everything else for the Irish family.
I was lucky enough to be working near Dublin during the Irish National Horse Show and what a hoot that was. To begin with Guiness was passing out pints of beer and I love Guiness, Smithwicks was also passing out their beer and I love Smithwicks, and the Baileys company was serving free shots of their Irish Cream and all the whiskey companies were serving shots of Irish Whiskey and as a blooded Scotsman, I must admit, only the Irish know how to make the smoothest whiskey in the world. G-d planned it that way or we would have all been under Irish dominion, at least that is what they tell me in the pubs.
After sufficient lubrication, and watching a variety of different horses and horsemen, let me tell you, the Irish are horsemen, never doubt that for a moment; I wandered over to the donkey driving class. These farmers had homemade carts made out of old differentials and axles with wooden carts on them, and they and their family were dressed in old costumes and being judged on, I don’t know what! But it was a lot of fun to watch and a sport that is considered very important in Ireland. I laughed and laughed, I am sure I would have laughed, even if I was sober. It was just too funny.
So don’t lose faith in your donkeys, although I have found mules a little easier to work with, especially if you use your imagination.
I had a customer who told me about a woman who started a donkey rescue in England and became a multimillionaire: I don’t think there is that kind of opportunity there in the Stans.
Looking forward to your return, whenever that might be. Best Regards, Skook.
Curt, those of Us Doing business on the wrong side of the World and not on the streets of LA know that the Honor is fleeting but Honest work has it’s own rewards.
Stay Safe Curt and Huge Thanks from here!
TALLGRASS it must have been a unique experience of life the time you spent on the submarine i wonder if USA subs are still probing the artic they surely must encounter the RUSSAN SUB that are trying to map under there to get ownership of the under floor,bye
OT it was a very good show thank you all the best food should be there for you all but you cannot get to fat with the exersise you are doing,bye
Damn I need to do some more living before I am able to hang out with Skookum and Old Trooper. Can’t cut my long hair though, but I doubt you would ever mistake me for a hippy. lol
Aleric, hair is a small issue, I have a light dusting of snow on the roof that stays there year round. Although, I have all my teeth and still consider myself a fairly dangerous man. Unfortunately, I had to give up working out with the MMA boys, some of whom you can still see on the boob tube, because a fairly large Irish horse (17.2 hands, 1600 pounds) tried to put his knee through my sternum, four years ago, it didn’t heal correctly and I had to hang it up. I am proud of the fact that I was called ‘Papa Bear’, they said it was like grabbing a hold of a bear when they grabbed me. I miss the work outs, that was four and a half years ago.
SKOOKUM i am sorry for what you had to suffer now fact please did they call you polar bear or grisly bear?keep well ,bye
Bees, the MMA fighters are a pretty nice bunch as a rule, but they were all city boys, at least the ones I knew. They had never been in a life or death confrontation with a bear, turned an unborn calf around in a cow with a cracked pelvis, milked a range cow, or used a rope to shut the air off on a bull and drop him so that you could trim his hooves or even nail oxen shoes on him with race horse nails in a dry year; the point being, they wouldn’t know a Grizzly from a Black Bear. Trust me, when they are up close and personal, you appreciate the difference very quickly.
They just called me Poppa Bear, partly from respect for my age, since I was 30 to 40 ears older than they were. The were always asking for my secrets, I’d just smile and say, “Moose roast, turnips, and a 100,000 head of horses.
Don’t worry about me suffering, I had eight broken bones and three fingers cut off through the joints that were sewn, wired, and pinned back on and was back to work in six days.
Look for the hump on the withers and a large head with finger size claws, that is your Grizzly. The two year olds and the old ones are the dangerous ones; but any bear that is starving will figure a human is easy pickings. The black has cat claws that retract, making it easier to climb trees, something a mature Grizzly can’t do; but don’t worry he can shake you out of the tree or pull the tree out by the roots.
But they just called me ‘Poppa Bear’.
i always learn better reading your true story i want your book as soon as it copied and sign also bye thank’s
Bees, check it out:
http://cbs3.com/local/resources_rss.xml
Bulls don’t make good pets, I’ve seen this several times, when a guy thinks he has a special relationship with a bull or a pet bear.
Bees,
Those times so many years ago, or perhpas lifetimes ago . . . I was a young man and fearless, motavated to do and achieve. Patriotic in that I volunteered for military service, volunteered for submarine duty and chose the most difficult pathways to follow. I was an engineering type, more of a glorified mechanic than anything else, I worked on the mechanical components and systems that comprise the nuclear power plant, main propulsion systems, potable and pure water making equipment and the supporting auxiliary systems. Of course, I was a submariner and that means that to the degree needed to save the ship we all were cross trained to respond to emergencies. We had a few events when life seemed over and the rigor lock of fear came to visit the weaker constitutions and let me assure you, when the human animal is in exteme life fear the hair on our heads does indeed stand straight and tall, rather humorours sight to remember . . . but deadly to those whose lives depend on instant reflexes.
My experience with encounters with submarines of other navies, since there are many countries that have them . . . was actually very limited. Limited by the operational requirements of keeping a “deterent weapons system” hidden from the enemy. If the enemy KNOWs your location . . . the effective deterence is compromised, at worst non-existent. It was the modus operandi of the enemy to try impact our deterence by having a “tag along” follow us every where we went . . . thus the “tag along” could intervene and prevent the launch of our deterent missile package. So my encounters were first limited by the location in the boat that I spent the greatest portion of my time . . . doing my speciality . . . way back in the very back of the boat . . . basically operationing “Daniel Boone Power & Light” . . . I was on the USS Daniel Boone SSBN-629 for almost 6 years. If any hair raising experiences with the enemy were had . . . I was naturally the last person to know . . . unless of course their was a need for more power or speed.
I must also admit to a little creative license in my previous post concerning sounds of whales and ice . . . yes we could hear them . . . but only when visiting with the “Sonar Techies” who would share the headphones. Sometims during those hours and hours of boredom, just so that occasionally we could verify that there was a world outside the steel hull, the sonar tech would let us listen to the outside world. The whales were around for sure, as was the ice . . . but the principal reason for listening for ice was to avoid being UNDER it. The requirement to deter the enemy meant that we had to be able to launch those birds with almost instant response . . . thus under the ice was one place we never wanted to be . . . since ice and missiles just don’t mix.
