A ranch rodeo by nature is a wild event. If you have never been to one (www.strrf.com) you should check one out. Cap and Ely had entered a team in the local ranch rodeo since they were old enough to sign the release forms. Their careers had started out as a couple of young guys who ended up hurrying through every event and lost more time than anything having to do things twice. Then they progressed into the older phase where their skills had improved and they were pretty good competitors who the younger guys watched. Now they were just novelty entries....and they knew it!
A ranch rodeo can have all types of events and every kind is entertaining. Some have a Ranch Bronc Riding or a Stampede Race to make things interesting. This particular event had what was called a Rescue Race.
The Rescue Race can be done several ways and this one was pretty unique. One cowboy stands on the top of a 55 gallon drum at the end of the arena. Another cowboy is horseback at the opposite end of the arena and when the flag drops, they ride at full gallop down the pen toward the man on the barrel, then ride around the barrel while the man standing on it jumps on the horse behind the rider and they have to race back to the other end riding double. No problem right? Right.
Cap and Ely discussed their strategy out back. "It makes sense that since I have the fastest horse I should ride and you should stand on the barrel", reasoned Cap. Ely wasn't so sure.
"I like the idea that my horse is gentler and would be easier to jump on. Fast ain't always good if someone is busted up when the dust settles." said Ely. Cap wouldn't hear it.
"This is a speed event and we have to be fast." said Cap," If you're scared we can get Jaime to stand on the barrel and I'll ride to him. He'll try anything once. We really need the points in this event to have a chance at winning."
"I ain't scared...I just think it would be easier with a gentler horse."
They both stood looking at each other and Ely had seen that look on Cap's face before. Ely turned and walked toward the other end of the arena. The event was about to start.
When it came their turn Ely was standing on the barrel at the other end of the arena. Cap tightened up his cinch and was ready to go. He had tied a short piece of rope on the saddle horn so Ely would have something to grab ahold of if he needed it. That rope would become more pivotal than either one of them realized.
The flag dropped and Cap gouged hide. Now the normal person would get going good and then start to slow down in preparation for the turn around the barrel...Cap wasn't normal. About 10 yards before he got to the barrel he started hollering "JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!". He just wanted to motivate Ely to help them win.
Ole bay came towards that barrel at a high rate of speed and Cap was hollerin' at the top of his lungs. Naturally all of this commotion spooked Ely a little...and ole bay alot. Now horses are amazing creatures, but there's several things that their nature won't tolerate. Some of these things are loud noises they aren't used to and humans standing on barrels who then try to jump towards them. I guess it brings flashbacks for them of predators trying to kill and eat them. Whatever the case may be...they don't like it.
As Cap came around the barrel, still hollerin', Ely made a desperate grab for the saddle horn and Cap's waist. His leaping attempt was a little mis-measured and he grabbed the back of the saddle with one hand and managed to grab ahold of the rope tied to the saddle horn with the other. At that point, it was unclear who was rescuing who.
Ole bay left the vicinity of that barrel at a HIGH rate of speed. Cap was still hollerin', but now he was hollerin' "WHOA! WHOA!" while trying to break the bridle reins by pulling back in an attempt to stop the horse. Ely was hollerin now too, only it was "AHHHHHH!". The bay horse was still freaking out...horses can't holler or he would've too.
The race back to the other end of the arena was pretty short. Ely's legs were dragging as he was holding on for dear life to a runaway horse that Cap couldn't stop. The good news is that they set the new arena record in the Rescue Race. Everyone agreed it was brilliant strategy on Cap's part to not have Ely even mount the horse. Ole bay was much faster dragging 150 lbs of screaming for dear life cowboy than he was carrying it.
The bad news is that next year Jaime is the new rescue race barrel man...and Ely is riding!
Hold on Jaime!
Walker
Monday, February 22, 2010
My Punishment-Scars
I have been reminded by 2 different people over the last couple of weeks that I have been languishing in my updates. So as my punishment I am going to tell a story on myself and how we can still be young at heart, that a little blood never hurt anyone...and sometimes scars are funny.
It was a nice night in Giddings, Texas. The weather was what you would expect from a Central Texas spring evening and I was glad to be out and about in it. I was entered at the last performance of the CPRA rodeo in Giddings and since I was in the area, I drove to Conly and Lori Donnell's house in Caldwell the day before to hang out. Conly and Lori decided to ride along with me to the rodeo and Walter (Conly's brother) and his wife Karly came along too. They had already roped at the rodeo, but since it was a Saturday night and there was a dance after the rodeo we all decided we would stick around afterward and check out the band.
