At 5:00 am my cowboy husband went out the front door saying, wish me luck, I’m going out to gather bulls.  Well after choking on my coffee, I said, “What?!!”  What are you riding?

He said Champ.  Champ is our stallion that can do it all.  He is a well-trained cutting horse, rope horse, head and heels, and is working on becoming my barrel horse.

The fact that he was taking Champ gave me some relief.  This horse is tough.  He can stay standing in the worst situations.  I’ve seen him come down off a mountain like the man from Snowy River.

 

 

Now what is the big deal about going to gather bulls, you ask. We are not talking about a nice flat fenced pasture that they are grazing. They are out in about 1000 acres of rough, brushy, rocky, hill country. He and his good friend, Mike, whom he’s known since his rodeo days will be working together.  They take their dogs, ropes, and a couple of horses each.  Knowing the country, he will probably stay on Champ.

It is pitch black outside but by the time they get to this ranch, it should be day break. They will take radios, but because this country is so rugged, they rarely work.

 

He has a bologna sandwich and a bottle of water in his pocket.  Out he goes saying, “It’ll be all day. I’ll try to call, but you know I probably can’t. Don’t be surprised if its dark, I’ll be with Mike. Love You.”

 

They came across a couple of heiffers and 2 bulls, both slick, without brands. Also traveling with them were 2 steers, that had probably gotten away from someone the last time they gathered cattle.  They put the dogs on them and began driving them uphill.  As the cattle began getting tired, they would stop and fight the dogs, but the dogs always won.  Coleman began climbing the part of the mountain that was near vertical.  He sent Mike to go around after the truck and trailer to meet him at the top.  It got so steep that he had to step off of Champ and lead him behind the cattle.  Only a horse as gritty as Champ could’ve gone as far with a rider as he did.  Even after getting off it was tough footing for a horse and Coleman.

I wrote this story about two years ago and had put it aside without describing the rest of the day they had.   A lot has happened since that day.

Unfortunately, some was the worst that can be imagined.

For 23 years, I would leave the house early in the morning and go off to work, not getting home until 5 or 6 at night.  I knew the kind of pickles Coleman could get into.  He is smart enough to wait and tell me after I am home and see that he is fine.  He has often minimalized injuries, and I am tuned in to the phrases he uses when he is doing this.

He has had horses flip over on him. He has broken down and had to walk out from some field miles from home.  He has had tack break and horses buck. And yet he has gone relatively unscathed. But now I am home full time. But even though I’m right here, the worry hasn’t gone away.

 

About a year ago, he came in early in the morning to tell me our “wonder horse” Champ had died during the night.  Apparently, he had coliced and twisted an intestine. We were both devastated.  He was the cornerstone of our whole ranch. Then more worry set in.  He had only young horses on the ranch to do the kind of work that could be considered dangerous on anything other than a completely broke horse.  They spook at wild pigs and stumble in rocks, but they were all he had. So, they’d get broke.

 

Then, we lost his best cow dog, Speedy.  He too, could be counted on to save the day when cattle were getting away. It was always Speed that was used to gather bulls.  A whole pack of dogs couldn’t do as much.  He worked with Coleman every day, like an extra cowboy. I swear that dog could read his mind. When he was with Speedy, Coleman was not alone.

 

Now the most devastating has happened. We have just returned from a memorial service for his friend Mike.  Mike was 75 years old and still cowboying.  He was out in the field where Coleman and he had gathered those bulls, this time alone.  As was his habit, he had taken three horses, 2 broke and one young mare.  As he and his dogs traveled through the field down to the river, he staked out 2 of the horses.  As one would get worn out he’d return and switch horses.

No one will ever know exactly what happened, but by 8 o’clock that night, when he hadn’t returned, his wife called his son to go out looking. Over the years his son had worked with him and knew the mountain and Mike’s routine.  His son first found the loose horse by the tied one cut and bleeding, he then followed the sound of the dogs and found Mike, down by the river, but it was too late.

This was a cowboy that truly lived his life every day.  He was soft spoken and easy to be around. Being married to a cowboy is sometime the best and sometimes the worst.  You just never know which it will be.