Preparing for the Show Ring

Every evening in the summer, after chores were finished and supper was over, Dad would work with the bulls in the show string.  Once I started in 4-H, Dad included me in the practice sessions.  He brushed every bull every evening, while I brushed my first steer, Chip.  Then Dad would halter a bull and my steer so we could lead them out into the driveway area between the house and the barn.  We led them around with Chip and I in the lead and Dad following leading one of his bulls, urging my calf along if he decided to dawdle.  After a few trips around the loop, we would set the animals up.  This entailed getting each animal to put his feet squarely under him so he would look lengthy but not stretched too much so his back dipped.  A show stick helped to guide each foot to the correct position with a small bunt nail-like nub on the side tip of the stick hooked under the dew claw of each foot to move the foot forward. Pushing the tip of the stick between the hoof in the front motivated the bull or steer to move his foot back.  Once the feet were set square, the nail nub made for a good scratching tool under the brisket to encourage him to hold his head up or to soothe him while standing still. Another item to tend to was tipping the hocks out so the hindquarters looked wide and muscular.

 Once we had our animals set, mom would act like the judge and come to each animal running her hands over them and walking around them talking. This was good practice for what would happen at the fair in the show ring.  Dad usually had six or so bulls in his show string, and he worked with each one each evening.  I made the circuit with my steer as he took a different bull each round.  This meant that both Chip and I were well trained!  When we stopped, we both eventually learned exactly what was expected of us.  Chip set up square and I used my show stick to scratch him under the neck so he held his head high.  Dad was successful with his projects my first year in 4-H.  Chip was the grand champion steer at the county fair and I won the Junior Showmanship.  Over the years as my younger siblings joined me in 4-H, Dad's training intensity moderated, but he still made sure we were all well trained on how to show our animals.

Not the "Typical" Cowboys

I enjoy reading books that focus on life in the West or in the country.  Willa Cather, one of my favorite authors, captures the essence of life on the Nebraska prairie in the days of the early settlers. I  recently discovered an author from our area who has written about ranch life.  Her graphic description of a difficult calving situation startled me with its genuineness.  Having been around my husband in his large animal veterinary practice and on his family ranch, I have had opportunity to see and hear about similar situations. I was curious to know her background and discovered that her family had a small herd of cattle, so she indeed had firsthand experience as well that she translates vividly to the written word.   There seems to be a stereotype of ranchers, or cowboys being "rough around the edges," and I am sure that some people are like her characters; however, her characters did not match to my experience growing up on the ranch.

The language of the stereotypical cowboy can be rather rough, but I never once heard my father utter a cuss word, or for that matter any of my uncles, which is amazing to most anyone who works with cattle since they can be quite obstinate at times.   Actually, it is amazing in any situation. But the fact that no one swore, raised the expectations for our behavior as well. We laugh at the incident my sister's Sunday school teacher related to my mother years ago.  My sister observed that her dad never swore; he only said "knuckle-head" or "bird-brain"! I realize that times have changed, but I cringe at the language I hear in casual conversations these days.  I appreciate the examples that I observed in the men of the family which provided a path for me to follow.

Alcohol frequently plays a big part in "cowboy" portrayals with many a scene in the local bar or downing liquor at home to drown life's problems .  Here again, my experience provided a stark contrast. Nobody in my extended family drank at all, and no one in my husband's family either.  In previous generations, each side of the family had members who had their lives disrupted or ended prematurely because of alcohol.  So in part, so our families made conscious decisions not to let that happen to them. But the result on the extended family was that alcohol had no part in our daily lives even though society around us accepted it. I am thankful these values encompassed me in my formative years.

The stereotype of the hard drinking, tough talking cowboy is just that, a stereotype.  Ranchers and cowboys exist who live their lives quite differenty. I am sure that many others do not fit the mold as well.

Bulls

Though my childhood experiences with horses left something to be desired, my experience with bulls is an entirely different story.  On the family ranch, one uncle did the calving, another uncle oversaw the breeding, and my dad took care of the sale bulls, so we did not have any calves and cows on our part of the ranch when I was growing up.  Weaning took place after the fall bull sale in October and all the bull calves were brought to our part of the ranch.  My dad sorted these bull calves into different bunches of 10-15 bulls each looking to have groups  that had similar characteristics that would show well to visitors, such as his best bulls in a group or a sire grouping.  These bunches of bulls varied over the course of the year based on how bulls progressed or if they began fighting and endangering a bull's well being.