I didn't win anything at the rodeo and in an effort to drown my sorrows, I unsaddled my horse and we went to the dance which was right across the parking lot. Fast forward about 3 hours....3 hours of telling stories with Conly and Walter while drinking beer and listening to music...maybe drinking a little too much beer. When the band finished playing we stood right at the edge of the pavilion and surveyed the scene before us. I can remember it like it was yesterday because the whole area in front of us was drowned in that orange glow of the old fashioned sodium security lights. As I squinted my eyes I could see something at the far edge of the light that caught my attention. I turned to Conly and Walter and said,"You see that bucking machine over there? Our destiny has just been revealed to us." They agreed.
The walk across the lot towards the bucking machine was not very far, but it was far enough for us to talk each other into how awesome our bull riding skills were. I don't know about anyone else, but when I walked up to the padded area around that bull I was sure no one had ever seen someone put a ride on a mechanical bull like I was about to. This from a guy who didn't win anything in the team roping that night....and hadn't won much in a while...I was determined to win at something. Too determined.
We approached the man who owned the machine and told him we were some of the finest and most highly trained mechanical bull riders that ever wore a nickel pair of socks. We told him that his bull would lay defeated in ruins before us and that the crowd was in for a treat. We clearly had consumed too much beer. By this time there was a pretty good crowd gathered around since the dance was over. Evidently we weren't the only ones who had the same idea. The owner decided to make an example.
We decided between the 3 of us to ride for bragging rights. Conly went first. The bucking machine operator made it fairly hard and Conly made a pretty good ride. He made it for the 8 seconds anyway and jumped off victorious. Walker was next.
I am not a Bull Rider. I am not a bucking horse rider and my record will clearly reflect that. Just ask my Dad. I mounted up on the mechanical bull and wedged my riding glove (a glove you would use to fix fence) into the handhold. I set my feet and waved my hand. We began our dance.
The first few jumps I remember being in pretty good shape. I think he was going to give me the same pattern he gave Conly, as a gesture of mercy. I was a better rider than that....the beer told me so. About the third jump I opened up with my right leg and spurred the machine making a loud thump. The rest is blurry. All I know for sure is that the setting I WAS on must have been "newly born milk calf", or "baby deer ride" and the setting I received after my spurring job was more along the lines of "Red Rock, the devil's own bucking bull, destroys team roper with too much beer for the delight of the crowd". I was horrible. I got whipped down, which means that my feet ended up behind me and my face somehow collided with the plastic head of the mechanical bull. From there I fell off to the side and the bull continued to buck while my hand was still hung up in the rigging. It happened instantly and without notice.
When the dust settled, and I regained vision, I was standing on my feet alongside the bull with my hand still in the rigging. Conly had come out of the crowd and was down in front of the fake bull waving his hat in the bull's face trying to save me from the impending hooking I should have taken. The crowd was enjoying themselves immensely and after I saw Conly I started laughing too. I got my hand out of the rigging and we gathered up outside the padded area laughing so hard we were almost in tears. I can admit now that I was a little loopy, either from the beer or from being whipped down by "Red Rock, the devil's own bucking bull", which one I'm not sure, but it took me a few minutes to get my bearings back.
Walter rode next and he made a pretty good ride. I think he and Conly tied for bragging rights over me which we didn't need a judge to figure out. My slump of not winning continued. After the bull riding competition we made our way over to the hot dog vendor who was still open after the rodeo and ordered up some hot dogs. While I was ordering I noticed the lady who was taking my order kept looking at me funny. I didn't think anything of it because people look at me funny all the time either from something I've said, or something I've done. It wasn't until I turned around that I realized why. Lori and Karly pointed out to me that I was bleeding. "Aw, heck it can't be that bad." No....like really bleeding. I felt my face right under my jawbone and sure enough...huh, blood. Then I looked down and found that it had been running down my neck a little and my shirt had been soaking it up. No wonder hot dog lady gave me that look.
The next morning I woke up at Conly and Lori's to find something a little more serious. After closer inspection I found that there was a hole in my neck about the size of a #2 pencil eraser. Great....I had a Monday morning bank meeting to attend. That would be fun. All in all, I guess it wasn't that bad. I should probably have gone to get a stitch or two because I now have a scar on my neck where whiskers don't grow anymore, but that's where the good stories come from. :)
Max Stalling says that "life's mostly scars and souvenirs". Somehow, I happen to have a few of both.
