On The Way To A Rodeo

Rodeo was different back in the 70's.  We had no communication when we were out on the road
unless you count a pay phone.  Do I need to explain what a pay phone was?  We couldn't go on GOOGLE maps to have someone talk us through directions.  We would ask some other cowboy and they would give you the ole "turn left at the broken fence" type of directions.

In the 70's, there were enough rodeos in California for a cowboy, with decent talent at riding rough stock (bulls, saddle broncs, bareback horses) to make a pretty good living. For example, entry fees in the bull riding were about $35 dollars.  If you won, it could pay as much as $500. Minimum wage was about $1.65 as I recall. You would be lucky to make $150 in a week at a minimum wage job..

The weather is good in California year-round unlike many other big "rodeo states",  There were more than 90 rodeos a year to enter.  You could jump in a car and make it to multiple rodeos in a weekend if you were riding rough stock.  After all, you didn't need to haul a horse in a trailer.  You just needed your gear bag with your rope, rigging or saddle. Most of the time you could save that expensive 35 cent a gallon gas if you shared a ride.

Well, back in the 70's, people went to the beer stand after the rodeo and you didn't have to show ID if you looked like you were out of grammar school. The beer stands weren't separated by a fence and you didn't need a wrist band to get served. All you needed was a buck.  On one particular weekend, my husband Coleman and his buddy Rick, only 19 at the time,were competing in Merced in the central California valley.  They both had good luck that day, so they decided to head to the beer stand. They were up in Orrick at 1PM the next day.  Orrick is about 400 miles north of Merced up highway 101, which they figured, gave them plenty of time  to relax. It was only about a 6 hour drive. July in Merced is always pretty darn hot, You can understand that contributed to needing quite a few cold beers.

They got in  the station wagon they borrowed from Rick's mom at about 1:30 am to start the drive. Rick said he would drive the first shift and Coleman lay down to sleep in the back seat. Coleman woke to sunshine in his face and the sound of traffic racing past. He sat up feeling quite groggy, looked ahead, then looked back over his shoulder. The sign read, Merced 10 miles, 

He yelled, "Rick you idiot, wake up.  We're still in Merced"

They turned on the radio to figure out what time it was since neither had a watch, of course. The DJ said it's 6:30.  They looked at each other and Rick punched the gas.  They would have to "go like hell" to get there in time.  Rick got two tickets before they reached Sacramento. He was so mad he picked up a hitch hiker.  No that doesn't make sense to me either, but that's what he did.

Coleman decided it might be a good idea if he drove.  So they switched.  Switching during a rodeo trip does not involve pulling over.  That would cost time.  They switched places while still speeding down the highway.  He and I have done the same thing, but I have trouble picturing two guys trading the same way we did.  There must be several methods in which this can be accomplished.  About that time the hitchhiker had had enough.  He asked if they would slow down enough for him to jump out. Coleman sped up even more.

The three of them rolled into the rodeo grounds just in time to see Coleman's saddle bronc horse, with his head held high, trotting out of the chute. After your name is called three times they "turn you out" In the rodeo world there's no do-overs.

They were both up in the bull riding but neither rode. This was "Rodeo Karma".

2 Kids and a Pony

Let me first say that no children or animals were injured during this experience.

22 years ago, when I first met my husband, I gave him a certificate after he helped me win a team cattle sorting competition by lending me his horse to ride.  On the certificate, it declare him to be “SUPER COWBOY”.  He has always worn that big “S” well.  This last weekend I got the big “S”. 

We attended a draft horse, mule and horse sale in Tulare, California.   We arrived Thursday to have time to get our horses settled into this new environment. None of our horses had ever “gone to town” or been exposed to horse-drawn wagons and carts.  All our horses had their pens bedded with shavings, water and feed  to make them comfortable  for the next three days.

I served as labor force, groom, and general ”go-fer”, carrying bridles, ropes and spurs.  But I kept my eye on the steady stream of animals being ridden and driven by our pens and in the various arenas.  When I say “driven” it means pulling carts, wagons, and buggies.  There were Clydesdales, like the Budweiser horses, saddle horses like ours, miniature horses and ponies, and mules of every size, being ridden or pulling wagons. There was a good sized palomino that an Amish girl was riding Roman style (standing on his back holding the reins). We all hooped and hollered for her as she went past. She looked over her shoulder with a sheepish little grin.  Everywhere I went a tiny black and white pony, harnessed to a little two wheel cart, was being driven by an Amish girl from South Dakota.  That pony was really getting around.  Sometimes there was a young blonde boy, about 5, with the biggest black hat, riding with her.  I would also see that little girl riding that pony bareback just as calm as could be (the pony and the girl).

