This is from the Farm & Ranch Guide. It is written by Rodney Nelson, a cowboy poet/humorist from Almont ND. Up Sims Creek is the name of his column. Copyright by Farm & Ranch Guide.
Country Living: Up Sims Creek
Times are tough at Sims - and everywhere!
Times seem to be tough even when I'm not at Sims. I had a chance to wear my new toupee at a banquet a couple nights ago. I was pretty proud of it and when I saw a nice Canadian lady I knew, I asked her opinion of it.
"Well dear," she said diplomatically. "I think it would look a bit more natural if you tucked it up under your armpit!"
I am writing this in Winnemucca, Nev. I couldn't resist the lure of entering the National Senior Pro Rodeo finals one more time. With a little time to kill this morning, I took the time to pen a few lines.
Wrestling Steers in Later Years
I'm well past the age of fifty
And it seems most of my peers
Are enjoying wealth and wisdom
They've gleaned throughout the years.
Buddies from my younger days
Are mostly sedentary.
A wild time is a round of golf
And TV keeps them merry.
But things that bring much pleasure
To most men long of tooth
Can't compete with all the action
I enjoyed back in my youth.
Can't say I don't know better,
To win is no small feat,
But I hanker for the rodeo
And think I can compete.
The broncs now treat me badly
And throw me off with ease,
But I think I still can wrestle steers
So I ask the Missus please -
"Would you mind, old girl, to do the chores
And check the cows out on the range?
I'm entering a couple shows,
My luck is bound to change."
My pickup's old and battered,
The trailer's worse in ways.
Like me, the whole darn outfit
Has sure seen better days.
Yeah - it's getting pretty shaky,
To drive it takes a knack,
But I'm sure it still will get me there,
Though it may not make it back.
My mind keeps spinning as I drive,
It's a perfect run I'll make.
To catch him quick and throw him slick
Will be a piece of cake.
My thoughts are all of classic runs
And all those first place checks,
I forget about when things went bad
And I took those awful wrecks.
When I catch one picture perfect,
It always leaves me thrilled,
But a doggin' wreck with all that speed
Makes you feel like you've been killed.
You're bound to lose a little blood,
You sometimes break some teeth.
There is not a bit of pleasure
When you're trampled down beneath.
The next morning's mostly agony,
Your buns feel like they're fried.
You feel like rigor mortis
Has set in fore you've died.
It hurts a bit to blink your eyes,
It pains to stand or sit.
It's worse when certain body parts
Have sustained a nasty hit.
My clothes are ripped to ribbons,
Both feet really hurt.
There are tracks across my belly
Where the horns went through my shirt.
My right arm has quit working good,
One knee is bone on bone.
My bank account is awful flat
From the money I have blown.
I know I'm getting way too old
And I should slack off a bit,
If it wasn't always so darn fun!
I believe I'd have to quit.
Country Living: Up Sims Creek
Times are tough at Sims - and everywhere!
Times seem to be tough even when I'm not at Sims. I had a chance to wear my new toupee at a banquet a couple nights ago. I was pretty proud of it and when I saw a nice Canadian lady I knew, I asked her opinion of it.
"Well dear," she said diplomatically. "I think it would look a bit more natural if you tucked it up under your armpit!"
I am writing this in Winnemucca, Nev. I couldn't resist the lure of entering the National Senior Pro Rodeo finals one more time. With a little time to kill this morning, I took the time to pen a few lines.
Wrestling Steers in Later Years
I'm well past the age of fifty
And it seems most of my peers
Are enjoying wealth and wisdom
They've gleaned throughout the years.
Buddies from my younger days
Are mostly sedentary.
A wild time is a round of golf
And TV keeps them merry.
But things that bring much pleasure
To most men long of tooth
Can't compete with all the action
I enjoyed back in my youth.
Can't say I don't know better,
To win is no small feat,
But I hanker for the rodeo
And think I can compete.
The broncs now treat me badly
And throw me off with ease,
But I think I still can wrestle steers
So I ask the Missus please -
"Would you mind, old girl, to do the chores
And check the cows out on the range?
I'm entering a couple shows,
My luck is bound to change."
My pickup's old and battered,
The trailer's worse in ways.
Like me, the whole darn outfit
Has sure seen better days.
Yeah - it's getting pretty shaky,
To drive it takes a knack,
But I'm sure it still will get me there,
Though it may not make it back.
My mind keeps spinning as I drive,
It's a perfect run I'll make.
To catch him quick and throw him slick
Will be a piece of cake.
My thoughts are all of classic runs
And all those first place checks,
I forget about when things went bad
And I took those awful wrecks.
When I catch one picture perfect,
It always leaves me thrilled,
But a doggin' wreck with all that speed
Makes you feel like you've been killed.
You're bound to lose a little blood,
You sometimes break some teeth.
There is not a bit of pleasure
When you're trampled down beneath.
The next morning's mostly agony,
Your buns feel like they're fried.
You feel like rigor mortis
Has set in fore you've died.
It hurts a bit to blink your eyes,
It pains to stand or sit.
It's worse when certain body parts
Have sustained a nasty hit.
My clothes are ripped to ribbons,
Both feet really hurt.
There are tracks across my belly
Where the horns went through my shirt.
My right arm has quit working good,
One knee is bone on bone.
My bank account is awful flat
From the money I have blown.
I know I'm getting way too old
And I should slack off a bit,
If it wasn't always so darn fun!
I believe I'd have to quit.
typing error. You're right Shelly - should have been 2005 not 2004.