Tales from the O-NO Ranch
I had to go help brand, castrate, dehorn and ear tag the banker’s cows. He wasn’t my banker, he was my boss’ banker. My boss, his son and I volunteered to come out and work these big ole fat, sloppy calves that should have been worked weeks before. I was just told to be there at the banker’s place with my horse and ready to go to work on that hot west Texas morning in early August.
At age 34, in pretty good “cowboy” shape, I was not in shape to handle what lay ahead. You see, the banker was going to do the ropin’. Yep, he was going to rope these 40-some odd calves that weighed 350 to 475 and the boss’ son and I were goin’ to flank (wrestle) all of them while the boss did the castrating, branding, shots and ear tags. That meant we had to hold these big babies down for a long time in that ole hot sandy corral. Not only that ” the banker couldn’t catch a single heel so he roped all these ole soggy calves around the neck and brought them to us with a whoop and a holler. When it was all said and done, I was done in.
I came across a cute poem written by a great cowboy poet Pat Richardson, who has a great sense of humor. His poem is called “The Cowboy Banker.”
“I want to be a cowboy,”
said the banker, Larry Brown
“an’ work out in the country,
sted of bein’ cooped up here in town.”
When his wife heard this,
why she went berserk,
’cause ole Larry made a hundred grand
a year just doin’ a banker’s work.
She said, “you can’t ride a horse,
you can barely drive a Jeep,
this whole idea is just dumber
than a hundred sheep!”
“Jim Bob said he would teach me
everything I need to know
and how long can that take?
There’s just gidda’ up and whoa.”
He went thumbing through a catalogue
of western wear and feed
with his calculator humming,
adding up all the things he’d need.
“A THOUSAND FOR A SADDLE?
There must be some mistake,”
a misprint he reckoned,
“a Grand fer heaven’s sake!”
A hat an’ vest, boots and spurs and naturally
a rope, a bridle, silver bits, reins an’ a bar
of saddle soap, a pickup, trailer, hoss,
and assorted odds and ends,
It’s gettin’ purty doggone expensive,
I’ll tell ya that my friend.
Saddle blankets, underclothes,
and oh yes, a pair of chinks.
When he finally hit the total button
it took an hour for him to blink!
So he gave up that cowboy scheme
and sez with some dismay,
“I can’t afford to be a cowboy
on a lousy banker’s pay!”
Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c ya.
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