My daughter moved from Steamboat Springs to Oak Creek, you have probably passed through.
Once when I was out there visiting her cowboy friend, knowing she had Fridays off called to tell her he needed our help out at the ranch, it’s a 10,000 acre spread near Oak Creek, the owner raises buffalo. Her friend told us where to go and to wait for him and the guys, he didn’t bother to tell us what we were going to be doing. It was a huge arena type thing with heavy metal fencing and it also had a shed full of hay that had board fencing attached.
While we were waiting we suddenly discovered that a buffalo happened to be standing right behind us. We both scaled that board fence, I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast. We were teetering on the top of the fence, trying to hang on to the top board, with all our weight on our toes because the buffalo was trying to get her nose in the crack and we thought she was trying to bite our feet.
The first image the rest of the cowboys saw of us was us being bent over on the top of that fence with our fannies up in the air. When they got closer they were able to yell that, she, Anna, was tame and we could climb down. She had been rejected by her mother and they raised her. Afterwards I wondered what kind of help the cowboys thought Vern had summoned.
They had six metal things set up with a sliding door on each end, and our job was going to be opening and closing the doors, I was assigned the first door, in front of my door was a contraption. They herded six of the buffalo out of over 50 that they put in the corral. Then we waited, then a vet showed up and we found out they were going to do pregnancy checks on the buffalo and I had the best view in the house, unfortunately. After the vet did the first check that one went back out in the corral and told all the rest what was up because, they all seemed to get a lot more ornery after that. They separated the expectant mothers from the rest and later loaded them onto a semi because someone out there buys pregnant buffalo. It was a long day.
These guys didn’t need our help, it was a joke on us, my daughter’s friend got a big kick out of the expression on my face with the first check, I tried to do everything but look wishing I could be anywhere but there. I’m sure our little balancing act was quite fun for them too. The other guys were too polite to laugh at us…..in front of us anyway.
Moral, it’s easy for those knowing what they are doing to make dupes out of those who don’t. Our president is a dupe when it comes to all things presidential and just imagine him out there on that ranch that day, bet the cowboys wouldn’t be as polite.
BTW, those guys herded them up on horseback but after the buffalo were penned, they were in that huge corral on foot and that herd wasn’t tame.
This is a wonderful thread, thank you all for sharing. I love the posters at FA, we are so blessed to have this, thank you Curt and all our excellent contributors!!
MISSY i can’t stop laughing i just relate your story to me and i think of what a coward i am but when the danger come i know we can fly without wings,bye
Missy, that was so funny. I sure enjoy your tales of adventure, cowboys always like good sports.
I was culling a few dry cows and my commercial hauler showed up with a smaller rig, it had an aluminum box on the back with a ten foot ceiling, the roof looked as if a giant was swinging a hundred pound sledge into the roof and wouldn’t stop.
I asked him how he wrecked his truck from the inside, he said he hauled some buffalo and they had more zip than cattle. I think so!
Missy, the buffalo cows were surely sold to someone wanting to start a commercial herd or bring in some fresh blood.
I checked out buffalo ranching and the rewards seemed to be not worth the extra headaches, make that literally.
You are great fun Missy!
Tallgrass that last post was extraordinary writing, for the first time, I felt like I was in a submarine, and I have seen all the movies many times. I am a submarine movie fan from das boot onward. Being under the ice is a night mare for me. Check out my story hot cat on ice!
Figure a metaphor to the current political scene and try a submission, I think you would have hundreds of people on the edge of their seats letting their coffee get cold or their wine get warm.
SKOOKUM i check the link and i could not find any that relate to buffalo maybe its my fault bye
TALLGRASS do you think of the closing somes NASA operations is going to affect the SUBS SURVYS carrying missiles to protect our ownn side of the ARTIC? it is very interesting to read and learn,bye
TALLGRASS i have a good one for you…actual radio conversation of aUS NAVAL ship with CANADIANS of the cast of NEWFOUNDLAND in october 1995 ..americans;please divert your course 15degrees to the north…CANADIENS; recommand you divert your course 15degrees to the south…american;this is the captain of US navy ship i say again divert your course to avoid collision…canadian;i say again you divert your course…american;this the aircraft carrier US LINCOLN the second largest ship in UNITED STATES atlantic ship fleet we are accompanied by 3 destroyers 3 cruisers and numerous support vessels i demand that you change your course 15degrees north or counter measures will be undertaken to ensure the safety of this ship…canadians; we are a lighthouse, your call?…bye
Bees;
I without doubt accept authenticity of the exchange of vocabulary between the wisely down to earth Canadiens and the certainly most exaulted importance of his representative of the supreme naval forces of the United States of America. There are few people in this world with the power that is given to a ships master, not the matter that it is US war ship, for the Captain of a ship is of a special breed and does out of necessity, indeed reign over his domain. I must, now however, come to say that I have served under Captains that I would have without hesitation charged off into the face of death. One such person was Captain Charles H. Brickell, one of the men whose exceptional courage and fortitude is presented in the book; “Blind Man’s Bluff, The Untold Story of American Submarine Espionage”, by Sherry Sontag. I recommend this book as it does contain some reasonably accurate discussions of deployments and of crew life on the boats.
Submarines, missile boats specifically, have only a limited interface with NASA. During my 6 years on board the Boone we made only one trip to the Cape and that was to test fire a missile after coming out of extensive shipyard overhaul. The missile boats are totally stand alone weapons platforms . . . no communications or support of any kind is required to successfully operate that platform, only a highly trained crew. Launch packages, consisting of targets, designated by earth location, lattitude and longitude, are loaded into the on-board computer systems. The only requirement that must be maintained by the crew is knowing ships location to within a margin of a few inches. This knowing of the ships location is accomplished by tracking the ships movement via the on-board computers which are updated each and every day. During my times that was accomplished by locating the ship by satelite fed signals. I am sure that today’s submarines have significantly improved that process. Still we were able to locate the satelite and update the computers sufficiently to ensure that the accurate hitting of our target was very high in confidence. Keep in mind that the satelites we relied on were military birds and not in anyway NASA supported.
