A few years back I started working for a new outfit. Now the place was more than just a little run down, but the old manager had convinced the new owners that it was only because the old owner wouldn’t put any money into the place for improvements. Vern and I were wondering how the new owners could overlook the obvious. Vern and I were living in a rented mobile home fifteen miles from the ranch because there was no place to live on the ranch, not that there were no living structures. Old Toby and his family had a habit of living in a house without throwing anything out. Once the house was full, they would just move into another one. In the twelve years they had been on the place, they had filled two houses and were ready to move out of a third house, which was only fifty feet from the second house they had filled. Toby was so lazy he could hardly walk. In fact, one of those first mornings, Vern and I were dunging out the barn so there would be enough room to saddle our horses when he looked over at Toby walking across the yard and commented, “The only reason he takes another step is to keep from falling on his face.” Once it became obvious why the ranch was in such a state of disrepair, Toby was fired. But because of his natural laziness and the fact he had lived there for so long, he more or less forgot to move. In fact, he was so adamant about not moving that he was suing the new owners, and they were suing back. While all of this was going on, Vern and I were trying to get the fences held together so they would at least slow down the flow of cattle, building new fences and trying to keep on top of the foot rot, pinkeye, and pneumonia. If that weren’t enough, poor Vern was trying to line up contractors to build new barns, pens and housing for us. One evening we had to work on the pump that fed water to an old set of pens and, by happenstance, also to the house that Toby lived in. Of course we discovered a whole new mess we would have to deal with on account of Toby’s laziness. Complaining about the new mess that had just been added to our already overloaded work schedule, Vern wondered aloud if there was any way to just get Toby to move out. Looking above, at the rotted electrical lines going from the houses to the pump house, I remarked, “Its a wonder the wind hasn’t touched those power lines together and burned him out for us.” The next day was supposedly going to start out with sorting the neighbor’s cattle out of a pasture whose fence we had fixed, but things sort of headed south from the start. Less than half a mile from our little abode, a raven met its untimely demise by flying into the windshield of Vern’s truck. Not that either of us are suspicious, but we were a little nervous because Indian folklore has it that killing a raven brings bad luck. In another half mile, we could see the smoke through the trees. When we got to the ranch, the last house Toby and his family had filled was nothing more than smoldering embers; no one was around, and the fire was creeping towards the other house. Now, while we didn’t have anything to do with the fire starting, it did seem odd that it happened so soon after I had mentioned the rotted overhead lines. Even though it did cross our minds to just let the fire run its course and burn down the second house, we decided we should fight the fire and save it. About the time we had things under control, Leroy and his son Jasper showed up to go sort cattle. Leroy and Jasper were right nice and good neighbors, but their outfit was a little run down. In the old days, they would have had a rawhide outfit, but with the advance of technology and the invention of poly twine, they ran a modern day balin’-twine ranch. As they pulled down the drive, we wondered whether their trailer was going to make it. There was a piece of Romex wire going up one side of the trailer, and a piece of broken lariat going up the other side. They were joined at the top. The top of the trailer would buckle and lift up, twist and settle back into place. Sure enough, when they unloaded their horses, all of their tack was held together with baling twine. About this time, Floyd pulled in. Floyd was another neighbor who had contracted to put up our hay because we didn’t have the equipment to do it ourselves. We palavered a bit about how the fire was putting a twist into the day’s plans and then palavered a bit about how to straighten things out a bit. We decided to wait around and keep an eye on the fire while Vern went into town to call the boss and inform him of the situation. He returned with new plans for the day. Floyd and his crew would go about things as usual. Vern would stay and keep an eye on the fire while I was to ride out with Leroy and Jasper to straighten out the cattle. As we mounted, there was an explosion, and a large can came flying out of the embers, over the house and landed in the pens, some two hundred feet away. The horses didn’t shy too much, but it set the tone for what was to come.