After 2 days of watching this little pony, I took a picture and sent it to my daughter.  I knew her husband loves black and white paint horses and my grandson could definitely get a kick out of this cute pony. She was really interested and wanted to know if she had  time to get there.  People were getting ready for the sale but it was still early enough. 

I had some time so I followed the pony and cart over to the big arena to get a video.  There wasn’t anyone around since that arena is set apart from the sales area.  I stood next to the arena fence to get lined up for my shot.  The little girl was looking away from where she was heading and that cart hit the pipe of the arena.  The clang of that pipe cause that pony to stampede sideways.  He made a hard left and turned that cart over sending those two kids flying. Now without those kids in that cart that pony could really move.  The girl jumped up and started chasing the pony.  I had somehow jumped that 6 foot fence and was heading for the kids.  When kids are involved you can do the “super mom” thing without even knowing. By then the little boy was up and chasing his sister, so they were okay.  But this was not going well.  The cart was dragging sideways behind the pony and the kids were chasing him.  He just sped up.  I saw what was going to happen.  Both gates were open. I ran across the arena to cut him off and even with my short legs managed to get to him first.  I grabbed those reins in the middle of his back and dug in my heels.  He was really strong for a little guy.  Fear makes them stronger too.  I got him stopped just long enough for the girl to catch up. She grabbed his head.  While I held onto the reins I righted the cart to stop the shafts of the cart (side rails) from digging in to the poor little guy. 

The girl sent her brother to go get their dad.  This pony was not getting much calmer and it was everything we could do to hold on to him.  We moved him headed into the fence and I ran over and shut the gates in case he pie-eyed again.  

My husband told me that the little boy got to his dad and was talking so fast that he couldn't understand what was going on, but luckily his dad did.  Dad came over to the arena, as calm as can be, got in the cart, made both kids get in with him, and drove the pony around in that arena for quite a while.  There was nothing else for me to do but go back over to the barns.  

I got on the phone and text my daughter and said, “never mind”.

Coyotes Are Out Of Control

This morning started out with a coyote coming right in to try and attack my German Shepherd.  Pretty stupid coyote. I guess in defense of the coyote, my female shepherd, Bella, is in season.  My 3.5 pound male Yorkie is also in love with her right now. Now that would be a crazy cross. It started a conversation about coyotes while we were watching the sun come up.  

This year has not been good for our calf crop.  A few weeks ago, we branded and castrated our calves.  Steers bring more money at the sales yard.  There  were only 2 calves that were castrated and then turned out in the big field with the other cows and calves. Apparently the smell of blood brought in coyotes.  They killed one the first night.  Now that calf was pretty small and a little weak. The cow was a pretty gentle cow that was also broke to dogs.  But when my husband went back the next day they had killed the other calf.  He was just sick.  He's a cautious man and if he had any idea they would take down the bigger calf,  he never would have left them out there.  

Coyotes are getting really out of control up here.  They have no predators.  The only thing keeping there numbers down is this drought. They have less food.  But that is exactly what is making them more aggressive,  I always think it is so sad when I see posters up for a "lost" cat or dog.  We, pretty much, know what that means. I had forgotten about the time they almost got hold of my husbands cow dogs.

In the area above Huntington Lake in the Sierras is BLM land.  A corporation had the permit to run cattle on that land for years. They had there own cowboys that had to gather the cows and calves and bring them out before the weather turned  bad in the fall. Otherwise they would be trapped in the snow and probably die.  Well at the end of the gather they were still "out quite a few". They hadn't found them all.  They hired Coleman with his dogs and a few other good cow men that also brought their dogs to find the rest, the "tail end cattle".  This is some pretty rough country and you really have to know the permit area or you can get lost up there.  

Coleman came upon a big yearling  about 1000 pounds.  He and his dogs chased that steer down into a canyon at the headwaters of the San Joaquin river.  It was so brushy and rough that he was lucky to have caught that steer. He got it roped and tied down and went back to get another cowboy to help bring this steer out.  On the way a pack of coyotes tried to attack his dogs.  The dogs got up under the horse, risking being trampled.  The coyotes just kept taking a run at them.  Coleman took his rope and kept beating the coyotes back and yelling until they finally retreated.  He moved out and ran into his brother who had heard some of the commotion.  They rode back to the calf.  One got a rope on his neck and one got a rope on a hind foot and they brought that calf out.

I don't remember hearing that story before, but he didn't always tell me the bad stuff until a while after it happens so I don't get too crazy over this stuff.  There isn't much that he does that surprises me any more.

