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Post by cornhusker on May 2, 2018 1:12:48 GMT
To quote Johnny Hart: "Spring has sprung, the grass has riz. I wonder where the flowers is".
Yes, Spring is once again upon us.
It's getting warmer every day, the trees are budding, the chickens are starting to lay more eggs, the cats are pregnant and I saw a fly.
I noticed yesterday, now that the grass is greening, our yard looks terrible. I blame the dogs and wind for the sticks, feathers, trash and unidentifiable animal parts scattered around the yard we struggled to keep neat and lush all last summer.
Time to find the rakes, charge batteries on the mowers, clean out the cart and get busy.
When I was young, it was a different story, Spring was a time of real work.
I worked for a rancher who went by the name Crazy Bob, a handle that was not all together undeserved, and one he nurtured and enjoyed.
Bob was one of those genius types who used his genius in odd ways.
Guns were his hobby, and his passion, he thought about guns, talked about guns and bought, sold, shot, fixed, broke, and played with guns.
He also liked explosives, but that's another story.
Anyway, in the spring, we had all the usual things going on around a ranch. Calving was the big one.
Always around 400 head including heifers dropping calves wherever they happened to be, be it in the mud, the snow or just frozen ground.
We tagged the calves ears as soon as possible to make sure we could identify it later, and kept a log book one what calf went with what cow.
More often than not, the mother cow took exception to us tackling her baby, sitting on it and crimping a tag on it's ear.
One memorable morning, we were driving around the meadow, eating cookies for breakfast and looking for newborn calves, taking turns tagging them.
We spotted a fresh little Hereford heifer, and since it was my turn to sit in the nice warm pickup, CB (Crazy Bob) threw it in neutral and hopped out, tags, crimpers and log book in hand, cigarette dangling from his lip, his mouth full of cookies.
He casually reached down, grabbed the calf by the leg and tipped it over, then plunked down in a comfortable squat atop the calf, scratched it's ears and pulled the metal tag from his pocket.
About that time, I heard a sort of growling snort, the cow was starting to get agitated. She pawed the ground, put her head down and crept menacingly closer.
CB waved his one arm that wasn't busy and shouted around 4 cookies and one half smoked Kool, "GEBOUDDAHERE"
Momma took a half step back, pawed the dirt and blew snot at him.
she pawed the ground again, made a low growling "woof".
She stared at CB
He stared back....snot dangling from his cigarette, he chewed his cookies.
Slowly, he pulled his revolver from his holster and put a bullet in the ground right in front of her nose.
Until this point, I thought the whole show was mildly interesting at best, but then, things got better.
The cow charged CB, and for a guy who was 6'3" and not in the best of shape, he moved pretty fast.
He rolled under the pickup taking the calf with him, still trying to get the tag in the calf's ear and his gun back in the holster.
There's not much room to work under a pickup, so he slid out the other side just as Momma cow hit the door right next to me.
"Cheese and Rice" I shouted, can't you play with your cow someplace else??
"FUMBOO ABOLE" He said choking on Oreos.
About the time he got the tag crimped on the calf's ear, Big Momma came around the other side, put CB in the cross-hairs and had another try.
He rolled back under the pickup, this time leaving the calf behind just as the cow hit the driver's door, making it match the other side.
"YOOSUMABISK!!" he shouted as the cow gathered her baby and slowly sauntered off to do whatever it is cows do when they aren't remodeling vehicles.
He crawled out, dusted himself off, took a drag off his snot covered cigarette and swallowed.
He pried his door open and got in.
He lit a fresh Kool, looked around and said "Any cookies left?"
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Post by DEKE on May 2, 2018 1:46:14 GMT
wow! great story.
I had to read it to DW because she wanted to know why I was LOLing so out of control. Tell us more about CB. I think I may have known him, but he went by the name of Sam in my neighborhood.
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Post by cornhusker on May 2, 2018 1:55:50 GMT
wow! great story. I had to read it to DW because she wanted to know why I was LOLing so out of control. Tell us more about CB. I think I may have known him, but he went by the name of Sam in my neighborhood. I will write some more about him when I get a chance. He was a character, a friend of my dad who was also a gun guy, though not to the degree CB was. CB would go to town once in a while, and people would say "How you doing Bob?" and invariably, he'd growl "Don't ask" or "You don't wanna know" He went to Berkeley, was an accomplished photographer, mechanic and inventive genius who rarely showered or brushed his teeth, but kept his hair combed at all times.
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Post by Ozarks Tom on May 2, 2018 11:31:10 GMT
CB's fascination with guns reminds me of a guy I knew in Dallas. I'd bought an old Winchester Model 12 shotgun one day, and happened by his place of business. When I mentioned it his eyes lit up, and asked that I bring it in. He caressed that old dove shooter like it was a woman, I've never seen anyone before or since so emotionally involved with and old gun, it was eerie.
Of course, this was the guy who had a refurbished WWII German half-track in his shop, and went Javelina hunting with a Thompson sub-machine gun.
