CAT WRANGLING AND COWPONY DANCING

by Julie Carter

The hallmark of a cowboy is long days, stupid stunts and never forgetting the story. Laughing at themselves is one of the things they do best.
The agitated cowboy was kicking up dust with his boot while he was paced a small circle, recalling the day with disgust.
His bride had promised to deliver a barn cat to a friend in need of one and his job was to catch it and put it in the pet carrier. No step for stepper, he thought.
The feline was overdue to have a new batch of kittens and the cowboy was sure her cumbersome load would slow her enough for him to get ahold of her and as he promised, carefully place her in the cage that would deliver her to the other side of the county.
As far as he was concerned, a good cat was a long-gone cat.
The noise from the barn was a mixture of snarls, screeches and cussing, all of which came from the cowboy and only some of which came from the cat.
Crashing, banging and at last, the barn door flew open and a flash of fur gave meaning to "running like a scalded cat."
Moments later the cowboy wandered into the daylight wearing a dazed look with his hat sitting slightly askew.
He examined the blood running down his arm and with a cautious hand felt of the claw marks across his face.
"I've been to a hundred county fairs and a goat roping or two," he said, "but I ain't never been as humiliated as I am right now. I've been bit, scratched, hissed at, run over and outsmarted by a cat too stupid not to get pregnant every time she passes by a tomcat."
His degradation plummeted to rock-bottom when his bride came from behind the house still in her bathrobe and slippers, carrying the cat, petting and cooing goodbyes to her as she tucked her inside the carrier.
Where's your horse
The cowboy was day working the area ranches and not one for wasting any daylight, he decided he was up for a little fun when he heard there was a team roping in town that night.
With his horse already in the trailer, he headed to the arena just as thunderheads opened up. Even after entries were taken, the downpour continued so the roping was cancelled. The cowboys got their entry fee money back for another day.
Cash in their pockets and time on their hands is always an ingredient for cowboy mischief.
The Prairie Dog, a local watering hole, filled up fast with the rejects from the rained-out roping. Some lively fun was "fixin' to commence."
Blayke walked in still wearing his chaps and spurs from the day's work. The barmaid, a new hire, was a little on the lippy side and not particularly well-versed in cowboys.
As Blayke headed to the bar, she shouted across the room, "Well cowboy, where's your horse?"
He answered, "Out in the trailer."
"Yea, right!" she said with obvious doubt based on the ignorance she had about cowboys.
"You'll believe me when I ride him around the bar," Blayke said.
"That'll be the day," she naively challenged.
That's all it took. Blayke walked out the door and directly to his trailer, unloaded his bay cowpony and headed back to the bar.
He had to tie his stirrups up so the horse could fit through the door but once inside he let them down again, and stepped up into the saddle.
He began loping slow figure eights around the pool tables while the barmaid stood dumbfounded, mouth open in shock and shaking her head.
The yee-haws from the cowboys leaning on the bar only encouraged the show.
With a glance toward the dance floor, Blayke's intentions were apparent. Some-one handed him a beer as he passed by and the barmaid grabbed a Polaroid camera.
She snapped a picture just as Blayke spun his mount around the floor with his beer held high as if to toast the crowd.
The photo was pinned to the wall for all to see, even years later.
It was documented proof that there isn't much you can challenge a cowboy with that he won't make his best, if unwise, effort to try to meet.
Julie, witness to and part of many unwise cowboy moments, can be reached for comment at jcarter@tularosa.net