Walker
It was a nice night in Giddings, Texas. The weather was what you would expect from a Central Texas spring evening and I was glad to be out and about in it. I was entered at the last performance of the CPRA rodeo in Giddings and since I was in the area, I drove to Conly and Lori Donnell's house in Caldwell the day before to hang out. Conly and Lori decided to ride along with me to the rodeo and Walter (Conly's brother) and his wife Karly came along too. They had already roped at the rodeo, but since it was a Saturday night and there was a dance after the rodeo we all decided we would stick around afterward and check out the band.
I didn't win anything at the rodeo and in an effort to drown my sorrows, I unsaddled my horse and we went to the dance which was right across the parking lot. Fast forward about 3 hours....3 hours of telling stories with Conly and Walter while drinking beer and listening to music...maybe drinking a little too much beer. When the band finished playing we stood right at the edge of the pavilion and surveyed the scene before us. I can remember it like it was yesterday because the whole area in front of us was drowned in that orange glow of the old fashioned sodium security lights. As I squinted my eyes I could see something at the far edge of the light that caught my attention. I turned to Conly and Walter and said,"You see that bucking machine over there? Our destiny has just been revealed to us." They agreed.
The walk across the lot towards the bucking machine was not very far, but it was far enough for us to talk each other into how awesome our bull riding skills were. I don't know about anyone else, but when I walked up to the padded area around that bull I was sure no one had ever seen someone put a ride on a mechanical bull like I was about to. This from a guy who didn't win anything in the team roping that night....and hadn't won much in a while...I was determined to win at something. Too determined.
We approached the man who owned the machine and told him we were some of the finest and most highly trained mechanical bull riders that ever wore a nickel pair of socks. We told him that his bull would lay defeated in ruins before us and that the crowd was in for a treat. We clearly had consumed too much beer. By this time there was a pretty good crowd gathered around since the dance was over. Evidently we weren't the only ones who had the same idea. The owner decided to make an example.
We decided between the 3 of us to ride for bragging rights. Conly went first. The bucking machine operator made it fairly hard and Conly made a pretty good ride. He made it for the 8 seconds anyway and jumped off victorious. Walker was next.
I am not a Bull Rider. I am not a bucking horse rider and my record will clearly reflect that. Just ask my Dad. I mounted up on the mechanical bull and wedged my riding glove (a glove you would use to fix fence) into the handhold. I set my feet and waved my hand. We began our dance.
The first few jumps I remember being in pretty good shape. I think he was going to give me the same pattern he gave Conly, as a gesture of mercy. I was a better rider than that....the beer told me so. About the third jump I opened up with my right leg and spurred the machine making a loud thump. The rest is blurry. All I know for sure is that the setting I WAS on must have been "newly born milk calf", or "baby deer ride" and the setting I received after my spurring job was more along the lines of "Red Rock, the devil's own bucking bull, destroys team roper with too much beer for the delight of the crowd". I was horrible. I got whipped down, which means that my feet ended up behind me and my face somehow collided with the plastic head of the mechanical bull. From there I fell off to the side and the bull continued to buck while my hand was still hung up in the rigging. It happened instantly and without notice.
When the dust settled, and I regained vision, I was standing on my feet alongside the bull with my hand still in the rigging. Conly had come out of the crowd and was down in front of the fake bull waving his hat in the bull's face trying to save me from the impending hooking I should have taken. The crowd was enjoying themselves immensely and after I saw Conly I started laughing too. I got my hand out of the rigging and we gathered up outside the padded area laughing so hard we were almost in tears. I can admit now that I was a little loopy, either from the beer or from being whipped down by "Red Rock, the devil's own bucking bull", which one I'm not sure, but it took me a few minutes to get my bearings back.
Walter rode next and he made a pretty good ride. I think he and Conly tied for bragging rights over me which we didn't need a judge to figure out. My slump of not winning continued. After the bull riding competition we made our way over to the hot dog vendor who was still open after the rodeo and ordered up some hot dogs. While I was ordering I noticed the lady who was taking my order kept looking at me funny. I didn't think anything of it because people look at me funny all the time either from something I've said, or something I've done. It wasn't until I turned around that I realized why. Lori and Karly pointed out to me that I was bleeding. "Aw, heck it can't be that bad." No....like really bleeding. I felt my face right under my jawbone and sure enough...huh, blood. Then I looked down and found that it had been running down my neck a little and my shirt had been soaking it up. No wonder hot dog lady gave me that look.
