Or Get the Hell Outta the Lane
Earl had the meanest cattle west of the Mississippi. Maybe some of his own orneriness rubbed off on them, but mostly it was because they didn’t know what humans were. The ranch covered over 300 square miles and most of that was open range with very few fences. The calves were rounded up early with their mamas and branded, earmarked, and the lucky males were castrated. Their first impression of humans was marred with pain and humiliation. Not long after this awful experience, they were rounded up again, taken from mama, and shipped miles from home to be left on their own. They stayed together, all the new orphans, and so they had many opportunities to gripe and moan to each other about those awful two-legged creatures who were so intent on ruining their lives.
After a year or so of complaining and getting used to their new pastures, the two-legged beasts came back to round them up again. The males, or steers, would be shipped to the feedyards and eventually the slaughter house. The females, or heifers, would be moved to another pasture for a year before breeding. Invariably, there were some outlaws who escaped the posse and hid out in the hills waiting to strike.
After several years of hiding out, we would capture a few of these unruly creatures and ship them to the nearest auction. This process involved the use of horses, ropes, a sturdy trailer, and one poor soul who did the dangerous work. Can you guess who fit that job description? It was the only one on the ranch that absolutely sucked when it came to riding and didn’t know how to coil a rope, let alone throw it. Me.
The real cowboys would chase down the ornery cattle, rope them, and tie them to the nearest tree or tie their feet together. It was my job to drive the truck and trailer over the roughest country created and find the cow. Then my job got interesting. I would open the trailer and lace ropes through the sides of the trailer and out the back. The nooses were looped and tightened over the cow’s horns. The cowboys would pull the ropes with their horses and guide the cow into the trailer. My job was to sit on this mean 2000 pound animal and untie his or her feet or undo the knot securing it to the tree. It was a delicate operation. The noose or knot had to be released while I leapt away from the animal to avoid being tangled in its four dangerous hooves and even nastier spears attached to its skull. I wasn’t always lucky and had always been somewhat clumsy, so the cowboys always got a good laugh.
The cowboys had no problems pulling the cow into the trailer while I shut the gate behind it. Then a new operation took place. The animal was now loose inside a small trailer and was extremely upset. My new job was to take the ropes from the horns of the cow using a metal cane. I would lean over the top of the trailer, hook the rope, and pull. The cow would toss its head, throwing the cane like a spear, while I simultaneously jumped and ducked. Eventually, the ropes would be off, and I would be nursing a new bruise while the cowboys continued laughing and talking about how difficult their job was. At times I wished I wore six-guns strapped low. There would have been fewer laughing cowboys on that ranch, but then I shoot a pistol with about as much skill as I throw a rope.
These wild animals were taken to the corral and loaded into a bobtail truck. The bobtail is a large ten-wheeled truck with a wooden and metal cage on the back that holds around 15-20 full-sized cattle. The wild and crazy cattle were whipped, pushed, prodded, and shocked to get them to run up the ramp and into the truck. The rest was easy. I would drive the truck to Sun Valley Auction, about 100 miles away. After a few trips, the employees there recognized the truck and reacted appropriately, but the first time was a sight to see.
The employees at the auction, mostly Hispanic and Navajo, opened gates and stood in the lanes, waiting to direct the cattle to their respective pens. Little did they know that they were possibly facing their last minutes on earth. The small sliding gate opened and eighteen enraged, orange animals came pummeling down the chute, eyes blazing, horns slicing through the air, and dirt flying. It only took seconds for the poor employees to understand what they were seeing and their legs responded to the fear quickly and effectively. There were people jumping fences left and right, while some fellows just ran down the lanes, hoping for safety around the corner. Screams of terror floated on the breeze and new spectators clamored for a look at the rodeo. Luckily, the only injuries were to pride. It was the first and last time someone stayed in the lane when the red and white bobtail from the Platt ranch drove up.
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