Do I think that NASA budget losses will impact the US Militarily? . . . personally I do not think so. I do support NASA and feel that the money spent for research has returned much more than the cost, so NASA has been good for the country, all the world for that matter. I am not a very happy camper right now over the NASA Ya-Lews that got involved in “Climategate” and those areas need to have their houses cleaned. The US government seems to have lost focus and be jumping off the iceberg only to come face to face with the nine-tenths of the mass that is hidden below the surface.
While that is a very funny story bees, it’s a internet hoax. Story has been making the rounds since 96
http://www.snopes.com/military/lighthouse.asp
http://www.navy.mil/navydata/navy_legacy_hr.asp?id=174
Still funny as hell
HI CURT there i thought of TALLGRASS when i read the story onWORDPRESS in humour post i knew to give him a smile to read that i did’nt know that everyone knew it bye
Preg testing… now that’s a tedious task ,espeicallly when you’re dealing with a thousand plus animals. Run them into the chute, clamp ‘em down, the vet sheath’s his arm with a plastic glove that extends to his shoulder, the tail is raised and he plunges in.
Preg, preg, preg, open, preg, preg, preg, open… and this is repeated over and over until finally the task has culminated with the last cow being released from the chute. Preg is good, open is bad indicating an unbred animal.
For those of you that haven’t had the priviledge of experiencing ranch life, let me explain the importance of preg testing the cattle. Each fall, decisions must be made as to the makeup of the herd. Keeping unbred animals necessitates that they be fed throughout the winter, yet no offspring will be produced in the spring. This is a huge drain on the economic viability of a ranch, so each fall the unbred cows are taken to the local stockyard where they will sold and eventually become someone’s “steak on the barbi”.
Now I’m not sure how they do it but for some reason the mother’s of cowboys seem to have an innate ability to aptly name their children. Swede Steele’s mother had this ability when she awarded him his colorful moniker. Swede was the quintessential cowboy, tan, leathered, squinty, bowlegged, independent and tough beyond what one would expect from his diminutive stature.
Swede has long since passed from this earth but before he left he taught my brother and me a few cowboy skills that are fast becoming a lost art, due in part to the advances and reliance on modern science.
Swede would stand at the head of the chute during preg testing and call out preg, or open before the vet had ever made his to the shoulder plunge. Swede would call preg, the vet would call preg, Swede would call open, the vet would call open. For the most part each diagnosis would match perfectly, and when they didn’t, my bet was on Swede’s call. Swede performed his magic with nothing more than an observation of the animals cowlick, that curly tuft of hair that every cow sports.
These cowboy skills were valuable, for obvious reasons before the advent of veterinarian preg testing and in today’s world for the profit one could realize, when aptly applied at the local stockyard where unbred animal’s fates were ultimately decided. Because of the value of such knowledge cowboys didn’t often share their profundity with just anyone. My brother and I were very lucky indeed that Swede was like a second father to us and as such shared much cowboy wisdom over the course of his life.
Each fall my brother and I would pool our earnings for the summer and make the 30 mile trek to the Davenport stockyard. Pregnant cows sold for a premium while unbred animal’s were sold at the going beef cattle rate. My brother and I would scour the yard, scanning each lot of cattle for pregnant cows that were about to be sold at beef cattle prices. The difference in price was not insignificant!
When we found a lot of ten or so cattle that had one or two bred animals mixed in with the unbred we’d make our bid at auction. Upon having the winning bid, we’d cull the bred animals and re-sell the unbred beasts. Each year we’d bring home eight to ten head of cattle, relying only on obseravation of the animals cowlick. Each spring we’d see our herd double in size as the veterinarian tested “open” cattle gave birth to a calf. In all the time that my brother and I engaged in this cowboy art, we never came home with a single unbred cow.
Now I could tell you the secret of the cowlick… but I hope you’ll understand, you haven’t earned the right to know.
DONALD i hope you keep that knowledge in a book something so precious in my mind is what is learned from someone inner know how it is coming straight from the soul of the cowboy thank you for sharing
TALLGRASS i suppose you knew that well i will try another one i just wanted to see you smile thank you for answering so gracefully,bye
Don I read the cowlicks on horses every day and make few mistakes with personality types. I explained the technique to several primary teachers, over the years, and they concur that the technique is almost foolproof with young kids.
Bees;
I suspected that such was the case concerning the “vocabulary exchange” . . . as always . . . somewhere in the past I feel confident that there is truth that some such confrontation did actually occur. During my time in the navy, while stationed on the USS Constellation CVA-64 a rather large ship . . . compareable in size to the USS Abraham Lincoln CVN-74 . . . during the height of those dreary days of Viet Nam . . . I was witness to the challenge of right away of the CVA by a group of Anti-War Protestors sporting impressively large sailboats. We were coming in to San Diego Harbor after being at sea for work-up exercises prior to the ships departure for Yankee Station. The sailboats did challenge the CVA . . . no words of warning were passed to the people in the smaller, yet impressive sailboats . . . as the bow wave of the CVA simply brushed them asside like surfers at the beach. The sailboats did not take to the wave like surfers however . . . they tended to wallow in the trough and throw the occupants around like beans in a teacup . . . some of the small craft tending so far over that their bottoms were clear to the sky. Thank goodness there were a few motorized boats there and there was a scramble for the rescue of the people in the water.
From this there is perhaps a simple lesson to be learned . . . That he who makes a bad choice as to where to have a confrontation, whether that be with bear, bull, or woman . . . may indeed find his bottom clear to the sky.
TALLGRASS good lesson for sure what i take from it think of the size of who to confront but i will react maybe to quickly to a bulley who is on those i choose to protect,i learn that from my older sister who was protecting me as youngs children and she would confront any body never looking what size they where she had my admiration totaly it is so good feeling to feel protected as a child well i love your life storys so much more interesthing than mine ,bye
Tallgrass, I read your comment while stuck in non-moving rush hours traffic, I was the only guy laughing insanely. I bet some of those commuters were thinking about calling the guys with white coats and butterfly nets.
