By Nate Williams
Howdy folks! A couple of days ago I was visiting with some friends and we found ourselves discussing some of the consequences of the East comin' out West.
I know some of ya are probably wandering where I'm going with this, so I will share a story with you.
A couple of years back I was working on a ranch out in Wyoming. It was nestled against a large rim and was a pretty nice place.
A guy from out east decided that just what he needed was a nice, big, Wyoming ranch, and folks, that is just what he bought.
Now he was nice guy, but being a golf course developer doesn't offer a lot of cowboy expertise.
I will never forget the first time I met him. He stood about six and half foot tall and was built like a linebacker. My first thought was that he must have pretty large seats and extra head room built into his private jet that he flew into Lander on.
He looked like he stepped straight out of a Sheplers catalog. He had a brand new hat on that needed a little bit of shaping, a kerchief around his neck, and wool vest, which would explain his profuse sweating on that 95 degree summer day. The wardrobe came to an end with some of the fanciest snake skin boots that I had ever seen, complete with a gleaming pair of spurs that I was pretty sure had never touched horse hide. I guess that Cadillac that he was ridin' needed a little persuasion to hit the desired gait.
That day was a special day though, he was going out with us to move some cows. He hadn't rode a horse since he was a youngster and was pretty excited about it. So we helped him get his mount saddled, a half-draft that he had named Tiny. He had bought Tiny from a local horse trader because he was worried that none of the "regular sized horses" on the ranch would be able to carry his large build. The horse trader promised the ranch owner that Tiny was just the horse he needed.
Off we went through the hills and we got the critters gathered and headed to our destination. Along the way, for reasons that none of the ranch hands could see, the owner decided that he needed to rope this bull. As we questioned his motives, he was building a loop.
"He's moving to slow." was the response we got back for our questions.
Brian was riding along side of me and put money on the bet that he would miss anyway.
The New Yorker twirled his string three or four times and to our surprise and probably more to our horror, the loop slipped right over the bull's pole.
Time kinda stood still there for a second or two and he had a look of pure amazement, followed by a look of pure fear. Half of us were yelling for him to throw the rope and we would get it back for him. The other half was tellin' him to go to the horn.
Well some where during that time that ole' bull came to the realization that he had been caught. He took off runnin' and the owner held tight to the rope, which pulled him forward and he gave Tiny a good jab in the side with those sharp spurs.
Tiny didn't care for that at all and he proceeded to work at getting those spurs out of his side. That big horse got with it and catapulted the big golf course developer through the air and planted him like a lawn dart.
Tiny didn't get rode back to the barn that day. He got led by a big feller wearing new snake skin boots. The bull got a double dose of ropin' practice that day to retrieve the first rope.
Not too long after the rodeo that day, Tiny found a new home, and you won't find to many cows or horses out on that ranch either. But, if you pay him enough money you can go out and shoot one of his trophy bull elk, then pack it back on one of his quads.
Folks, thanks for readin' along this week. Until next time, so long.