Mike's Ramblins'
The Bufford Dilemma By
Mike O'Neil
This Ramblin' is a mite late, and I can't even apologize for it.
You see, being a horse shoer by trade, and evolving into what you
might call an all around cowboy (which is something I take pride
in!) has kinda ruined me. Everyone knows that we don't have much
sense of time. People used to get on me about the name on my truck
and on my business cards, "Dependable Horse Shoeing."
They would say, "Isn't that false advertisement?" I would
say, "No, because it says Dependable, not punctual."
Even though I eventually come through with what I say I'm going
to do, I make the Barn Goddess (that's my bride Janice) a little
crazy. She tells me that I'm nothing but a procrastinator. But I
don't like the sound of that word. I like to think of myself as
a Futurist, because I believe that there will always be a tomorrow!
The minute I started horse shoein' for a living, after bein' a heavy
equipment mechanic for almost 16 years (which is a very rush rush,
high pressure kind of life ), I tore that watch right of my wrist
and haven't worn one, or haven't got in a hurry since.
That's where me and my horse Jack are just alike.
We might move slow and don't get in a hurry or too excited, except
when a well-built filly might temporarily cause us to loose our train
of thought. That never lasts long, though, because Jack is truly in
Love with the Boss Lady's old mare, like I am with the Barn Goddess.
However we usually are mentally in control, and definitely are locked
in low gear most of the time. But when we have to hustle, we can do
it. We don't like it, but we can do it. No one's ever questioned either
my hustle or my courage, but they do sometimes question my common
sense. For Instance, the Barn Goddess has been worryin' about the
young breeding bulls we have in our herd. I have to admit that they
are getting a bit big and feelin' a bit immortal, which is common
in all male species. The more one gets bred, the more one feels immortal.
Why should Man Cows be any different, if you know what I mean?
The Barn Goddess wanted those bulls out of the herd 'cause she's afraid
one of our guests might get hurt. And our guests' safety is the number
one priority at all times. It always has been and always will be!
I had Bill Shannon, one of our wranglers, help the Barn Goddess push
the whole herd into a catch pen, and then I walked in among them with
a short whip in my hand and the open gate to my back. I proceeded
to slowly let the cows and the calves go by me and out the gate a
few at time, trying to keep the Bulls in, at the same time making
sure the rest of the herd didn't try rushing out the gate all at once.
Those two bulls wanted to get out real bad. They were getting real
pissed off. Every time they would get close to me or try to get by
me, I would lace them on the nose or across the chest with my whip,
not hard enough to hurt them (if it's possible to hurt a couple of
800 pound bulls with a little whip that I made for my grandson) but
hard enough to get their attention. They went from being pissed off
to having total hate in their eyes. They even tried a team effort
and rushed me at the same time, convinced that I would be intimidated
by them. However I fooled them. They were up against SVR's Official
Ranch Idiot. I ain't learned that big word, intimidation, yet. I held
them back while I let the rest of the cows and calves out the gate.
I was shuffling side to side with footwork that Mohammad Ali would
have been proud of, and twisting, whirling and snapping that whip
like Errol Flynn in one of those Swashbuckler movies.
When it was all over the Barn Goddess told some of the hands that
that is how a real cowboy sorts cattle. I couldn't believe that I
finally impressed the Barn Goddess. It had been so long, I can't remember
the last time. So, before she noticed, I had Desirree (one of the
hands) help me over to the tack room because I felt like I was about
to cough up a lung and puke out my guts, and I didn't want to spoil
the moment! I hate getting old!
I may not have too much sense, but I got those bulls sorted out. I
remember what Mike Dawson, the man who taught me almost everything
I know about cowboying and horse shoeing, always said about me. That
I was just like a pit bull pup. I always showed a lot of heart, but
I was too stupid to know when to quit.
As for the bulls, I can't say as they like bein' sorted out. They're
looking through the fence at those cows with longing in their eyes,
just like I look at the Barn Goddess out on the Ranch from the window
at my desk.
Our old team of Belgium draft horses, Todd and Clod, are getting a
bit long in the tooth. They're almost 30, which is grandpa age for
a horse. They really step out when they're pulling the wagon, but
when we put them back into their corral they walk pretty slow and
stiff. It makes me hurt just to look at them.
Our friend Wayne found us a team of Shires up in Utah, so the Boss
Lady sent me to the bank to get enough money to buy the team and the
fancy harness. Then she left town for a while. While she was gone
the old man with the big Horses backed out of the deal. Now that really
got my Irish up. And not just because I truly believe that the three
lowest things on earth are liars, cheats, and thieves! (My mother
used to say, if you're one, you're all three.) Not standing by your
word is the same as lying, as far as I'm concerned. But I was mad
because I knew that when the Boss Lady came home, she was really going
to be disappointed. Boss Lady is not only my boss, she is my friend
(even though I heard tell she used to have the nickname Hannibal).
There's nothing I hate more than disappointing my friend. But the
truth is, mostly I was unhappy because of the turmoil that it caused
me from within.
You see, this was my dilemma. For years there
is one thing that I have wanted more than anything, The Buford Rope-O-Matic,
The greatest horse training, roping practice device that there is!
Boss Lady and I have been talking about getting one for more than
a year, or I should say, she's been teasing me with the idea that
we might get one. If you ain't figured it out yet, here's the problem.
1. Boss Lady out of town 2. $7000 cash in my
pocket 3. $7000 has a little voice that starts talking to me, telling
me that the Buford I've wanted for so long is just a phone call
away. 4. I smell a trap, so I call for that other little voice who
I know, and who I trust, THE VOICE OF REASON. But it doesn't answer.
I just couldn't believe it. For the first time in my life I was
alone, to face all those little, evil voices of temptation. Why
couldn't this have happened before I got old and fat, back when
other women tried hitting on me? But this little evil voice seems
to be the most dangerous of them all! It seems to make sense. 5.
Highly dangerous little voice. I'm all alone. I'm weak….
This was looking real bad, so I tried to ignore it (like the Barn
Goddess does with me). But it put the pressure on. "It's only
a phone call away and it's only half of what you have in your pocket."
So I try to reason with it, alone. I was pitiful. "This money
is for a new team."
That's when it scored a standing 8 count. "It's only half of
what you have, and one big draft horse could pull your wagon alone."
"Oh my God it's right." My knees started to shake, the
floor started to spin slowly. So I reached inside and countered
with, "It's not right. Boss Lady will be upset. She will never
forgive me."
"Sure she will. She loves you. She will understand."
I screamed, "LITTLE VOICE OF REASON help me!" It felt
like I was being sucked out of my body and the only part of me left
kept mumbling, "The Buford is only one phone call away. The
Buford is only one phone call away."
That's when the phone rang. It was my big buddy Wayne. He said he
found another team even better than the first one. Thank God, I
was saved! It was over. I just keep wondering if the Boss Lady really
would have understood. I guess I will never know!!
I still have my fingers crossed for the Buford, though!
See you next newsletter.
Sincerely,
Mike O'Neil, General Manager
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