I am a rank amateur sailor who has a healthy respect for the difference between a ship and a boat, the phrase, ‘like beans in a teacup’, put me over the edge. The sight of those limousine Liberals being thrown all around in their protest is too funny for words, and thinking of how they showed each other their bruises and cuts put me into hysterics, it’s the little things in life that make it such a big party.
TALLGRASS i hope you still come back here to visit,i have to tell you that i am being almost buried alive with 10 days of snow and winds i shovel a path to be able to get out 3 times and it has been coverd again well if you cant fight it leave it alone ,i’ll wait for the spring to melt 8 feets of my snow ..bye
Hello Bees;
Where are you located to be so blessed by Mother Nature . . . I am in Oklahoma . . . we have had a rougher winter this year than in a long time . . . but I doubt if we can compete with you.
Yes, I will be here, everyday I check in to see what is going on and see what everyone has been up to.
Thanks for being so kind and thinking about me.
TALLGRASS i am north close to atlantic ocean a bit southwest of NEWFOUNDLAND as you know i cant be more precise come back bye
@Tallgrass:
Thanks for your service, my dad always said it took a special breed to serve on a submarine, a childhood friend of his proved his point.
Our neighbor’s oldest son was on the USS Scorpion, never got to meet him, he was already serving when his parents moved into our neighborhood. I’ll never forget the pain his family went through as they were coming to terms with that tragedy. I know there was an investigation but shortly after they found the sub I left to join my ex at Ft. Bragg, and was gone for a few years. There were theories but, his father was believing the USSR did it, don’t know if anything ever changed his mind, they moved out of state before we got back.
Would that be one of the chilling experiences you and your fellow crew members endured on top of being submerged in an ocean full of life threatening hazards?
@Donald Bly:
When that vet pulled on that glove was when I started to get a clue that it wasn’t going to be a good experience. Davenport, IA?
@ Missy
Davenport Washington, populaton about 1,700. After being involved in the preg testing of 1,000′s upon 1,000′s of cattle… I know why I never became a gynecologist.
HI DONALD BLY what do you think of the govrnment taking 10 millions of acres of land in MONTANA all the way to NEW MEXICO for reason of kind of sanctuary for animals i had an idea that it could be for installing thoses green towers [i forgot the name] in the near future,bye
@Donald Bly:
I was just curious because we get on I-80 at Davenport, IA when we go to our farm in Missouri.
We tried to raise cattle down there once. My hubby’s farmer friend talked him into it, it was a joint venture and the friend was going to teach him everything he needed to know about raising cattle, he had visions of my hubby eventually becoming a Missouri cattle baron.
Shortly after hubby agreed to try it the farmer went to the sale barn and bought 14 pregnant cows, real cheap. The cows were older than dirt, missing teeth, but because they would calve, we all would make money off the calves, the cows would go back to the salebarn and McDonalds would buy them.
One of many problems with this was, my husband was scared to death of the cows. He even asks me to get out of the truck first when a possum or coon is loitering about in our yard, he isn’t fond of having feral cats living under our porch here in Illinois either, they might…get him. I was trapping the cats a couple of weeks ago and caught a coon, had to let that sucker out of the trap myself, hubby watched out of the patio door to make sure I was safe.
Thirteen of the cows had their calves, one was stolen and we waited and waited for the last one to be born. The farmer had gone out to the pasture, loaded her up and put her in one of those tubular type pens at his house, she finally had her calf and we were down there at the time. He called us to come over, hubby asked him, now what do we do? “Well you have to milk her and bottle feed the calf.”
I knew that wasn’t going to be good, no way would my husband milk that cow. His friend roped her, she started rearing up, kicking, snorting, one ornery cow, hubby was white as a sheet. Then he wrapped the rope around the top rail of the pen and handed the end of the rope to my husband to hang on to. Then he roped one of her back legs and held it so she couldn’t kick anymore. My job was handing the bottle to his wife after she got in the pen and she milked the cow and fed the calf. I think my job would have been much better for hubby, but I don’t know if I could have held on to that rope.
After that incident, he decided no more cows, told the farmer he could have the cow and calf. The cow went to the salebarn and the farmer’s daughter took the calf to raise, we later found out the calf was blind.
This friend was also involved in my skunk incident that had an unfortunate ending, he also set our hayfields on fire, accidently. Something you don’t want happening when the fire department only has one moth eaten truck that’s already out on a call. But, he has taught hubby a lot about farming and farm animals. Don’t know if he will ever put all these lessons into action, don’t think I’m really looking forward to it if he does.
Missy;
The loss of life of any submariner does not go forgotten: The Submariners Prayer . . . a poem of dedication . . . written long ago in the days of wooden ships and iron men:
I have one consolation that lives with me today.
That God is near to them, in his own special way.
So God in all Your mercy, keep near Thyself the soul,
Of every Submariner, still on his final patrol.
Lord, this departed shipmate with Dolphins on his chest
is part of an outfit known as the best.
Make him welcome and take him by the hand.
You’ll find without a doubt he was the best in all the land.
So, heavenly Father add his name to the roll
of our departed shipmates still on patrol.
Let them know that we who survive
will always keep their memories alive.
Fear and stress are part of any military occupation . . . from the REMF (Rear Echolon Members Force) to the front line grunt. Loss of a submarine an always mysterious occurance. The most formal of investigation in all its objectivity is ultimately reduced to conjecture and rationalization of implications. To this day . . . no one . . . truly . . . no one knows with 100% confidence what happened to the two nuclear boats that the US lost during the cold war . . . The USS Thresher and the USS Scorpion. Submarines are a stealth weapon . . . this requires being totally passive . . . never transmitting any active signals that can be detected by the enemy. Thus on the missile boats we never, ever, ever transmitted a radio or sonar signal . . . we only listened. Even upon receipt of an actual order to launch nuclear weapons would not have been acknowledged. Think about what this means . . . that is the only order that the boat would receive that we would NOT say Aye-Aye before we did it, period. We would have done our duty and sent the missiles toward the target.
