It has been brought to my attention that most of my friends are older than dirt, and can count fossils as new age jewelery.
This page is dedicated to them, the stories they tell and poetry they write. As a youth they were my idols, men who wore spurs and chaps, never quit on horse, or friend and there daily life became legend........
This first entry is from a guy who has taught me alot over the years. He caught the last of the big cattle drives, rode broncs at rodeos and hunted down his share of lost calves.
A Cowboy
by Joe Moon
He'll saddle his horse
when it's twenty below.
To look for some stray
that got lost in a blow.
He'll set up all night
nursing a sick calf.
Then go pull a well
for a day and a half.
He'll work half the night
fixin' a hole in the fence.
Then patch up the culprit
a bronc, with no sense.
He'll ride through a blizzard
to help neighbor or friend.
Or even a stranger
who's at his strings end.
He'll take not a payment
that's not part of the game.
It's friend helping- friend
and your real glad that he came.
He's hard work 'n rawhide
no deciet 'n no ploy.
He rides for no title,
He's just a cowboy.
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Rough Rider
by Joe Moon
I think I've set 'em all boys
Where ere the bad ones run,
'Twas down in Arizona
That I topped out "Zebra Dun"
On the Rio Grande in Texas
With the sun 'bout noon high,
I settled in that old kak of mine.
Made the legend of "Midnight" die.
Then in Kearny Nebraska,
I tamed the "Lady Gray".
Turned out to pasture now,
green grass 'n sweet hay.
Up in Gillette Wyoming
I hoorawed "Cynaide"
He's just an old plow horse now,
any school kid can ride.
Calgary stampede in Canada
I scratched old "Sky Ball Paint"
The flame is gone from his firey eyes,
he's turned into a saint.
Yep I've rode them all son
I once saddled a grizzly bear.
But now I spin big windys
From out my rock'in chair.
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A couple of words from Joe about his life.....
This is the best I got for a mug shot. I don't remember any cattle drives, but I do remember cold mornings and hump backed broncs, when I rode the rough string
on the OW branding wagon.
If you mean by cattle drives, the time my dad sent me out to bring in 200
head of cows and calves, Smokey, the horse I was riding, and Rowdy, my dog brought
them all in, all 400 head, even though we had an early November blizzard and I couldn't
see Smokeys ears part of the time.
Smokey and Rowdy brought them all in,I just set up there like a cloths pin,
and got all of the credit for being a hand. Smokey and Rowdy got an extra bait in the feed bag.
Really don't know what you mean about my unusual past. Unless it was learning
to trust, good horses, good dogs, good men and God.
I grew up on Wyoming and Montana Ranches, riding, roping, branding.
Pulling cows out of bogs, checking the grass, pulling wells, fixing fence, pulling
calves was all part of life.
During the winter you fed the hay you cut and stacked the summer before. Breaking
a horse to ride or work was just part of the routine.
On the wagon we drank coffee or iced tea that you could float a horseshoe in,
ate the 3 B's beans, biscuits, and beef.
I remember one time one of the hands asked the cook if he ever
baked a cake. This was the cookies reply. " In the old days, when a hand was rough
and tough, beef and beans was always enough. Now they cry for pie,
ice-cream, and cake. Then cuss the cook for their belly ache!"
We never heard anymore about cake!
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