A cowpuncher’s thoughts
Saturday July 22 has been designated as The National Day Of The Cowboy. The term cowboy evolved from the English lads that were employed to herd cattle and has been enhanced by the Spanish vaquero with their daring skills of livestock handling.
The end of The War of Northern Aggression left large numbers of young men without a home or means of employment. They migrated west to find great herds of wild cattle throughout Texas, which allowed this ragtag era of young men to evolve into today’s flamboyant cowboys of the American west.
The old-time cow puncher is an icon often considered romantic, for his life has been romanticized in our culture. He faced everyday tasks with all of his might. When work was to be done, he stayed with it until it had been completed. His wages were poor and thus hard earned, yet he would not hesitate to squander them in a single night! He worked hard for low pay and he played hard until it was gone.
He was young and wild until, if lucky, he grew older. But he never lost his zest for life. He was there in the early heyday of the American cowboy and continues to fill the minds of the western man. Changes come and go, but the romanticism of the hard carefree life lives among us to this very day. He revered nature and paid homage to his God and Creator, though he was not necessarily religious. But, cowboys spend every day surrounded by God’s creation and they are thankful. The cowboy’s wild free spirit will always be a part of a youngster’s fancy.
His hours are hard and irregular, he did a day’s work for a day’s pay. When he gave his word, he kept it, He would always see to his horse or dog’s welfare before his own and he always held ladies in the highest regard. You could always count on him, and he was loyal to a fault because he was one to ride the river with, yes, he rode for the brand.
With all the hours he spent in the saddle, he had plenty of time for contemplation. He has a love for children, nature, and dogs. He is usually tongue-tied around women but will probably kiss his horse. And then, he quietly rides off into the sunset. Yes, he was all of these things, but above all, he was a thinking man.
A Cowpuncher’s Thoughts
The winter of sixty-four, wuz soon to be no more,
but, she had dang shore left her mark.
New grass wuz slow to green, on cattle it wuz mean,
they’d graze all day, pert near ‘til dark.
But, spring arrived at last, no more of winter’s blast,
tho many a calf’s tail wuz froze.
Now we’ll start the gather, quirt an’ spur an’ slappin’ leather.
Fer a puncher, that’s how it goes.
Chuck Wagon fully loaded, remuda ponies goaded
into a herd an’ made to follow.
A wrangler drives the hoodlum, ol’ cooky oversees ‘em,
hittin’ every hump an’ hollow.
Cowboys lit out early, top hands actin’ surly,
Seems like that’s part of the job.
Now they’re slappin’ leather, got one eye on the weather,
Early spring storms shore play hob.
But you take it all in stride, just accept it as you ride
Keep a sharp eye for that camp site.
Chuck wagon is all set up, so you get a steamin’ cup,
Soon to crawl between them blankets for the night.
Skies full of stars a-shinin’, way up in that deep dark linin’,
Storm clouds musta rolled away.
There’s a bit of chill in the air, but hunker up, you don’t care,
‘cuz soon it’ll be break o’ day.
Quickly kick off yore covers, ‘round the campfire you hovers,
biscuit an’ beans an’ coffee cup.
Then it’s out to ketch the hosses, shake yore slack an’ make yore tosses,
pick a good’n to saddle up.
A hard days work must be done, you an’ that hoss will be one,
An’ you know which’un works the best.
As a group, you take flight, on the ridge before daylight,
ready to put ‘em to the test.
The wild ones will try to stay, break an’ run along the way,
but yore pony’s up to the task.
He’ll go full out, cut an’ jump, bust that brush, an’ never hump.
Doing anything that you ask!
That shore helps in yore endeavor, shucks, you think he is plumb cleaver,
when he fakes left an’ then goes right.
Caught that critter slick an’ clean, sorta wide eyed at what it seen,
as it headed fer the herd in full flight.
So you pull up to take a blow, watchin’ the herd down below,
you light a smoke an’ rub yer ponies neck.
His ears are at full alert, as you stuff the makin’s in yer shirt,
That ol’ steer come close to causin’ a wreck.
Goes like that ‘til pert near noon, you’ll grab some grub purty soon,
turn yore pony loose an’ fork another.
Then it’s back to draws an’ brush, sorta thing you don’t rush,
git them critters one way or the other.
Northwest wind picks up a mite, but, still don’t have that winter bite,
but the sky is shore dark in the west.
Best we push this bunch on down, look at ol’ Smitty, actin’ like a clown.
I tell you, that boy’ll put you to the test.
But he keeps the hands a-grinnin’, ‘cept when they think he’s a-winnin’,
Then they settle down to business.
Dang shore keeps the world a-turnin, dadburned daylight is a-burnin,
Wal’ best try to catch up, I guess.
It’s been a good days gather, shore can’t complain about the weather,