The next morning I woke up at Conly and Lori's to find something a little more serious. After closer inspection I found that there was a hole in my neck about the size of a #2 pencil eraser. Great....I had a Monday morning bank meeting to attend. That would be fun. All in all, I guess it wasn't that bad. I should probably have gone to get a stitch or two because I now have a scar on my neck where whiskers don't grow anymore, but that's where the good stories come from. :)
Max Stalling says that "life's mostly scars and souvenirs". Somehow, I happen to have a few of both.
Walker
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Catching Up/Trip to Amarillo
Earlier this month I posted about a new job I have taken selling Crop Insurance/Pasture Insurance. Well as part of my training I was sent to Amarillo so I could meet the company we write the Insurance with. No problem right? ...Right.
Everything was ok until I started getting closer to Amarillo. I changed planes in Dallas and got on a prop engine plane. I had never been on one of those before, but I wasn't concerned since I was flying with American. I had never heard anything bad about them. Then, about 30 minutes out of Amarillo I heard this noise. I was sitting right behind the wing, reading my book, and I looked out the window to find the engine right outside my window was shooting flames from the rear of it. I quickly decided that this was not normal. It was doing it in short bursts, like when a lawnmower backfires. I have since come to decide that a lawnmower would have been safer to fly to Amarillo on...and lawnmowers don't fly good in case you didn't know.
This popping noise and flame show continued for a few minutes when all of a sudden the plane noticeably lowered altitude and slowed down in speed. "Well I had a good run" was the first thing that popped into my head. I made it 31 years and got to do lots of fun stuff. One thing I am most proud of is that you can order a "Justin Walker" in most bars and they will bring you a Crown and Water...really you can order it by name now.
But it was at that time, I figured, after all the dumb stuff I've done in my life that a plane crash is gonna be the way I go. I was ready. Luckily we made it into Amarillo. As we descended down on the runway, I noticed the fire trucks waiting for us at the end of the runway. They weren't parked at the terminal just in case something bad happened, they were down at the end of the runway where we touched down. I guess in case the landing gear also gave out and we slid to a stop down the pavement causing a prairie fire that could burn all the way to El Paso or Oklahoma City depending on which way the wind was blowing. Once we touched down they proceeded to follow us all the way to the terminal with their lights blazing. Just in case you don't believe me the photo is above.
The captain came on and told us that,"As some of you may have noticed we had some engine trouble on the way in, but we reduced altitude and slowed our speed down. After that the engine seemed to respond well." In other words, "The engine that was responsible for 50% of the power on the plane was trying to catch on fire, so we slowed her down and luckily we didn't all crash in a ball of fire. I was basically trying to fly us into Amarillo on a pack of gum with wings, and we managed to get it done this time." Thanks American Airlines.
Upon my return flight to Corpus Christi I am proud to report nothing caught on fire. As I was standing at the baggage claim carousel waiting for my bag to come around I noticed something else. My bag never came. Huh...I can distinctly remember paying an extra $20 for my bag to be checked when I left Amarillo. This $20 matched the amount I paid when leaving Corpus on my way to Amarillo making the tidy sum of $40 extra just for my luggage to arrive in both destinations with me.
About the time I noticed that my bag didn't show up, a nice man informed me that if it wasn't there already it wasn't coming. Perfect. I made my way to the claims counter and informed them of my dilemma. My dilemma was that I had paid $40 for my bag to have it's own little airline ticket so it could ride in the belly of the plane, yet my bag didn't get to make it's destination. I explained that if I had bought a ticket to...say Amarillo, and I didn't get there because of the flaming engine outside my window, I would be looking for a refund. So on my bag's behalf I stood ready to collect for it's ticket that was not honored. She did not agree. I again asked for my $40 back and she would not pay. I left a very dissatisfied customer. Thanks again American Airlines.
All in all I would say that when faced with the choice to fly American Airlines... or wrap my lips around the muffler of a Grayhound Bus and be dragged naked through a field of cactus all the way to Amarillo, I would choose the latter. At least the bus/cactus dragging wouldn't cost me an extra $40.
