Mountain Cowgirl
Well-known member
Standoff at the not so OK Corral
by MC
Working cattle can really try one's patience somedays. My most trying moment was when old Joe decided to sell off all his cattle and just keep his 22-year-old horse. Joe had a small Hogan that he lived in and his Trading Post was in another Hogan by the two-lane highway. He made what little money he needed selling snacks, cold drinks, and ice cream to the tourist. The nearest towns were 30 miles in either direction. One set of my grandparents owned the neighboring ranch. Joe lived by the highway. Near his Hogan, he had an old pole corral with a ten-foot pole gate. No fencing to funnel the cattle into the corral, just open the gate and the cows always came in to eat hay. Never a problem in the fall pushing the cattle to winter grounds where hay awaited.
When Joe decided that he was too old and so was his horse for working cattle, he made the decision to sell off all his cattle and donate his rangeland to the Ute tribe since he was Ute and the Rez bordered his land. Joe was unable to ride so he insisted I ride his horse as it knew the drill. A couple of older ladies from the Rez came to help with their aged horses. They both wore leather split skirts and were so kind and entertaining. They never seemed to get hot or thirsty. It was mid-summer.
It never occurred to me that this wouldn’t be a smooth operation since it wasn’t a routine fall roundup and the cattle still had lots of grass to eat. Pushing the cattle, maybe more like following them, was easy and a leisurely slow ride due to aged horses and time not being of the essence.
The problem started as the cattle approached the open corral gate, dug in their hoofs, turned, and faced us three. Joe and my grandparents stood by the gate chatting like they hadn’t visited for ten years. They visited every day year-round.
I was staying with my grandparents for a month that summer since they needed help remodeling their house. Being around older folks was a good exercise in patience. Little did I know how trying it would all become.
After over thirty minutes of facing off with the cows, finally, one old girl goes in to try some hay and get a drink of water from the trough. Over the next hour, all the others meandered in at their own pace. Still talking like long-lost friends with my grandparents, Joe shuts the gate. None too soon for me suffering a dry canteen and a painful bladder. I now understand why Joe insisted I ride his horse. Any other horse would have become antsy like its young rider.
It was the old girl's last trip working cattle. She died that fall and Joe died shortly after.
by MC
Working cattle can really try one's patience somedays. My most trying moment was when old Joe decided to sell off all his cattle and just keep his 22-year-old horse. Joe had a small Hogan that he lived in and his Trading Post was in another Hogan by the two-lane highway. He made what little money he needed selling snacks, cold drinks, and ice cream to the tourist. The nearest towns were 30 miles in either direction. One set of my grandparents owned the neighboring ranch. Joe lived by the highway. Near his Hogan, he had an old pole corral with a ten-foot pole gate. No fencing to funnel the cattle into the corral, just open the gate and the cows always came in to eat hay. Never a problem in the fall pushing the cattle to winter grounds where hay awaited.
When Joe decided that he was too old and so was his horse for working cattle, he made the decision to sell off all his cattle and donate his rangeland to the Ute tribe since he was Ute and the Rez bordered his land. Joe was unable to ride so he insisted I ride his horse as it knew the drill. A couple of older ladies from the Rez came to help with their aged horses. They both wore leather split skirts and were so kind and entertaining. They never seemed to get hot or thirsty. It was mid-summer.
It never occurred to me that this wouldn’t be a smooth operation since it wasn’t a routine fall roundup and the cattle still had lots of grass to eat. Pushing the cattle, maybe more like following them, was easy and a leisurely slow ride due to aged horses and time not being of the essence.
The problem started as the cattle approached the open corral gate, dug in their hoofs, turned, and faced us three. Joe and my grandparents stood by the gate chatting like they hadn’t visited for ten years. They visited every day year-round.
I was staying with my grandparents for a month that summer since they needed help remodeling their house. Being around older folks was a good exercise in patience. Little did I know how trying it would all become.
After over thirty minutes of facing off with the cows, finally, one old girl goes in to try some hay and get a drink of water from the trough. Over the next hour, all the others meandered in at their own pace. Still talking like long-lost friends with my grandparents, Joe shuts the gate. None too soon for me suffering a dry canteen and a painful bladder. I now understand why Joe insisted I ride his horse. Any other horse would have become antsy like its young rider.
It was the old girl's last trip working cattle. She died that fall and Joe died shortly after.
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