On the Edge Of Common Sense

The way a cowboy feels


 

 

Oh, Lord, you gave this ranch to me. I don’t own a stick of it, but it’s mine.

I know it better than anyone,

Every ledge, edge, hedge, boulder, rock and stone.

I know the highest point in each pasture.

I know where the cows hide.

I know the first tank dam that fills every year.

I’m the only one who can start the water truck when it freezes.

I know where the only pasture gate is in two miles of fence between the Canary and the Beacon.

I know whether to take a jacket when we saddle up .

You could drop me down in the middle of this ten-section piece blindfolded on a good horse and I’ll find my way home. I know where you can stick your gooseneck in sand up to your wheel wells.

I know how long to leave the generator going to fill up a ten thousand gallon tank.

I know how many

400 lb calves will

,,On fit in a 20’ trailer.

Edge of I know the combination to every lock on the place.

I can remember when the canyon was a rivulet.

I can remember which calf goes with which cow.

I can remember when the man who owns the ranch lived here. I carry a runnin’ iron for calves born after the brandin’. We have four brands on the place.

I carry pliers in the saddle bag to fix the fences that the illegal immigrants cut through.

I don’t drink enough water.

I don’t use sunblock when I should.

I’ve lost several ropes over the years. I wonder where they go?

I wear out my boot soles but not the heels.

I’ve got leggins, chinks and bat wings depending the weather.

My hat holds water.

My gloves last about 3 months, if I don’t lose’m.

I know which horses to trust and which ones to watch.

I have relived Charlie Russell’s painting “Bronc to Breakfast” more times than I can count. I can braid, rivet, hammer, shape, tape, tear, shoe, clip, cut, bob, whistle, dig, tip, snip, snap, and call the welder when I need to.

I’m indispensible and I’m the first one they let go when the ranch changes hands.

BAXTER BLACK, DVM, has been rhyming his way into the national spotlight and now stands as the best selling cowboy poet in the world. He has achieved notoriety as a syndicated columnist and radio commentator. Compared to “Robin Williams in a cowboy hat,” his philosophy is simple enough; in spite of all the computerized, digitized, high tech innovations now available to mankind, there will always be a need for someone who can “think up stuff.”


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