Baxter Black: The way a cowboy feels |

Baxter Black: The way a cowboy feels

Baxter Black
Baxter Black

Oh, Lord, you gave this ranch to me.

I don’t own a stick of it, but it’s mine.

I know it better than anyone,

Every ledge, edge, hedge, boulder, rock and stone.

I know the highest point in each pasture.

I know where the cows hide.

I know the first tank dam that fills every year.

I’m the only one who can start the water truck when it freezes.

I know where the only pasture gate is in two miles of fence between the Canary and the Beacon.

I know whether to take a jacket when we saddle up.

You could drop me down in the middle of this ten-section piece blindfolded on a good horse, and I’ll find my way home.

I know where you can stick your gooseneck in sand up to your wheel wells.

I know how long to leave the generator going to fill up a ten thousand gallon tank.

I know how many 400 pound calves will fit in a 20-foot trailer.

I know the combination to every lock on the place.

I can remember when the canyon was a rivulet.

I can remember which calf goes with which cow.

I can remember when the man who owns the ranch lived here.

I carry a runnin’ iron for calves born after the brandin’. We have four brands on the place.

I carry pliers in the saddle bag to fix the fences that the illegal immigrants cut through.

I don’t drink enough water.

I don’t use sunblock when I should.

I’ve lost several ropes over the years. I wonder where they go?

I wear out my boot soles but not the heels.

I’ve got leggins, chinks and bat wings depending the weather.

My hat holds water.

My gloves last about 3 months, if I don’t lose em’.

I know which horses to trust and which ones to watch.

I have relived Charlie Russell’s painting “Bronc to Breakfast” more times than I can count.

I can braid, rivet, hammer, shape, tape, tear, shoe, clip, cut, bob, whistle, dig, tip, snip, snap, and call the welder when I need to.

I’m indispensible, and I’m the first one they let go when the ranch changes hands.

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