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Post by cornhusker on May 2, 2018 13:11:25 GMT
I remember one time we were riding around the meadow in that same old Ford pickup, I think it was a '73 F250. CB had recently purchased a Ruger single action .44 mag that had timing issues, but he brought it along anyway. It was a bit of a chilly morning so we had the windows rolled up, but they were still frosty (waste of gas to warm it up before we got in I guess) It was cold but sunny, one of those pretty mornings that made you happy to be alive and tickled to be living the life of a cowboy. The calves all looked good, the cows grazed contentedly and there was a quiet peace of early morning you can only experience in a spring hay meadow. Even with the windows up, I could hear the Meadowlarks singing and a rooster pheasant squawk. It was almost heaven. Suddenly, CB slammed on the brakes, I spilled coffee in my lap and he hollered "Quick, roll down your window!!" I called him on of my pet names for people who spill hot coffee in my lap and rolled down the window, and looked around to see what had him so excited. About 50 yards out was a coyote. It was skulking as only a coyote can skulk, (which is like a slink, but with intent to commit livestock crimes). I turned to say something about there being a coyote skulking around and noticed that big Ruger about 4 inches from my head. He shouted "Lean back!!". I jerked my head out of the way just as he touched off that .44................ I never knew if he missed the coyote or if it evaporated from the impact, or if any of the bullet got that far. That Ruger had timing issues, and it tended to shave lead off and spit it out the side. I had hot lead on my neck and my ears were ringing like a rape whistle. I don't know if you've ever fired a .44 magnum in the cab of a pickup, but I'm here to tell you it's loud, and not just loud, it's LOUD!!! I mentioned these things to him. "YOU STUPID ^$%#*!!! YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!!" He said "HUH?" I said "WHAT?" "SAY AGAIN?" "WHAT'S THAT?" "HUH?" "WHAT?" "DID I HIT IT?" "HUH?" "DID YOU SAY YES OR NO?" "WHAT?" "HUH?" It was a few days before either one of us could hear right, and he traded the Ruger away not long after. Even after that, or because of that, I wanted a Ruger .44 Magnum, and 25 years later, I bought my Ruger Super Blackhawk .44 Mag. I never bring that revolver out of the safe but I think about that day, that old pickup and CB's total disregard for safety, particularly mine. You can't buy memories like that.
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Post by joebill on May 4, 2018 1:12:30 GMT
Back when we lived and had the store in Miami, NM, along with the tourist gegaws we kept a bit of Skoal and Copenhagen and smokes for the cowboys in the cooler, because there was no other local place to buy it and they got desperate when they ran out.
Of course, they had calving problems, too, made worse by the fact that they were using huge bulls which sired huge calves which mostly had to be pulled when the time came because Mama's equipment was too small for the job. There was a rig that strapped onto the back of a cow when those tiny hooves peeked out and you tied onto the tiny legs and hauled the calf out with an attached boat winch......SPLAT!....no joke. Maybe 80% had to be pulled and any cow that did not get spotted in time went down and often died trying.
That meant that a cowboy or owner had to be in the pasture all night every night when they were calving, keeping watch and helping out where required. One night I was dimly aware that every hour or so somebody was driving a truck through the driveway all night long, then leaving and coming back an hour or so later. Nasty night, and I was not that curious anyhow, so I just dozed back off every time it happened.
We got up before daylight, and the second I passed a window after getting dressed I heard somebody pecking on the window, looked out, and it was the owner of the nearest ranch peeking in, so I went and let him in through the front door which was also the store entrance.
Seems he had run out of skoal right after we went to bed the previous night and had been alternately pulling calves and coming by to see if there was anybody up and about to sell him some dip all night long. His hands were shaking, and NOT from the cold.
Some of the guys got short on cash and I let them charge dip for a week or so, but then some of them seemed to forget they had a bill at the Merc that needed to be paid. I put the word out that the dip was running low in the cooler and if they wanted me to buy any more certain ones needed to pay up, but I guess they thought I was bluffing. The day came when they all made their morning stop for dip and the cooler was empty. I did not hear the details, but there was a very sharp discussion around the hitch rail out front and the guilty parties came in and settled their bill, so I told them I would drive to Raton and re-supply that very morning since I needed some other stuff, too.
They told me where they would be gathering cattle and requested I stop by on my way back to town, so when I got back with the dip I drove over that way, and when I saw them driving maybe 40 head down the road to meet me I just stopped the truck in the middle of the road and set a roll of Skoal and a roll of Copenhagen on the roof of the truck and stayed in the seat so as not to spook the cattle.
The cowboys stopped short, sat in the saddles and talked for a few seconds, wondering what I was doing in their way, then somebody spotted the dip on the roof and they ran that herd top speed past the truck and then abandoned them to get at the dip. I dunno how long it took them to gather them back up, but it must have been a while, because they were all over the place and still running the last time I looked.
From then on, everybody took care of his dip bill on payday......Joe
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Post by Jolly on May 4, 2018 4:06:05 GMT
Cornhusker's story reminds me... I've done some mighty stupid things in my life, but touching a .357 off in the cab of a truck ranks up there in the top ten. I thought I was deafened for life...
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Post by Jolly on May 5, 2018 13:55:36 GMT
Oh, and I didn't even hit the coyote....
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