Flying Southwest from now on,
Walker
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Odds, Ends, and Good People
This past weekend Celeste had a jewelry booth at the George West Storyfest. (http://www.georgeweststoryfest.org/) I headed over with Mom and we decided to check it out. It was a nice day outside and it was pretty cool to sit around and do some people watching, which is one of my favorite things. I even considered getting up and telling a story or two myself, since I enjoy telling a good story and I just happen to have a few. The open mic part of the day was later in the evening and by the time it rolled around, all we wanted to do was eat and go home, so alas I did not get to regale the audience with a semi-true story from my memory bank. Maybe next year.
As I was sitting behind the booth watching people I looked down the sidewalk behind me and noticed a man coming my way. He was carrying a guitar and wearing a cowboy hat. These two things alone let me know that when he made it to where I was sitting, we would visit for a while...and we did. He was a Brick Mason by trade, but a songwriter and musician at heart. He just hadn't found a way to make the songwriting pay. We laughed about that. He told me that last year he had written over 200 songs and sent them to Nashville. "No one likes my songs though." He liked to write mostly cowboy type songs and throw some gospel in there as well. We both agreed that was not "Mainstream Country". No one nowadays wants to go to Wal-Mart and buy that. He played a few for us and they were pretty darn good. The last one he played was a song he wrote about a train on the tracks, and how he thought it would be cool if a train was going down the tracks with Jesus as the conductor. Then when the train whistle blew every time, it wouldn't whistle, but spread God's glory. Sounds like a train we could all ride on. He told me that he enjoyed writing songs so much because in a song you could be anything or anyone you wanted to be. After a few songs, he went on his way and I hope he had a good day. He was a pretty cool fellow.
I got to thinking about him though. Can you imagine doing something for fun, but doing it over 200 times and not being successful? I know lots of people who are "good" at something, but have not had "success" as most people would define it. That leads me to my point.
We all have our own definition of what being "successful" is. People measure it in different ways. Money, clothes, cars, having the latest coolest thing, a fancy title or job, etc....we all have seen it. But does that make us a good man or woman? At the end of the day, when we take all those things away, have we been a "good" person that day? Did we act like we should, or treat people like we should? That's what matters. Although we might try to be a good person and fail 200 times, do we keep trying? We should. These things we should all do....
I hope that little fella with the bad hips, guitar, and cowboy hat writes the best song anyone's ever heard. I hope he writes it on his next try, George Strait records it and it goes all the way to #1! He made me keep things in perspective by visiting for a while....I'd call him a "good" man.
Walker
As I was sitting behind the booth watching people I looked down the sidewalk behind me and noticed a man coming my way. He was carrying a guitar and wearing a cowboy hat. These two things alone let me know that when he made it to where I was sitting, we would visit for a while...and we did. He was a Brick Mason by trade, but a songwriter and musician at heart. He just hadn't found a way to make the songwriting pay. We laughed about that. He told me that last year he had written over 200 songs and sent them to Nashville. "No one likes my songs though." He liked to write mostly cowboy type songs and throw some gospel in there as well. We both agreed that was not "Mainstream Country". No one nowadays wants to go to Wal-Mart and buy that. He played a few for us and they were pretty darn good. The last one he played was a song he wrote about a train on the tracks, and how he thought it would be cool if a train was going down the tracks with Jesus as the conductor. Then when the train whistle blew every time, it wouldn't whistle, but spread God's glory. Sounds like a train we could all ride on. He told me that he enjoyed writing songs so much because in a song you could be anything or anyone you wanted to be. After a few songs, he went on his way and I hope he had a good day. He was a pretty cool fellow.
I got to thinking about him though. Can you imagine doing something for fun, but doing it over 200 times and not being successful? I know lots of people who are "good" at something, but have not had "success" as most people would define it. That leads me to my point.
We all have our own definition of what being "successful" is. People measure it in different ways. Money, clothes, cars, having the latest coolest thing, a fancy title or job, etc....we all have seen it. But does that make us a good man or woman? At the end of the day, when we take all those things away, have we been a "good" person that day? Did we act like we should, or treat people like we should? That's what matters. Although we might try to be a good person and fail 200 times, do we keep trying? We should. These things we should all do....
I hope that little fella with the bad hips, guitar, and cowboy hat writes the best song anyone's ever heard. I hope he writes it on his next try, George Strait records it and it goes all the way to #1! He made me keep things in perspective by visiting for a while....I'd call him a "good" man.
