A Disgusting Story

I've discovered my purpose in life is to educate all the other dudes in the world, not counting myself,  about a cowboy's life.  If you can't handle a little pus and blood, not puss in boots, but pus in blood, you might want to quit reading now.  But if I can take it, by golly, you can too!

Being a cowboy isn't just about looking cool in chaps and spurs.  That's what I used to think too.
But, sometimes they have to work.
And sometimes this work is quite unappealing.

Take this for example.

This is a bull.

And he's got a problem.

He's got an abscess on his jaw.  

An abscess that needs to be drained.

And I know just the cowhand to handle such a job.

Not only is this abscess uncomfortable and painful, well it's ugly.  And just how is this bull supposed to catch a cow with an ugly mug like this?  You just answer me that, why don't cha?

Jason pens him and pushes him into a squeeze chute which basically squeezes him tight so he can't kick, fling, fight, maim or kill us.

He gets stabbed with a pocket knife, and doesn't even wince.
Don't say I didn't warn you.  It's only going to get worse from here on out.

The abscess begins to drain.

And drain some more, and more, and more.

The bull can very easily swing his head around and be very unpredictable, possibly smashing Jason's fingers. This string of pus is also very unpredictable when the bull flings his head. You don't want to be standing in the wrong place when six inches of gunk begins to sail across the sky. Trust me on this one.

 So Jason gets a nose ring and uses it to pull the bull's head to the side.  It was my job to keep his head to the side by pulling on this chain with a nose ring on the end, stuck in a bull's nose. I had to look away as Jason continued to squeeze and stab the abscess. 

I just needed to break away from this story to show a pretty picture for a moment.  I think we all needed a diversion don't you?

Okay back to the gore.


Jason continued with this madness until most of the filling was drained out, but it was still huge.  He did all he could do for this fellow, then sprayed him down with wound medicine and iodine for healing.

You're free to go #779.  Please remain calm and continue forward.  Do not, I repeat, do not turn around and charge at us. 

This is not a Texas murder scene.

Another pretty picture.

Hopefully you can erase all those horrific images from your minds. 

Have a good day!

Got Gates?

After being married to a cowboy several seasons of my life, there is one critical rule I have learned. 

***ALWAYS CLOSE THE GATES****
It may be the most important lesson ever needed to be learned by green cowhands. (meaning me)

The ranch is divided into pastures by fences and gates.  The fences are very important and serve many purposes.

The fences keep calves away from the mama cows after being weaned so they don't get back on the tit. 

The fences keep the bulls out of the cows when there shouldn't be any hanky-panky going on.

The fences keep the neighbor's bull out of the cows when you don't want a black calf in amongst your red ones.

The fences keep all the cows out of an over-grazed pasture when it needs resting from the cows eating the grass too short.

And the gates help move all these animals around from pasture to pasture. In and out, in and out.

An open gate, on the other hand, allows for the cattle to meander wherever they choose, in wrong pastures, mingling with the opposite sexes, reeking havoc on a cattle ranch and making a cowboy who has to sort them all out, very grumpy.

The cardinal rule of cowboying (among many others) is
ALWAYS CLOSE THE GATE.

Many times have I heard the complaint from my beloved of how somebody left the bleepity, bleep gate open and made a mess for him to straighten out.
It has been ingrained in my head ALWAYS CLOSE THE GATE.

I went out with Jason for a little job this past weekend.  He needed to gather up about 20 cows and pen them.  This entails getting horseback and pushing cattle (cattle that don't always want to go the direction you want them to) from one pasture, through a gate, into another pasture, through another gate, into the cow pens. 

My mission if I choose to accept it: 

Jason to me:  I'm going to go gather the cattle over in this pasture.  You need to go up this road to the east.  You'll come to a green gate.  Go through the gate, make a left hand turn to the north, open the white gate running east and west.  Open it into the trap.

And then he rides off.

Me:  But?.....what?......Jason?   (wondering)  Which direction is north?  Did he say open the green gate or the white one?  Was I supposed to go up an east road or a north one, open an east gate or a west one?  When did he learn to speak Swahilian?  Remember Angel,  Always close the gates, always close the gates, always close the gates. 

I decide I'll figure it out when I get there.
And so begins my journey.