The best bulls were close around the barn in small pastures where they could be easily gathered, or brought into the corrals to feed. Dad chose the very best bulls for the show string and brought them two to a pen in the barn to be fed.  All the bulls were fed twice a day.  Once I started in 4-H as a nine-year-old, I was out in the barn morning and night feeding my steers and helping Dad with the rest of the chores. Dad would send me into each pen to get the water bucket at the back corner so he could refill them. These burly red and white Hereford bulls stood much taller than I and  had horns as well.  Though Herefords are noted for their quite disposition, these adolescent bulls jostled each other and I was intimidated by the possibility of getting stepped on or whacked with a horn. However, being around these animals twice a day over the years and growing myself, I became very comfortable in working with them.

As I got older, I would feed the bulls around the barn while my dad went out to the pastures to take care of the bulls there.  I had to mix up the feed in the cone shaped mixer, putting in buckets of the determined amount of corn, oats, barley, and beet pulped soaked in molasses. A string pull-switch operated the motor on the mixer that thoroughly combined these grains.  The mixer would tip to empty the contents into a rectangular wooden trough where I could measure the right amount of the sweet smelling grains into a tub to carry to each bunch of bulls. My method of carrying these large tubs was to hook one edge on my hip and stretch my arm across the tub to hold on with my right hand.  None of the guys ever carried the feed the feed this way, but I did not have the upper body strength of the men.  The rowdy hungry bulls no longer intimidated me;  I just pushed through them to the feed bunk and spread the feed all along so they could all get their fair share.

These bulls were quite tame because my dad made sure that they were all halter broken early on, so they were used to being handled.  Every evening after the show bulls finished eating, Dad would brush their hair with a soft brush training it to go up and increase the appearance of thickness. He expected me to brush my 4-H steers every night as well.  The bulls thoroughly enjoyed this brushing especially on their backs  or under the neck, showing this by stretching their necks up and licking their long rough pink tongues over their nose, just like a cat or dog would let you know they enjoyed being petted or scratched on the back.  The show bulls were almost like pets, but Dad could also walk up to most any of the bulls out in the pasture to scratch  him on the back or run a curry comb through his coat.  I never had a bull threaten me nor did I feel endangered even when they were full grown weighing 1200 plus pounds.  As a girl, there was a definite satisfaction in feeling confident around these massive animals and being able to handle them. Though they could easily over power anyone they chose, I was very comfortable with these bulls. They were an integral part of my daily experience grown up on a registered Hereford ranch. 

Horses

Horses were not a large part of ranch life for our operation when I was growing up.  The rolling Wyoming gramma grass prairie is treeless, perfect for grazing cattle and easily navigated in the pickup truck.  Our pastures were small to accommodate small groups of registered Hereford bulls, which needed to be separated into groups to keep their fighting to a minimum.  When Dad fed his bulls twice daily, he would hook the feed bunk to the back of the truck and drag it to where the bulls were in the pasture, or he would send us kids out on foot to bring the bulls into the corrals around the barn to be fed.  So we did not have horses around that we rode to do the daily work.

My grandfather gave me a horse when I was five years old.  My two older cousins got matching white and red paint Shetland ponies and mine was brown with black and a little white named Shorty. Dad kept his mane shaved except for a handhold at the base of his neck giving him a bristly look.  I am sure this made keeping his mane tangle and burr free easier, but it meant no mane for a little girl to brush through like the toy ponies in the store.  Shetland ponies are just the right size for a child; however, their temperament is anything but child suited.    My dad would saddle Shorty and get me settled on his back.  I am sure that Dad did not just turn me loose to ride Shorty in the beginning, but  most of my  memories are ones riding by myself and are not pleasant ones.  I did not have fantasies about horses like many young girls; I had realities of scrapes and bruises.

Shorty seemed quite determined to dislodge any child-sized person off his back  before the end of the intended ride was finished.  Windbreaks of caragania trees, scotch pines, juniper trees and Chinese elms protected the house and barn from the stiff Wyoming winds.  These trees offered Shorty a convenient means of scraping me off his back.  I was not strong enough or big enough to convince that child-sized  horse that I was in charge, so when he decided he had enough, that was it.  If the trees were not convenient, the clothes line was a possibility as well.  Out in the pasture the barbwire fence could be quite effective as a deterrent to continue the ride.  Having several kids on his back bareback could prompt him to rear up and dump one rider off the back and then kick up his heels to dump the other rider off over his head.  I did not look forward to riding Shorty, but Dad seemed certain that I could make Shorty behave.  By the time I was confident and strong enough to show him I was boss, Shorty was not a big enough horse for me. 

There were other horses on the ranch over the years that I had good experiences on, but horseback riding was never a favorite pastime for me.  I am sure those early memories did not help my perspective.  My husband's family ranch is rugged with hills, rocks and trees that requires riding horses to work the cattle on a regular basis. All the kids started riding young on old trustworthy horses and had mostly good experiences to build on. Our grandsons ride a gentle horse that our son has ridden for years. Our daughter-in-law gives the boys riding lessons, making sure that they know how to handle the horse and how to handle themselves on the horses. Thankfully, their experiences will be much different from mine.