Walker
Friday, October 16, 2009
Hard on the Housekeeper
It was quiet and still just like all mornings before daylight. The first cool weather of fall had crept in the evening before, and Cap always liked that first "light jacket morning". He woke up every morning before daylight, no alarm needed. He kept one set though, just for the rare occurrence that he might oversleep. He never seemed to need it though.
He opened his eyes and laid still for a minute just listening. This was his custom. He stirred just a bit and noticed something he had never before. Grit. Surely not. He and Martha had been married for 37 years and she had always kept the house clean, almost to a fault. He had been scolded many times for coming in with clothes or boots that left their marks on whatever they touched. He was trained to do better after those first few years he thought. Martha might view him as a work still in progress. But this was different.
He rolled over and Martha was still asleep. When he rolled he felt it even more. Grit. He tried not to overreact. Everyone slips a little now and then. He should cut her some slack. The more he thought about it in those few moments, the madder he got. He couldn't let it go.
He got out of bed and pulled the sheets back on his side. The room was still dark, and with loud and over-exaggerated strokes he brushed whatever grit was in the bed out. He was making a commotion and trying to make a point. Martha woke up.
"What are you doing?" she asked eyes still not completely focused.
"There's something in this bed woman." he answered. "You must not've washed these bed clothes this week. Here I am sleepin' and tryin' to rest so I can go make you a livin' and you got me sleepin' in a dirty bed."
By this time Martha was wide awake. She was not about to sit still and let her house cleaning be criticized this early in the morning. "It's not my fault" she said almost too calmly. This should have been a red flag for Cap. He plowed on anyway.
"Heck it ain't. I woke up this morning and felt like I was sleepin' on the floor of the tack room. There's some kind of grit in here with me." He was still brushing the bed with his hand.
"Turn on the lamp and you'll see the problem" said Martha.
Cap turned on the bedside lamp and noticed that this grit was somewhat familiar. As he studied it trying to make a determination as to its genesis, Martha cut the slack out of the problem for him. She was good at that.
"YOU woke up in your sleep last night and went to the kitchen. I felt you get up. I also felt you return with a handful of those cookies I made for Ely's birthday two days ago. Then YOU fell back asleep before you ate them all and crushed the rest of them while you tossed and turned like you always do. So the problem is not with my clean house, it's with the night-time-cookie-eater who lives here and then doesn't eat all the cookies during his sleep walking, rather chooses to roll on them all night."
Cap stood there next to the bed and looked at her. She was mad. He didn't seem to be mad anymore. He pulled the covers back over the bed and headed to the bathroom to run some bath water. Martha laid back down. As the water ran in the bathroom, Cap returned to the bedroom and leaned down over her as she was trying to go back to sleep.
"I'm sorry honey, but you know I like those cookies." He paused, then added," I'm just sayin' I like'em to be a little chewy and if they hadn't been so dry maybe they wouldn't have got crushed up so bad."
She groaned. He ran.
have a good weekend,
Walker
He opened his eyes and laid still for a minute just listening. This was his custom. He stirred just a bit and noticed something he had never before. Grit. Surely not. He and Martha had been married for 37 years and she had always kept the house clean, almost to a fault. He had been scolded many times for coming in with clothes or boots that left their marks on whatever they touched. He was trained to do better after those first few years he thought. Martha might view him as a work still in progress. But this was different.
He rolled over and Martha was still asleep. When he rolled he felt it even more. Grit. He tried not to overreact. Everyone slips a little now and then. He should cut her some slack. The more he thought about it in those few moments, the madder he got. He couldn't let it go.
He got out of bed and pulled the sheets back on his side. The room was still dark, and with loud and over-exaggerated strokes he brushed whatever grit was in the bed out. He was making a commotion and trying to make a point. Martha woke up.
"What are you doing?" she asked eyes still not completely focused.
"There's something in this bed woman." he answered. "You must not've washed these bed clothes this week. Here I am sleepin' and tryin' to rest so I can go make you a livin' and you got me sleepin' in a dirty bed."
By this time Martha was wide awake. She was not about to sit still and let her house cleaning be criticized this early in the morning. "It's not my fault" she said almost too calmly. This should have been a red flag for Cap. He plowed on anyway.
"Heck it ain't. I woke up this morning and felt like I was sleepin' on the floor of the tack room. There's some kind of grit in here with me." He was still brushing the bed with his hand.
