Cowpony Blues

I was sittin' on a pile of hay bales,
Stacked up along the wall of the barn
Listening to the cold rain when we met;
That little blue-roan quarter horse mare and me.
She was such a little tyke then,
Cowboys call 'em weanlings,
Means they ain't never been far from their mommas,
But lord did she ever steal my heart.
She had a blue-black mane and tail,
Three white socks and a big blaze,
Her coat wasn't just any gray,
It was deep blue-gray like a battleship.

She was still a baby,
Only took two hefty cowboys to pick her up, and put her in the trailer,
For the long ride to a new home.
On brome grass, sweet feed, water and sun,
She seemed to explode that first year,
Until all of a sudden she was a big horse.

Actually begged for a saddle, and,
Learned her stuff from an old cowboy,
Not a bad pleasure horse at 2 or so.
But she was born to chase cows,
Her daddy chased cows,
Her momma chased cows, and,
Iffen you'd let her she'd chase cows too.

Had the heart and brains of a champion,
You knew that with a saddle, a gun, some grub and a bedroll,
Montana was a question of time not will,
She'd never hurt ya by accident, and was a loyal as they come.
Damn near killed me to see the ex put her in that trailer,
Haven't been near a bale of hay since.

Now ponies do remember you know, and,
I like to think that when she is out there in her pasture,
She misses me and puts a whinney on the wind calling my name.

DRB3/20/98
poet@gvi.net
Independence Missouri

---

Tenderfoot

I was a real tenderfoot then.
Rode some ponies at the kiddieland; and,
My cousin's paint a couple of times,
But that was it.

Back in May of '83 it was different,
Got on Miss Babe,
A steady old dun,
Rode through mudbelly swamp,
Over the seven foot pass,
Down a goat trail,
High on the canyon rim,
A mile or so above the snake,
Over the divide and into the Yellowstone,
Past Moose and Deer, and Marmots,
Into a world without men,
Trackless big, and quiet, and old.

After a week in that wilderness,
I fancied myself a hand,
I'd ridden to hell and back, and stayed in the saddle,
Didn't even fall off when Miss Babe tried to stick me in that tree,
There in mudbelly swamp.

Ridding out, We passed a bunch of tourists,
Pasty faced, blue haired women,
From New Jersey, judging by the accents,
Sittin on the finest looking mules you ever seen.

Now mules is the most consarned, stuborn things on hooves,
Get a screwy idea and off they go,
Nearly got to shoot 'em sometimes.

Anyway's we wasnt a mile or so out of mudbelly when I heard it,
One of them mules had started to sink,
Screamed a falsetto cry like he seen the gates of hell, and
Jumped straight up 50' or so,
Probably scared the life outa that woman from New Jersey.

I shouldn't have laughed, but I did,
'Cause them durned tenderfoots,
Well son they tickle me.

DB3/21/98
poet@gvi.net
Independence Missouri

The Squawkin Creek Ranch

It's quite a tale if you ain't heared it,
Back in the winter of '08 most folks still called it the Elkins place,
You remember '08, snowed near every day
'till even the buffalo got thin and scared.

You know Bob Carter, the one that works for the Lacousa Gas and Electric?
Well Bob's out in the snow cat checkin' lines with O'Malley his pard,
Bob's on a pole, O'Malley' s in the cat when a line snaps,
Fell on the cat, and fried it and O'Malley to burned biscuits.
So, there's Bob up the pole, snow coming in from the West,
No shelter and no way home, and he calls in on his cell.

Now you can tell he's scared,
'Cause he keeps talkin' about how he can hear wolves,
Ain't been a wolf in Eagle county since Teddy Roosevelt,
but you couldn't convince him.
Martha the dispatcher gets the call and tells him to hang on,
She calls the sheriff, who puts Bob's plight up on the squawk,
So its Martha that gets to tell Bob that there's no hope of rescue for hours.
Feelin' guilty she calls back 'bout an hour latter,
Bob's still there cold for sure, she can hear his teeth chatter,
But damned if she can't hear wolves too,
Bob claims their a circlin' the pole just watin' for dinner.

To hear Bob tell what happened next don't make much sense,
There was a couple of shots, two wolves drop and the others scatter.
Outta the trees come a rider leadin' a saddled horse,
Kinda a tall feller with a moustache,
Wearin' woolies and a buffalo coat,
Carrying a lever gun and sittin' a blue-gray mare.

Throws Bob a Buff robe, and looks down at them dead vermin,
"Hate them wild dogs" says he, "always messing with my remuda",
"Climb on board that dun boy, cause we gotta get outta here."
Now Bob's a little nervous 'cause he don't know Jim McCaffery from Adam.

Hard to believe ain't it - not knowin' Big Jim and Grace?
Still that was '08
Then McCaffery says:
"You trust that there mare boy! She knows the way home,
and intends to sleep warm and dry tonight.
You just give her her head and she'll get you there"
When Bob tells this story he always says: "Mister, I wasn't about to squawk".
In any case, that's how the place got the name:
Big Jim McCaffery's Squawkin Creek Ranch.

©DRBrowning 3/21/1998
poet@gvi.net
Independence Missouri

---

JIM GETS HIS RANCH

The Squawkin Creek weren't even rightly a ranch,
At least not by Eagle County standards,
The locals couldn't see how you could make a living,
Ranching less than 5000 acres,
The Squawkin Creek was less than 1000,
Sittin' protected in a quiet valley,
With clean water from a little spring at the base of Elkins bluff.

The ranch house weren't much either,
A Ramshackle cabin of juniper logs and wattle,
Built early in the last century,
Was doubtful that it had ever seen electric light,
Still, it did a pretty good job of keeping off the rain,
So long as ya kept a big tarp strung over the roof,
Guess you can figure there ain't no use to describe the barn,
Best description the locals gave it was nightmare.

Now, none a that mattered to Jim,
He had nearly gone blind,
Researching deeds and water rights,
Looking for just the right place,
Searched 'til he found it and made it his.

Like a lot of old timey cowboys,
He had a dream,
Owning his own spread,
Getting some good horses, and
Startin' a remuda that would make a rustler cry. An like a lot of old timey cowboys,
He got his start in a gamblin' game,
I think it was some kind of sports bettin',
You know how them city folks is,
Can't even bet respectable,
No horses or seven card stud for them,
Nope Big Jim had won his ranch alright,
Playin' some stupid game called,
Now, I think I got this straight,
Has any of you ever heared a sumpin called powerball?

©DRBrowning 3/21/98

Link

Karla Faye Tucker vs. Gov.Bush - The Texas Gazette - Page 2.

Email: connieb@aiu.net