Horses Versus Hosses

Can you tell I'm on a Cowboy poetry kick? Here's another one - this is why I'm so partial to Mustangs!

I heard an oldtime cowboy swappin' off some drawlin' talk
About them nags men used to ride, who didn't like to walk.
He spoke of them as hosses, so I up and asked him way
He didn't call them horses. Well, a gleam come in his eye,
And here is what he told me—be it right or be it wrong—
Some salty information that I'd like to pass along:

"You go out to the race track or some modern ridin' school,
And what you'll find 'em ridin' there is horses, as a rule.
You'll see 'em wrapped in blankets when they raise a little sweat,
And bedded in warm stables so they won't git cold or wet.
Their saddle is a postage stamp; they're combed and curried slick:
Their riders bobble up an' down like monkeys on a stick.
Them purty tricks are horses, son, but that there ain't the word
We used to call them shaggies that we rode behind the herd.
They might not be so purty, but they stayed outdoors at night.
They maybe weighed 900 pounds—all guts an' dynamite.
They took you where you had to go an' always brought you back,
Without no fancy rations that you purchase in a sack.
They loped all day on nothin' but your two hands full of grass.
On a Stetson full of water they could climb a mountain pass.
They swum you through the rivers an' they plowed you through the sand—
You an' your heavy saddle, an' they learned to understand
Which end of the cows the tail was on, till all you had to do
Was set up in the saddle while they did the cow work, too!
Sometimes they sorter dodged your rope, sometimes they bucked you high,
But they was sure the apple of the oldtime cowhands eye!
These stable-pampered critters may be horses sure enough,
But them ol' cow range hosses, they was born to take it rough.
So that's the way they took it, till they earned a tougher name
Than these here handfed horses, all so delicate an' tame.

So you can have your horses, with their hifalutin' gloss—
I'll take four legged rawhide—or in other words, a hoss!"

The Great Round-up

I found this and thought of how very true it is!

When I think of the last great round-up,
On the eve of eternity's dawn,
I think of the past of the cowboys
Who have been with us here and are gone.
And I wonder if any will greet me
On the sands of the evergreen shore
With a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow,"
That I've met with so often before.

I think of the big-hearted fellows
Who will divide with you, blanket and bread,
With a piece of stray beef well roasted,
And charge for it never a red.
I often look upward and wonder
If the green fields will seem half so fair,
If any the wrong trail have taken
And fail to "be in" over there.

For the trail that leads down to perdition
Is paved all the way with good deeds,
But in the great round-up of ages,
Dear boys, this won't answer your needs.
But the way to green pastures, though narrow,
Leads straight to the home in the sky,
And Jesus will give you the passports
To the land of the sweet by and by.

For the Saviour has taken the contract
To deliver all those who believe,
At the headquarters ranch of His Father,
In the great range where none can deceive.
The Inspector will stand at the gateway
And the herd, one by one, will go by,--
The round-up by the angels in judgment
Must past 'neath His all-seeing eye.

No maverick or slick will be tallied
In the great book of life in his home,
For he knows all the brands and the earmarks
That down through the ages have come.
But along with the tailings and sleepers
The strays must turn from the gate;
No road brand to gain them admission,
But the awful sad cry of "too late."

Yet I trust, in the last great round-up,
When the rider shall cut the big herd,
That the cowboys shall be represented
In the earmark and brand of the Lord;
To be shipped to the bright mystic regions
Over there in green pastures to lie,
And led by the crystal still waters,
In that home of the sweet by and by.

I think Lydia took this picture - I thought it was cool. (Even if she did take it, it's my horse! :-))

No Rest for the Horse

There's a union for teamster and waiter,
There's a union for cabman and cook,
There's a union for hobo and preacher,
And one for detective and crook.

There's a union for blacksmith and painter,
There is one for the printer, of course;
But where would you go in this realm of woe,
To discover a guild for the horse?

He can't make a murmur in protest,
Though they strain him both up and down hill,
Or force him to work twenty hours
At the whim of some drunken brute's will.

Look back at our struggle for freedom—
Trace our present day's strength to its source,
And you'll find that man's pathway to glory,
Is strewn with the bones of the horse.

The mule is a fool under fire;
The horse, although frightened, stands true,
And he'd charge to the end without flinching
'Twixt the knees of the trooper he knew.

When the troopers grow old they are pensioned,
Or a berth or a home for them found;
When a horse is worn out they condemn him,
And sell him for nothing a pound.

Just think, the old pet of some trooper
Once curried and rubbed twice a day,
Now drags some ragpicker's wagon,
With curses and blows for his pay.

I once knew a grand king of racers,
The best of a cup-wining strain;
They ruined his knees on a hurdle,
For his rider's hat covered no brain.

I met him again, four years later,
On his side at the foot of a hill,
With two savages kicking his ribs,
And doing their work with a will.

I stroked the once velvety muzzle,
I murmured the old name again,
He once filled my purse with gold dollars;
And this day I bought him for ten.

His present address is "Sweet Pastures,"
He has nothing to do but eat,
Or loaf in the shade on the green, velvet grass,
And dream of the horses he beat.

Now, a dog—well, a dog has a limit;
After standing for all that's his due,
He'll pack up his duds some dark evening,
And shine out for scenes which are new.

But a horse, once he's used to his leather,
Is much like the old-fashioned wife;
He may not be proud of his bargain,
But still he'll be faithful through life.

And I envy the merciful teamster
Who can stand at the bar and say:
"Kind Lord, with the justice I dealt my horse,
Judge Thou my soul today."

Anonymous from Songs of Horses, 1920

Montana

Here's a picture of Mo when I let her out the other day. By this time she was ready to walk instead of running!

Snowy Day?

On Friday Lydia and I had to go to town, but the roads weren't plowed yet. This is what the road looked like!

And this is what happened to the windshield when the snowplow did go by! :-)

BTW, Lydia was taking these pictures. I may be crazy, but I don't do things like that while I'm driving!

Riding!

I finally got to ride the last couple of days, and Essie was sooooo glad to be out and running around! Since we had to take our fence up, they've been in a small pen and don't get much exercise.

Medical Skills

Caleb tried out some of his EMT lessons on Mama the other day. The problem was that he couldn't find her artery! He was a little exasperated, but then realized that you have to put the cuff higher on some people!

Titus was having great fun, until the cuff started giving him a little pressure! He still enjoyed all the attention.

Here's an updated picture of Cindy. Notice her tail - I refuse to be whacked in the face! :-)

Christmas

Ah Lydia, gotcha! :-)

Lydia is working on what she calls "whipped cream art". She drew pictures on her plate with whipped cream off her cheesecake.

Grandpa watching the proceedings.

Daddy and Mama opening gifts.

JoAnna was in charge of brushing egg whites on Mama's rolls.

She did a great job - can you tell?

Everyone at work.

Raw cookie dough anyone?

I thought this one was cool. My flash made the picture too bright, so I left the flash on, but put my hand over it. I wasn't expecting this result! :-)