The Scorpion was returning to the US from deployment in European waters . . . A “Med Run” . . . she was lost near the Azores on her way home. No one knows what happened to cause her to be lost. Yes, many books and lots of really interesting stories circulate about her trip home . . . but no one knows for sure.
Lots of things can go wrong on a submarine . . . some just failures, some due to mistakes, some due to the situation . . . and those are the things that can kill ya. When at sea . . . the lives of every man is truly in the hands of every man. The crew of a submarine is much closer than brothers. The ultimate trust-confidence relationship . . . perhaps similar to that between troops under fire in a war zone.
So from my heart I can only tell you that your neighbors son . . . his life was not lost in vain . . . and he most certainly was with his brothers. I as a submariner will never forget his loss and sacrifice.
Tallgrass, i remember reading about the Thresher or Thrusher, for some reason that loss affected me as a young person.
To think that the Manufactured Man has control of that power is disheartening.
I am proud to have you as a cyber friend.
TALLGRASS i like the prayer and the expert explanation thank you for that ,,,MISSY i can understand your husband fear he was out of his way it was not for him to be a farmer and it seems that if he would have continue to farm he could have been hurt badly or more ,it’s that feeling of fear is telling of the possible danger .when are you going to tell the skunk story?sound a good story to know bye thank you
@ Missy
One can’t be afraid of animals and be a successful rancher. It’s a water and oil mix. I also don’t think that there are many successful ranchers that weren’t involved in the business from a very early age. It’s a lifestyle as much as a business. Many leave the ranch for other professions but the reverse is not typically the case. Ranching is a 365 day a year job working in harsh conditions requiring great outlays of capital in a very risky endeavor.
The skills involved are not limited to animal husbandry. One needs an understanding of banking and finance, contracts, tax law, accounting, knowledge of real-estate, well rounded skills as a mechanic, an ability to innovate and a willingness to endure a great deal of personal discomfort in order to ensure the health and well being of the animals in your charge.
My step-father worked on my father’s cattle ranch. When he ran off with my father’s wife, he began farming a few hours away from my father’s ranch. He would not have stock animals of any kind. It simply wasn’t in his genes. He was a exceptional farmer, he simply did not have the affinity for animals that ranching required nor the desire to be tied to a 365 day a year profession.
I had expected to go into ranching when I reached adulthood but this was not to be in my cards. At 17 I joined the military, and became a part of the United States Army Security Agency, a military arm of the NSA. During my service to Uncle Sam my father lost his 40,000 acre cattle ranch and 3500 head of cattle, not through any inablility to raise cattle and turn a profit . No my father’s loss stemmed from a leasing agreement with a company where we wintered our cattle. Each year we would ship our cattle by rail from their summer feeding grounds in the pan handle of Idaho to the Yakima Valley where they would be wintered on farmland that had the summer previous been used for the production of corn and other farm crops. Unfortunately the company which he leased the land from went into receivership with 20 million in debt. Although it was a simple lease agreement, something in the contracts led the court to the conclusion that a partnership arrangement existed and the judicial system went after his assets. All was lost because of an interpretation of some clause in a contract.
Perhaps providence was guiding my decision to join the military. I recieved the best electronics training available anywhere in the world and was privy to work on state of the art equipment. I am to this day still amazed at what we were capable of and could I describe what we did back then, it would seem an amazing feat to this day, 40 years later. But, since everyone within my unit, including even the cooks, required a top secret clearance, it is a subject which I cannot discuss.
Yes I never got to test my hand at the helm of a ranch but I have no regrets about my decision to join the military. My only regret was that I did not accept the slot I was offered at the West Point Prep School, an offer that was made because of my high OCT scores. Unfortunately at the age of 17 a ten year committment seemed like an eternity and I lacked the maturity to understand the value that such an opportunity presented. I thought I’d be doing my four years and going home to the ranch. There is an irony though, as I ended up spending seven years in the Army. I attained the rank of SSGT/E6 by the age of 22 and after enduring the final 4 years of my service under Jimmy Carter as our CIC, I figured I needed see what I could accomplish in the civilian world. Oh well… that’s life.
That is quite a story Donald, the Unintended Circumstances can and do bite you. Now that my race is in the head of the stretch, I too regret turning down offers from the military. Not that I had the grand opportunity that was in your grasp, but a dang good opportunity or two none the less.
Oh well, this wasn’t a dress rehearsal and you play your cards the best you can and hope for the best, thanks for the story.
Missy, everyone has a certain fear of animals, I have no affection for Orcas, I don’t like gators, rats and mice I kill at every opportunity; is it fear or do I just not like these animals? I work with people everyday who have a fear of horses, it’s there at some level. Oh, there are some who are good with horses; but many ride and handle horses in a state of stark terror. It actually makes my work more difficult, having an animal who senses fear in humans, for animals are attuned to sense fear in humans and respond accordingly. Occasionally horses who are used to fearful humans, look at me and they break out in a sweat and quiver, I’ve had a few fall over like you put a bullet in their brain, (they get back up); these horses are scared to death and to see someone who doesn’t fear them puts them into psychological meltdown. Give me a mean horse any day, they are much safer than a scared horse; the mean horse you can befriend, the scared horse is likely to jump on you out of fear or throw himself over backwards and kill himself. Some owners and riders keep their horses on the precipice of a nervous breakdown while the owner wrestles their own personal demons internally.
The point is, we have a certain genetic disposition towards animals and it is foolhardy to try and be more of an animal person than we really were programmed to be. I know, for instance, that I can’t wrestle a Grizzly and win; so therefore, I try to avoid this scenario whenever possible. I hope this helps you with your husband.
Missy, you are a lot of fun and I enjoy reading your stories.
@Tallgrass:
Definately the best! Thank you for sharing the poem, your thoughts and opinions of that tragedy.
After all the years that have past, this morning I started thinking about the connections that never dawned at the time.
My father, his friend Ken, and Mr. Chandler worked together for 40 years. After leaving, I stopped thinking about what they must have been going through…selfish. Dad commented occasionally through the years, but I never once thought to talk to Ken or thought to care about what impact it had on him, we had only known him since the day we were all born. Summing it up, selfish, thoughtless and uncaring. Now they are all gone, there’s only assumptions and wondering left to think about. How they must of closed ranks, comforted and leaned on each other to help Mr. Chandler. Wish I could know.