"Turn on the lamp and you'll see the problem" said Martha.
Cap turned on the bedside lamp and noticed that this grit was somewhat familiar. As he studied it trying to make a determination as to its genesis, Martha cut the slack out of the problem for him. She was good at that.
"YOU woke up in your sleep last night and went to the kitchen. I felt you get up. I also felt you return with a handful of those cookies I made for Ely's birthday two days ago. Then YOU fell back asleep before you ate them all and crushed the rest of them while you tossed and turned like you always do. So the problem is not with my clean house, it's with the night-time-cookie-eater who lives here and then doesn't eat all the cookies during his sleep walking, rather chooses to roll on them all night."
Cap stood there next to the bed and looked at her. She was mad. He didn't seem to be mad anymore. He pulled the covers back over the bed and headed to the bathroom to run some bath water. Martha laid back down. As the water ran in the bathroom, Cap returned to the bedroom and leaned down over her as she was trying to go back to sleep.
"I'm sorry honey, but you know I like those cookies." He paused, then added," I'm just sayin' I like'em to be a little chewy and if they hadn't been so dry maybe they wouldn't have got crushed up so bad."
She groaned. He ran.
have a good weekend,
Walker
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Conversation with a Legend
Last weekend I went to a roping in Salado. I had always seen him around, but never had the chance to talk to him before. I knew he could rope and always had the good partners. He never did anything fast or fancy, but when they called out the teams for the Short Round, he was in there somewhere with a chance to win something.
When Walter Arnold rode up beside me at the roping on Saturday, I took the opportunity. I congratulated him on his introduction this year to the ProRodeo Hall of Fame and told him how cool I thought that was. In case you don't know who I'm talking about, here is the video they show when they induct you to the Hall.
Walter Arnold - HOF 2009 - Rodeo UP Video - Official Video Site of the PRCA
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He thanked me and seemed nice, so I stayed after him. I mentioned how after I watched the video, that things are sure different. The guys back then were cowboys and not just "Team Ropers"....myself included. He told me how when he was rodeoing most of the guys he competed with were cowboys for a living. They worked on ranches and then rodeoed when they could, so it was more of a cowboy sport. Nowadays there's folks who work in town during the week and then rope on the weekends. He told me that he won fourth in the Average at the NFR one year and won $400. I was amazed. Heck it takes that much to enter a roping a couple times now. He agreed. In those days he told me you could buy the nicest trailer out there for $600 dollars, and a new truck cost $2,000. We've all heard those stories from someone or another and I'm sure I'll tell my share of them in the future because things are sure to change more.
$400 though? That sure didn't seem like much. Mr. Arnold told me that back then you could buy a chicken fried steak for $1.25. That average check would buy you 320 chicken fried steaks so I guess it's all relative. We sat there for a minute and I tried to think of something interesting to say. I couldn't. I guess I had him thinking though. He looked at me and smiled. "Course there's lots more money in it now." I had seen him get his share of it over the last few years that's for sure!(I also noticed later that he was driving a double cab dually truck that he had won. You bet there's more money in it!)
After our short talk, we parted ways. I enjoyed the visit and it's nice to see these type of guys still out there doing what they love....and doing it so well.
Thanks Mr. Arnold for taking the time to talk to a "team roper".....it was nice.
Walker
When Walter Arnold rode up beside me at the roping on Saturday, I took the opportunity. I congratulated him on his introduction this year to the ProRodeo Hall of Fame and told him how cool I thought that was. In case you don't know who I'm talking about, here is the video they show when they induct you to the Hall.
Walter Arnold - HOF 2009 - Rodeo UP Video - Official Video Site of the PRCA
Shared via AddThis
He thanked me and seemed nice, so I stayed after him. I mentioned how after I watched the video, that things are sure different. The guys back then were cowboys and not just "Team Ropers"....myself included. He told me how when he was rodeoing most of the guys he competed with were cowboys for a living. They worked on ranches and then rodeoed when they could, so it was more of a cowboy sport. Nowadays there's folks who work in town during the week and then rope on the weekends. He told me that he won fourth in the Average at the NFR one year and won $400. I was amazed. Heck it takes that much to enter a roping a couple times now. He agreed. In those days he told me you could buy the nicest trailer out there for $600 dollars, and a new truck cost $2,000. We've all heard those stories from someone or another and I'm sure I'll tell my share of them in the future because things are sure to change more.