This is Coleman and Speedy, one of the best dogs he's ever had.  We lost Speedy this year to a stroke.  The day he died he went out with Coleman to move some cattle.  He stopped at a trough along the way and didn't seem to want to move.  Coleman picked him up and took him back to the barn on the four-wheeler.  He ran to the house for some  aspirin, but by the time he got back down to the barn he was gone.  We've really missed that dog this summer.

Night Rider

It's 5:00 AM and my husband just came through the doors. "I just finished riding those two new
horses and our colt", he said.
"What, it's pitch black still", I said.
He went on to explain to me what he was up to.

He had been pretty quiet the night before.  This is never a good sign.  That meant he was stewing about something.  I chose not to ask what was going on.  You know they say "ignorance is bliss".  I like bliss.  I have learned a cowboy stewing is like a General planning his troop's maneuvers.  So he apparently came up with the plan he put into action in the wee hours of the morning.

All three young horses had some sort of issues, from a horse trainer outlook.  The youngest one is just a spitfire that can jump right out from underneath him.  The mare is not real fond of "listening" to his feet.  The oldest just needed to settle down.

He rode the same basic pattern with all three.  He took them one at a time at a trot straight out from the barn into a huge field.  Now these are not flat fields.  These are fields with scrub brush, oak trees, rises and drops and squirrel holes too.  There is a dirt dam above a very dry pond.  Once he had them on top of the dam he turned them around each direction several times.  They really "listened" to him in the dark, since they had to trust him.

So I asked, because I just can't help myself, "couldn't they fall down the bank?"
He responded, "they will if they don't do what I'm telling them."

AGHHH why do I ask?

He went on this morning to tell me a great story.  His dad, Joe, was a colt breaker for Simon-Newman, one of the largest cattle operations in the central valley of California in the late 40's through early 60's.  They had a string of colts that would need to get broke in a hurry,  Joe would get a lot done in a short time by riding those young horses out in the dark.

Joe always told Coleman's mom, Gloria, when to expect him back.  One night he hadn't shown up, so Gloria took a lantern and went out to find him.  She found him lying underneath a horse in a sandy dry river bottom.  I can just imagine her panic.  The horse couldn't get up and Joe was trapped.  She dug underneath Joe and got his knife out of his pocket and cut the latigo holding the saddle.  The horse was able to get up and freed Joe.  He wasn't hurt badly and went on the next day to do it all over again.

"Gee thanks for telling me that great story, You know your mom was a lot tougher than me", I said.

"No",  he said. "I know you would come looking for me if I didn't show up for morning coffee."

That has always been a code for us.  You don't deviate from the expected without telling each other.  If you're going to be late, we tell each other or get the word home.  You leave a message with what field or what highway you'll be traveling.

He reminded me of when we first started dating.  I came up to meet him at his ranch  for a date. When I arrived he was not there.  This was very uncharacteristic since he's always early for everything.  There was a halter hanging from the tie rack, a missing saddle, and the dogs were gone. It was just about dark and I hadn't ridden in these hills but once or twice. So I went and caught a broke horse and got ready to go looking.  Just as I started down the trail from the barn in the complete dark,  he came over the hill.

"I had never had anyone come looking for me", he said.  "That's when I knew you were the one."

The Early Years

So many people think that living in California is all beaches, earthquakes and volleyball.  But there is another side to life in the Golden State.  There's the ranch life. 

I am new to blogging but I am not new the craziness of being married to a cowboy.  My husband and I have been married for twenty years now.  We met later in life when we both had a lot of "experience" under our buckles.  Actually it was a banner year for me. We married, I won my first saddle, and we built a house.  And all this happened the year I turned 40.

40 was not so bad.  We are figuring this out now that we're experiencing all the miles that have gone into our battered and bruised bodies.

My husband has put a lot more hard miles on his odometer.  Matter of fact, today he had to make another appointment with his chiropractor to try to straighten him out.  I'm not sure the best chiropractor in the world can do it though, and she is good, he's just too hard headed.

These pictures might give you a good idea of why my husband is experiencing some pangs now and then.  What we did in our youth tends to catch up with us.



But even more than what he did before I met him, is the life he now leads as a professional horse trainer, rancher and cowboy.

As I continue to add to this story, it will become evident that we are leading a crazy life.  Every day is an adventure. For example, as I am writing trying to heal from a few recent bruises, he is down painting the new bucking chute he has added to our arena.  I'm sure that that addition will lead to a lot more bruises and good stories.  It's Sunday and I'm going to put something good in the oven and go watch a movie.