There’s so much we are left without as family members pass, I do hope you, Skookum and others that have contrubuted so much to us here do put your thoughts and experiences to paper.
Good, bad or indifferent, someone is going to want to know, that is, when they finally grow up.
CHEYENNE, Wyo. — The principles of “cowboy ethics” are now part of Wyoming law.
Gov. Dave Freudenthal signed legislation Wednesday adopting an official Wyoming state code.
The symbolic measure spells out 10 ethics derived from a “Code of the West” outlined in a book by author and retired Wall Street investor James Owen.
The ethics code carries no criminal penalties and is not meant to replace any civil codes.
The state code admonishes residents and lawmakers to live courageously, take pride in their work, finish what they start, do what’s necessary, be tough but fair, keep promises, ride for the brand, talk less and say more, remember that some things aren’t for sale, and know where to draw the line.
@Skookum:
I don’t like mice either, or snappers and do stay away from the Canadians that are leaving gifts all over our back yard. The farmer tells us they can kill a coyote with their wings if they get them in the water, their flopping wings are like getting hit with a 2X4.
But the skunk deal was an experience that, because of the farmers advice, lasted for a couple of months. Our house on the farm was built to be reconverted into a garage, it doesn’t have a basement, we plan on adding our house onto it and turning it back into a garage. It’s a nice place to stay but not functional for living in it full time.
Went down there for a week, noticed a hole dug under the house, had no idea what did it until my Springer buzzed by with a hint of skunk odor wafting up from her fur, superb, we had a skunk building us a basement. Wondered, if throwing bleach down the hole would offend the skunk enough to make it not want to go back in it. As I tossed a quart jar full of bleach in the hole, the skunk popped it’s head up, all the bleach went on it’s head. I now know that you should wait til evening before messing with skunk holes.
Threw the dog in the car, went into town worrying about the bleach in that skunk’s eyes. Found the mail man and he told me to calm down, that old skunk will be just fine, we just might have a blonde skunk running around. He said to build a trap door that would close after the skunk left the hole. I couldn’t figure it out, every piece of wood we had down there was to big or to small.
Hubby came down that Friday night, the farmer showed up Saturday morning and I told them about the skunk and the trap door idea. The farmer said we didn’t need a trap door, he knew how to take care of the skunk. Great! problem solved, I went grocery shopping. When I got back they were busy mixing cement, made a little apron so nothing could dig back under there again, it was great, it also made a nice new place for the hose cart.
About a month later, hubby had gone down a week early, my turn to travel Friday. It was dark when I pulled in, the house was dark, all the doors and windows were wide open and I smelled a faint skunk odor. Turned around to see hubby slowly walking up from the barn. He said when his friend did away with the skunk, he duct taped the garden hose to his muffler, gassed the skunk, they couldn’t get it out of the hole so they threw dirt in the hole and sealed it with the cement. The bag decomposed, ruptured and he had to sleep in the barn all week because it was horrendous when he got there and wasn’t I glad he had it almost all aired out. Being glad wasn’t quite what was going through my thoughts at the time.
http://www.michaelsavage.wnd.com/files/imagesSavage/100304cowboy.jpg
Missy those are some of those unintended consequences that nip at you now and then.
They did a song about a dead skunk in the middle of the road, you might write one about a dead skunk under your house.
Ain’t life a gas!
Skookum, sounds like the values that my Grand Dad taught me. The ones that America needs to embrace and darn quickly!
SKOOKUM on your no. 58 comment you mention guys with white coat did you mean the doctors who where with OBAMA’s white coats in his speech on the healthcare bill? bye
hi MISSY i am trying to understand on 73 the first line and the beginning of the second line could you explain it to put me under the light ..yes the skunk is always a bad experience i have one too,bye
@ilovebeeswarzone:
We have snapping turtles on our farm in Missouri and Canadian geese roaming around in our back yard here in Illinois, the geese stayed this winter instead of flying south. My neighbor lady feeds them in her back yard and they do their pooing in my back yard.
hi MISSY i must have look stupid to you i was kind of tire over shoveling and i was seeing coyotee with wings and could not figure it out thank you sorry for being stupid only sometimes bye
Hi Missy,
I can sadly relate to your skunk story, having been thoroughly skunked myself, and I can tell you, there is nothing on earth quite like it. I’ve been pepper sprayed, maced, and even had ammonia sprayed in my eyes (quite by accident). Nothing compares to being skunked. I am reminded of the old “Wild Kingdom” episodes with Marlin Perkins in which the fearsome Grisly Bear would nose around the skunk too close and get sprayed, only to be reduced to whimpering and scraping its face against the tree in order to get the smell off.
I had moved up to Michigan and had been in town less then a month before I started noticing the strange pungent smell every time I ventured outside. My wife, a Michigander, told me it was from the skunks. I didn’t pay much attention until one day I had to take the trash down to the curb where the sanitation trunk would come by. Other people had already deposited their trash there, and I saw what I thought was a black cat digging through one of the bags. When I approached, the cat didn’t run off, but continued digging for morsels. Although I thought that was odd that it didn’t scamper away, I wasn’t paying much attention. It was cold, and all I wanted to do was deposit the trash and go back to the house where it was warm. When I bent over to drop the bag, the “cat” stuck its tail up in the air and sprayed me right in the face!
I forgot all about the cold. In fact I was completely disoriented. I couldn’t see; I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t even tell you what happened to the skunk. I somehow managed to make it back to the front porch of the house, calling for my wife to come out. She did, but then she went right back inside. From behind the door she shouted for me to take off the clothes I was wearing and then come inside. Wearing only my underwear, I was immediately hustled to the downstairs bathtub and doused with cans of tomato juice. So there I sat in abject misery, drenched in tomato juice, still choking out breaths and rubbing my eyes. Even though my clothes never made it inside, the entire house reeked of skunk for days. I will never, ever forget it.