I travel where the turkeys have trekked.

I meet a wounded comrade.

He is grateful for my assistance.

I reach the green gate and pass through.

And then there are two.  Two gates.  Which one am I supposed to open?  The north one?  The east one?  I scan the horizon for Jason.  He is nowhere to be seen. 

Am I supposed to open this gate? 

Or this gate?
 I can't remember what he said.  My heart is racing.  My palms are sweaty.  Oh the repercussions I will face if I open the wrong gate and let cattle in the wrong pasture.  I say a silent prayer, toss a coin, draw a straw, open a gate and hope for the best. 

Then I leave the way I came, out the green gate.

Remembering to latch it up securely.

Then Jason arrives with the cattle, pushing them along the fence line.

They make the turn, through the east/west gate opened up to the north or something like that.

  Basically, I did it right!!!  Yea me!!

In they come.

A little further.

Mission accomplished.

  I opened the correct gate into the correct trap, and Jason penned the cattle.  All went just as planned.

Well, except for when the cows took notice of me.

See them staring at me.  I've been spotted. 

They've noticed me and it has caused alarm to their bovine brains.  So they do what cows do.

They head back out the gate they just came through and run down the fence line in the opposite direction.

And Jason has to, well, uh, he has to do his job all over again and turn them around and bring them back down the fence line and in through the gate.  Again. 

Then Jason spent the rest of his time either opening a gate.

Or closing a gate.

Or opening a gate.

Or closing a gate.

And fixing the green gate I didn't latch correctly.

But I helped a bug. 

That's a noteworthy achievement, right?

One of My Favorite Quotes

Rest is not idleness,

and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer's day,

listening to the murmur of water,

or watching the clouds float across the sky,

is by no means a waste of time.

unknown

My days of summer vacation are waning.

Am I blue?
Yes, I'm blue.

Fish, Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid.

Summer envelopes us.  The heat is most unbearable.  The air conditioning is our haven.  But Saturday we ventured out and attended a Fishing Derby at our city lake.  It was sponsored by a local business and was a fishing derby for kids.

I'm not much of a fisherwoman, nor is J-Dub a fisherman.  But Ashlynn is calm when she has a fishing pole in her hand.  She shows much patience fishing.

We gathered up a couple of poles, a bucket, and a few creme sodas and joined about 200 other families to attempt to catch a few catfish or perch. 

Boy were we lucky!!!

We found a semi-shady spot with a very small window for casting.  So inevitably, we had a fishing line in the trees quite often.

Jason baited the hook with a big, fat, juicy worm that looked plumb delicious, even to me.  And inevitably, it got stolen at least a half dozen times.

We sat.

And sat.

And sat.

The temperatue rose.

And rose.

And rose.

And rose.

Patience grew thin.

And thinner.

And thinner......Oh, you get the idea.

Then, finally......

a tug......

a pull.....

Oh, it's a big 'un!!!

Reel it in!

What in the world???

Oh, just another fishing rod.  It's at least a 36 incher. 

Moss covered pole, what luck!!

What a catch!!

So we sat some more, and the heat rose some more.

Even the ducks searched out shade.

Then another tug, a pull,

Get to your feet!

Reel it in!!

Don't let it get away!!

Poor turtle.

And Poor J-Dub, he hates how turtles stink. 

How lucky!!

The clouds floated across the sky.

Fluffy puffs of cotton drifted on us from the cottonwood growing nearby.

We begged the wind to blow and it refused.

The catfish hid.

But anyway, the day was good.

Fisherfolk

By

Robert Service.

 I like to look at fishermen

And often times I wish
One would be lucky now and then
And catch a little fish.
I watch them statuesquely stand,
And at the water look;
But if they pull their float to land
It's just to bait a hook.

 I ponder the psychology
That roots them in their place;
And wonder at the calm I see
In ever angler's face.
There is such patience in their eyes,
Beside the river's brink;
And waiting for a bite or rise
I do not think they think.


Or else they are just gentle men,
Who love--they know not why,
Green grace of trees or water when
It wimples to the sky . . .
Sweet simple souls! As vain I watch
My heart to you is kind:
Most precious prize of all you catch,
--Just Peace of Mind.