It seems that Toby had managed to acquire who knows how many cases of commodity canned goods and had them stored in the cabin. As the pressure built up in them, they exploded and went sailing around the yard like mortars. The three of us headed out across the highway and through the hay meadow to sort the cows. As we were sorting the cows, we came across a bull with a bad eye that needed to be doctored. Since the bull weighed close to a ton, we really didn’t want to be roping it, and so we came up with plan “A.” This was a simple plan, based upon the fact that part of the lawsuit problem with Toby was over the ranch truck that he had conveniently hidden, along with the trailer. We would simply drive the bull back to the pens with one of Leroy’s and Jasper’s cows for company, and they would then drop the cow off on their way home. Other than having them rub on the round bales on the way through the hay meadow, the plan worked. When we got close to the pens, I loped around the bull and cows to open the gate. As the gate was beginning to swing open, there were three explosions in rapid succession, and as many cans flew through the air. My horse didn’t object too much, but by the time I got him under control and turned around, Jasper was loping back towards the highway trying to get the bull turned, and Leroy was nowhere in sight. I kicked Ol’ Whistledink into high gear and managed to catch up before they hit the highway, but the old bull just ran right through us. We managed to get him turned a time or two, but as soon as we’d hit the highway, the mortars would start flying again, and back we’d go. I was getting a little tired of this game so I dropped my rope and dabbed a loop on him. Usually I try to get a front leg in the rope while roping anything bigger than my horse, to make things a little easier to handle, but par for the day, I just caught him around the neck. Since Whistledink was outweighed by around eight hundred pounds, our work was cut out for us, especially since in the heat of the moment, I hadn’t bothered to check my cinch. I didn’t realize just how much work it was going to be until it dawned on me that Jasper wasn’t packing a rope so he couldn’t get a second loop on the bull to help me. After several more failed attempts to get the bull across the highway I decided it was time to give Whistledink a break and tighten my cinch. I just used one of the handy round bales as a hitching post for the bull by going around the opposite side of the bull and taking a couple of wraps around the bale. Now for the last few attempts, Floyd had been at the gate waiting for the boss to show up and trying to give us a hand in getting the bull across the road. Will Rogers used to say every person is a genius . . . only in different areas. This means that the inverse also has to be true, and every person is also a complete idiot . . . in different areas. Our boss Everett was a genius as a businessman, but he had no concept about ranching. He thought it was a fun hobby that allowed him to play cowboy and impress his other rich friends. Of course, this just set him up for a little cowboy humor. When he showed up, the first thing he did was to ask what I was doing with the bull tied to the bale. Before I could answer, Floyd explained that we were testing the hay. He told Everett that the bull had been tied there for half an hour and hadn’t taken a bite, which meant the hay must not be very good. But, Floyd said, he could probably take it of our hands at a low price and use it for bedding. They sat there dickering over price for a few minutes before Everett happened to notice the eye that was so bad it was about to rupture, and the joke ended. Because plan “A” hadn’t worked, and plan “B” had been developed and committed to on the fly, we commenced to work on plan “C.” We decided that Jasper should go back and get his truck and trailer. He was to park the trailer up in the corner to where the bull was trying to go, and I would take the bull to the trailer and try to load it. Because this probably wasn’t going to be a real easy task, Floyd and Everett would follow in Floyd’s truck and try to give us a hand. About halfway down to the corner, I happened to look over my shoulder and noticed a plume of smoke rising from the hay meadow next to the burned house. It looked like it was moving. It was. As I looked back again, the tractor pulling the hay baler came into view, and the smoke was coming from the bailer! I hollered at Floyd that he’d better forget about the bull and go put his baler out. That was when things finally started working. When I got to the corner, Jasper had the trailer in position; the door open and the bull almost loaded himself. Leroy showed up about the time we got back to the pens. Turned out his cow had run around in back of the shop and through the fence. By the time he had gotten through the fence and caught up with her, she was half way home so he just took her the rest of the way and rode back. Floyd and Everett caught up with the baler and had him kick out the burning bale, and they put out both the fire in the baler and the burning bale before the rest of the ranch burned. Because all of this had happened on a Sunday, and it was already 1 p.m., we decided to just doctor the bull and take the rest of the day off. I also decided that if I’m ever in a truck that kills a raven, I’m just going to go home and spend the day in bed.    Bob Kinford can be contacted via e-mail.