So my advise to anyone encountering a skunk: Get away, fast! They don’t mess around, and they have a near perfect self-defense mechanism. They are not to be trifled with, as I can attest to, as can that hapless Grisly Bear on “Wild Kingdom”. Indeed, it is singularly amazing such a small creature can render such a larger creature so completely helpless. Part of God’s grand design I suppose, ’cause I doubt there are too many creatures that will mess with a skunk.
MRARIELL you had me feeling so bad until your wif came out the door and right back in telling you to take your appareil out i could not hold my laughter bye
@mrariell:
Oh, my goodness! Two of our dogs were sprayed and we could hardly stand to open the back door to feed them for days. Getting it full force in the face had to be the worst experience in your life. Even when you pass by a dead skunk on the road it that awful smell gets sucked up in your car, it had to be all over your house. It definately wasn’t a kitty.
@ilovebeeswarzone:
No, I didn’t think that, sometimes my punctuation and wording aren’t quite right, that’s what I thought it was. Most in here are sooo patient.
Bees, the men in white coats with butterfly nets is a cartoon image from the 60′s and 70′s that was frequently used to portray psychiatric therapists. The fore runners of Larkin of the Far Side Cartoon series. I was once a struggling cartoonist, and this was one of my unoriginal images. Maybe I will sneak an old one in now and then, I was strictly outdoors and dogs, my favorite subjects. It’s a good thing i got out of the business, the new artists are really good.
The image of flying coyotes is nice, that would be some great wing shooting, the heck with ducks and geese, I want to hunt flying coyotes. What kind of dog do you use as a retriever? They would make quite a splash if you shot them over water. I love hunting, flying coyotes could be cross over hunting, sort of a cross between bird hunting and big game hunting.
My humor might pass you by now and then, but if you ask, I will explain. I will never laugh at a friend, I want to laugh with you! You’re a good sport with a great attitude.
last year i saw a unusual happening a bit down away on the cows land, a 3 days action first day;i call my neighboard to tell his dog is loose;after a fews hours i look in my window to see 2 young DEERS in the midle of snowey cow path in the after noon ;it seems weard to see they probably have been scare by the dog who is back on his rope; the next day early mornig i see 3 eagles eating a deer and i make 2 and 2 and duddenly i coyote arrive to be chase by the eagle [he look like a flying coyote] and the next morning there are 5 coyotes eating on the probably next deer ,so that was somes actions here,bye we dont get that usuly
Bees you are becoming a keen observer of wildlife, this represents nature as it has been for eons. Civilization is but an intrusion to the animals. Your next step is to get some photos and eventually some video to share with us. I suggest you chronicle your nature sightings, to keep your memory fresh for decades.
You were lucky to see such good scenes of nature! Keep observing.
TALLGRASS the sun has finaly arrive it some beautifull seeing thetrees sparkling with icecly all over and yes i shovel some more quite a bit just now so the company where i buy my dog food will be able to bring my 3 of 40 pounds bags although he will have to walk one foot in front of the other to get to my door ,bye
TALLGRASS you said you where ging to visit here every day,i am just checking and also saying good night bye
Bees;
It is good that a sense of togetherness, of friendship, of concern exists between people that live in such diverse locations and have never met face to face. I think this is the true sprite of the human animal, that our natural instinct is first to view another as a friend . . . I have travelled to many different places in the world, where I could not speak the language . . . I found in those places actions always, always need no words. A story may add some perspective.
I was part of a group to be invited to the Peoples Republic of China . . . we there on a trade mission, basically investigating buisness opportunities. We traveled by automobile motorcade (5 cars total) from Bejing to Wiefang, Shandong Province. There were many things to see along the way on this trip . . . perhaps the most astonishing to me was . . . the smiles. A smile needs no interpretation it means the same the world over. We were running short of gas and stopped at a service station in the middle of “no where” . . . keep in mind that there really is no place that is the middle of no where in China . . . it was just that this station was not in the middle of a city . . . kind of a station on a highway . . . even this concept is hard to explain . . . China is a very different country. Anyway, we pull into this gas station. We are all piling out of the cars, stretching and stomping about, getting the kinks out from the hours of setting in the car. Out runs the station attendent . . . he is just so excited and smiling ear to ear . . . he has in his hand his tea cup. He is smiling so big . . . he holds his tea cup out to ME. Our interpreter is standing next to me . . . and he says to me . . . “The man is honoring you . . . he is offering you his tea . . . to refuse to drink will insult him.” All the other US guys in the group have this horrified look on their faces . . . one of the US guys walks over to me and says . . . “Do not drink from HIS cup . . . don’t do it . . . it might kill you.” I smile at the gas station guy and take his cup and take a big drink . . . the attendent just keeps smiling and nodding his head . . . when I hand it back to him he gives me a big hug. I can tell I have probably made a life long memory for the station attendent. My compatriots are all horrified . . . some act down right disgusted with me.
Over the next few days . . . everyone . . . but ME . . . gets the screamers. I never got sick, never had an upset stomach . . . never felt the least bit out of normal . . . and I ate and drank so many unidentified foods.
The unitended consequences . . . never bit me in the arse . . . but sure did everyone else!!!
TALLGRASS there always a lesson to take from the wises and i am your friend from the beginning also love to read you i am priviledge to be consider your friend,here is another day of beautyfull sun after not having it for 10 days i appreciate it even more thank you ,bye
Tallgrass, I’d like to think that the China man had a medicinal tea that protected you from the scourge. Irony is often based in obscure truth. A classic story for all time! Thank You.
There were so many eye opening experiences on this trip . . . the one lesson that I learned was . . . “never, never have pre-conceived ideas” . . . preconceptions, stereotypes, categories, fixed ideas . . . when you travel to a foriegn land . . . they are ALL 100% wrong.
We were on a guided trip to see and industrial complex and passed a “troop of school” kids . . . children marching in perfect unison that would certainly rival the military formation during mass troop movements.
I was thinking . . . finally we are seeing the REAL CHINA . . . .
Each of the 10 to 12 year kids had a rake, shovel, hoe or scythe . . . some kind of manual instrument of hard manual labor over their shoulder and they were marching with pride . . . going where . . .
The senior Chinese person with our group begins to chat with our intepreter . . .