$400 though? That sure didn't seem like much. Mr. Arnold told me that back then you could buy a chicken fried steak for $1.25. That average check would buy you 320 chicken fried steaks so I guess it's all relative. We sat there for a minute and I tried to think of something interesting to say. I couldn't. I guess I had him thinking though. He looked at me and smiled. "Course there's lots more money in it now." I had seen him get his share of it over the last few years that's for sure!(I also noticed later that he was driving a double cab dually truck that he had won. You bet there's more money in it!)
After our short talk, we parted ways. I enjoyed the visit and it's nice to see these type of guys still out there doing what they love....and doing it so well.
Thanks Mr. Arnold for taking the time to talk to a "team roper".....it was nice.
Walker
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Hookin' Buford
For the non-ropers out there a Buford is a roping dummy that is attached to a pivot in the center and with the help of electricity it travels in a circle around the pivot. It has speeds that you can set from slow to pretty fast and they are excellent tools. They look like this.
Cap sat on the porch of the old barn in the corral and watched with amusement. Ely had been showing him how well he had his green broke colt handling. Ely loped him one way, stopped and then turned him around and loped the other. This was only his 3rd week of riding and he was showing some good promise. Ely was sure proud.
"I got him to where you can swing a rope on him yesterday!" Ely announced to Cap from the lot. As he said it he untied his rope from the saddle horn and slowly built a loop. He swung it slowly and the colt, unsure at first, relaxed and accepted it.
"I'll be tracking around on him in no time!" Said Ely.
"Heck it ain't too soon to start right now!" Cap hollered back, smiling as he baited the trap for poor ole Ely. He got up off of the porch and walked out into the corral to get a closer look.
Ely eased his colt over to the Buford which just happened to be located in the same corral he was riding in. The colt, more unsure about the situation by the minute, snorted and shyed away. Ely rode him back up to it and reassured the youngster by petting him on the neck. Ely thought to himself, 'There ain't nothin' this colt cain't handle.'
"Let me turn it on for you. Might help some." offered Cap. He eased over to the machine and flipped the switch. It was set on a pretty slow pace. Ely started off pretty good and the colt followed the Buford around fairly well after some work. He was doing so good Cap decided to increase the speed a little.
Things were still ok. Maybe more speed....Not as good as before but the colt was still hangin' in there. Every time Cap sped the machine up, Ely had to do more riding to keep his colt pointed in the right direction. Finally Ely couldn't do anymore to keep his mount going in a circle and he asked Cap to stop.
"That's about fast enough!" Ely hollered at Cap. They made a few more circles and the colt settled down again finding a pretty nice pace behind the Buford. Then Ely made a fatal mistake. He let the team roper come out in him....and decided to swing his rope. The colt had forgotten about the rope by now with all the new jobs he had. HE DID NOT LIKE IT.
About the second swing, Ely let the rope brush the tips of his horses' ears. Mistake. The very gentle, well minded colt that Ely was so proud of swallowed his head and started bucking. From jump number 2 Ely was out of shape. Jumps 4 and 4.5 he blew both stirrups, was whipped down hitting his head on the colt's head and hit the ground. Hard.
It all happened so fast that Cap couldn't react. He was standing by the center of the Buford pivot and couldn't do a thing while Ely tried to make a ride on a colt that started out pretty gentle, but ended up having the talent of Kesler Rodeo Company's Painted Smile. He rushed over to Ely.
Ely was face down and making noises, which meant he was alive. Cap got to him and asked him if he was alright. He was, or he reported to be anyway. Cap knelt down beside him and put his hand on his back. Ely still groaned. Then he cussed some. He would be alright. About that time Cap heard a noise that sounded familiar. From the kneeling position, he looked over his shoulder only to see the Buford coming around again and it was coming in at pretty hot speed. At the pace Cap had set for the green broke colt, no less.
It nearly hooked Cap right in the rear as he made his retreat. Cap found out he can't run as fast as he used to. That was only half the problem. Ely was in no shape to move. Yep,.. the Buford ran right over the top of the immobile Ely. Talk about insult to injury...bucked off and hooked(more like run over)by a plastic cow. Cap did manage to get it turned off before it got him again.
Ely's ribs are taped down and healing nicely. Cap is banned from operating the Buford.
Don't push your young horses to much boys....they push back,
Walker
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