A Horse called Elvis

We had a cranky ol gelding on the home ranch named Elvis.  How he came by his name I have no idea.  He certainly didn't remind me of The Elvis, as he was not the handsomest piece of horseflesh around. His claim to fame on the ranch was that he could open any gate, and I do mean any.  It was not entirely uncommon to get that feeling that something is watching you and look out the window, to see him standing in the flower bed staring back at you.  He had a well honed method to his gate antics, he must have spent hours figuring out how different gates closures worked.  Being sneaky about his talent was also part of his way.  He never did it while you were in his sight.  The way we confirmed it was observation from a distant knoll, and the fact that he had kind of overthought the process by closing the gate behind himself.
His favorite  was to wait until we had gathered the horses into the barn corral, closed the gate, fed in the big horsebarn, and  then driven off to other chores.   Before the dust had settled he would saunter over open the gate, go back in the barn and tell the rest of the horse herd about the open gate. After they had made a mad dash out the gate, he would saunter over, shut the gate, mosey back into the barn and proceeded to eat all the feed. 
I thought for sure he would be sent down the road, after he did the same with the gate into the grandmother's beautifully tended yard.  That time he let the other horses IN, closed the gate, and galloped off to a good vantage point to watch the fireworks.  Grandfather stuckup for him in the battle that followed, and he stayed with us until an ol' fellow that needed a gentle horse bought him.  He was going to a good home and it really never came up about his special ways.  We did hear from the ol fellow that Elvis was doing well, was well loved, and the most talented horse he'd ever had.

ROUNDUP READY

We used to go to the big local roundup every year, we were a lot younger, and knew pretty much everyone there.  Himself & the other local ranch kids worked in the background, clearing the arena, pushing up calves for the roping & dogging events. Moving bulls, horses, calves, and equipment to keep the show going under the watchful eye of their dads, or uncles. It took a special group of men to put on such a big event, even in the early years.
 At the end of each day's rodeo the boys would be up themselves in the wild horse race. Each three man team lead their horse onto the track, a shot gun was fired to start the race. More often than not the cowboys came away bloodied from the horse that had just kicked, bit, and stomped them as they tried to get a saddle on him.  If they got him saddled, one cowboy was thrown up on him and handed the halter rope, and expected to hang on for one trip around the large oval track.  All amind the other horses and cowboys running a muck. It was great fun, and a fair amount of money changed hands as we all bet on our home ranch teams. 
Seems it was often raining during roundup in those days.  So the arena was more mud bog than anything.  I sat on the hood of the ol scout and watched the events, right beside all the action.  It was the best seat in the house as far as I was concerned. 
Work schedules have kept us from going for quite a few years, but this year I'm going! Some new memories are sure to be there.  

Scotties Rock

Fergus, my scottie pup, has found his idol:  Go Flash! 

Goat Roper Recipe

Mix together: one small girl, one large horse, one rope, one pig'n string, and one nanny goat, gently blend, fold in a tree for the goat to hide in, careful with the horse, twirl the rope and bring to a simmer.  When finished you have a small girl with a broken wrist, a gloating goat, and a spooked horse all wrapped in string.

The Other Mothers...

  Many years ago while in the process of cleaning out closets in the big house at my mother-in-law's, we happened on the fur coats.  She hadn't worn hers in years, and she was putting them in the thrift store box.  Oh, I fell in love with one, it was a beautiful three quarter length mink, and fit me perfectly.  "Take that if you want it," says she.  Trying to act like it was no big deal, I quickly put it back in it's special bag and hustled it out to my pickup.

Now I lived on the family cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere.  Most of my time was spent with kids, cowboys, cows, horses, dogs, and barbwire.  What would I be doing with a fur coat.

  I so wanted a reason to wear that coat.  A call to a friend was the hatching of the Plan. You see the friend also had an ol fur coat she loved, lived in the middle of nowhere, & had small children. Her kids and mine went to the same private Catholic school in town. 

Getting kids to school entailed a lot of mad dashes to town in what ever vehicle was available at o-dark-thirty in the morning. Me wearing ratty jammies, old leather slippers and trying to keep from spilling my mug of coffee. I often pulled into the parking lot with screeching tires, dogs barking, baling wire, curlers, and hay flying.  My friend arrived a bit nicer but not by much.  There we were met by the Other Mothers.  The Other Mothers lived in town, drove polished cars, had their makeup on, and were dressed fit for a brunch at the Cliff House.  They weren't very friendly to us, even though we never turned the kids or dogs loose on them. 

After another morning of the Treatment by the Other Mothers, I decided that the school parking lot was to be the place I would implement the Plan.  My friend was game.  We would wear our fur coats to take our kids to school.   We still screeched into the parking lot, with cowdogs barking, hay flying, messy hair, and ratty jammies, but also wearing our glorious fur coats. We kept it up til the weather got too warm to wear our furs.  The Other Mothers never did take a liking to us, but dang we had a great time.