After a minute or two . . . the interpreter says . . .
“The school children . . . they are going to work . . . ”
Again I am thinking . . . “Child Labor . . . finally the real China”
The intepreter continues . . . “Not only do we teach the children subjects . . . math, history, geography . . . WE TEACH THEM HOW TO WORK.”
I was shocked . . . “Who the hell ever thought you had to teach kids to work . . . certainly not the Americans . . . So who is progressive in education . . . NOT US”
I was a fortunate man . . . I had a grandfather that taught me how to work . . . .
Thank you grandfather.
TALLGRASS will you watch academy awards tonight /or did you already did? we are not in same times clock i always like to watch that show ,bye i see that you went to a lot of places it gave you a life of many memorys is in it.
SKOOKUM in[ ;FRENCHY"S email order BRIDE;] that is a must look at do not miss it bye
TALLGRASS hi and like the lighthouse mentioned to the captain of the fleet ;;;your call? bye
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2010/03/06/national/main6272920.shtml
Lions and Tigers and Bears . . . stupid people and bears just don’t make good company.
HI TALLGRASS this horrible why would a person at her age be convinced that the bear is not dangerous hard to beleive,even a dog can make you falldown the stairs unintentialy,that bear might have wanted more food,or whatever reason,yesterday i happen to give a portion of apple to my step daughter’s horse and if i was not carefull he would have taken my fingers not out of being mean ,not at all but just to take all the apple,thank you for the link,bye
Tallgrass thanks for the link. I found it to be hilarious: a lesson learned well is a lesson indeed.
Sadly, my friend Knarley’s older brother, who was fairly high up with BC Forestry showed me a short film in the 70′s of a woman who put honey on her grand daughter’s hands so that a black bear yearling could lick it off. The woman filmed it, the first time everything went well so the woman slopped more honey on the young girl’s hands a second time. She held out her hands again and the bear bit off one hand and then bit off the other hand in seconds. To me, condemning a child to live without hands because of your own stupidity was a tragedy. Losing a couple of fingers because of your own stupidity, now that is high comedy. Three Stooges comes to town.
TALLGRASS,hi i am seeing a tv story about GERMAN submarine UBOAT one explode close to canadians shore atlantic ocean in 1942 and another surface to have a spy land on shore, and sometimes later was caught in MONTREAL,i was thinking it might be interesting for you ,bye
TALLGRASS hi hope all is well for you surely you must be to busy theses days to comment with us
bye
Hey Bees;
I have been here, watching the various posts . . . at the same time I have been kind of of overloaded with everything that is going on . . . all the things with health care . . . the protesting . . . the perspectives of all . . . I watch and hope for the posts by Skookum . . . something to take my mind off the hate that seems to permeate the blob-world. Everything has had me wrapped up . . . like being hugged by a griz I think, lol.
Lately I have been frequenting the blogs over at http://www.grit.com/blogs/blog-landing.aspx . . . the good news of life, lol
Thanks for being aware of me. I will happily invite you to come be my friend on Facebook . . . if you want more info just look me up at Facebook . . . George Thomas . . . Inola, Ok
Ya know, Tallgrass… even as a political author here, I’m with you. Skook takes me away to a better world. Oh but to live in it, as he does daily. In his “in the wild world”, politics pretty much falls by the wayside if he’s guiding a bunch of urban cowboys thru reality.
As a Native American I have been on the receiving end of so many of the things that the world today is seeing as poltically correct. Many people think that socialized medicine is something new . . . it’s not . . . the Native population of the US has been on the end of socialized medicine for many, many years. You need only do a little investigation to see that the subset of people in the US with absolutely the worst statistics in every medical area is the Native American . . . we die younger, we have high infant mortality, we can never get the surgerical needs of the average privately insured . . . the complete list of such treatment in the medical field alone would far exceed the understanding of most US citizens. Consider also that the US Native did not get citizenship until 1924 . . . yep . . . the absolute last ethnic group in the US to get such rights. In the 1960′s, a good friend of mine, who’s grandfather was a World War 1 veteran attempted to get treatment at a VA hospital . . . he was denied treatment . . . and died. Why? Simply because in World War I, a grandfather who fought for HIS country, was NOT a citizen and therefore had NO rights of treatment with the VA. VA treatment was for CITIZENS. I believe that history repeats it’s self . . . it is our destiny.
Funny isn’t that today . . . I . . . as a Native American . . . am exempt from the US Law that requires me to have insurance, lol. I can go to the IHS (Indian Health Service) and die a lot sooner!!! LOL
The stories of Skook remind me of a value system . . . unspoken that it was . . . for it was a life . . . a way . . . it saw us through and kept us safe and secure in our togetherness . . . I remember my past . . . a part of me that is missed and never to be regained . . . lost . . . as is becoming the meaning of freedom.
With Tallgrass’ post I couldn’t resist.
Chief ‘Two Eagles’ was asked by a government official, ‘You have observed the white man for 90 years. You’ve seen his wars and his technological advances. You’ve seen his progress, and the damage he’s done.’
The Chief nodded in agreement.
The official continued, ‘Considering all these events, in your opinion, what did the white man do wrong?’
The Chief stared at the government official for over a minute and then calmly replied.
‘When white man find land, Indians running it, no taxes, no debt, plenty buffalo, plenty beaver, clean water. Women did all the work, Medicine man free. Indian man spend all day hunting and fishing; all night having sex.’
Then the chief leaned back and smiled.
‘Only white man dumb enough’ to think he could improve system like that’.
@Tallgrass I have to stand with you here. I work a lot with the Native American community, and am well aware of the substandard IHS care. It’s no wonder they are not vocal to the changes. In one way, it allows the rest of the nation to (sarc) enjoy (/sarc) the same stellar they have had for years.
I guess this is what Obama/Pelosi/Reid tout as “equality”.
Donald Bly… thanks for the much needed grin in these times.
TALLGRASS nice of you to visit,and what you say is very important for us to know,i wish that you keep it coming, i never touch FACEBOOK before but i thank you for info of it
bye
I remember my past . . . a part of me that is missed and never to be regained . . . lost . . . as is becoming the meaning of freedom.