Memories

We all agree that thumbs are useful. That being said I seem to be punishing my left thumb.

When I was in the 7^th or 8^th grade it all started. Now we all know never to tie a horse low to something. They can use their size and cause trouble. Well I was in a hurry and tied my horse to some steps attached to a shed. I went into the shed and came back out. I stepped on the steps and the horse decided it was time to educate me. With a mighty heave the steps were no longer attached to the shed and I was airborne. I landed on my left side and injured my left thumb. It promptly swelled up and hurt. The steps were destroyed and did not make a soft landing pad. I got to skip school that day. Then the next day it turned cold, like 30 below zero and we had 5 or 6 feet of snow. The wind stopped blowing, but it stayed cold. We had 40 heifers in a corral. To feed them we put bales of hay on toy sleds and a sack of grain on a donkey. The heifers had pink eye so we had to catch and treat each one. No we didn’t have a squeeze chute so they had to be roped and wrestled. That meant we were outside in bright snow and cold. When we went to the house I discovered that warm was not my friend. I could not see in the house, snow blindness, so I groped my way to the bathroom and ran cold water on the danged thumb. It liked the cold. I really liked being outside in the cold because my thumb felt great. It was the warm that hurt. It eventually warmed up and my thumb got over hurting.

Skip several years. I was on a fishing boat, and it was a successful trip. The ocean was a bit sloppy. I decided to fillet the fish. Somehow I ran a knife into my left thumb. Not painful. Nice to have a brother in law for a surgeon. He towed me to his clinic and stitched the thing up. Yes I got a bill for the stitching, but it was worth it.

Then a couple years ago I was shearing some sheep. Old time sheep shearers always wear a glove on their off hand. Well I was not going to be bothered. Yup. I ran the machine into my left hand. No it would not stop bleeding. Off to immediate care for stitches and a tetanus shot. Well when they got done wrapping the thing it looked like a major injury. I had trouble getting a glove on that hand to I could finish the project I started. The only thing that hurt was the tetanus shot.

Now to present day. I was butchering a lamb and using a very sharp Montana knife. Don’t ask me how, cause I don’t know. I stabbed my left thumb. No pain, but again it would not stop bleeding. Off to urgent care. The medical staff remarked on the bleeding. I told them the cut was self cleaning. The nurse decided I needed stitches, and three were applied..It leaked for a couple days, but nothing drippy. The nurse asked me if I had been using a sterile knife. I told her that the knife had started clean, but I was butchering a lamb so it had never been sterile. Danged numbing shots were painful. A couple days later I took the lambs in for cut and wrapping. One of the cutters looked at my thumb and then showed me her left thumb scars. She told me that tap water for cleaning and self applied stitches were quicker than medical folks. I’m not that tough. She recommenced I go on Amazon and order some butchering gloves. I did that. Now the real question. Will I be able to find them when I butcher next.

I am borrowing this story from John. I assure you it is true.

First some background. 4-H is open to kids at the age of 9. Most boys and girls are rather small. The kids show hogs, sheep, cattle and horses. The cattle are often market steers and they will weigh between 1100 and 1500 pounds.

Now to the story. A small boy was showing his steer at the fair. He is in the show ring. By reaching high while holding onto the halter’s lead rope he is able to keep his steer’s head up. That way the steer is shown to have good conformation. However, it is apparent that the boy is very angry.

Here is the rest of the story. The boy was very angry at his father. You see he only weighed 89 pounds. The law states that the child must ride in a car seat until the weight of 90 pounds is attained. While traveling to the fair the father made the son ride in a child’s car seat. He explained that he didn’t want a ticket for not making the son ride in the child’s car seat.

Now the son is handling a 1500 pound steer, and he is still angry. The judge knew why. He told the boy that if he looked over the top of the steer he could keep track of the judge. Proper show ring etiquette is the person showing their animal always keeps their eyes on the judge. Now folks that boy was never going to see over that steer. The boy said, “Sir when I grow I’ll be able to see over the steer.”

Just a taste of ranch humor.

Growing up on a dry land ranch was at times shear work. Dad enlisted the help of three cousins. Bob from Washington. Bob and Mick from Oregon. Mick was the youngest and he had a bit of trouble adapting. For instance the rule was if you put something on your place you had to eat it. Mick took a hamburger patty that contained chopped onions. He began picking the onion out and made a little pile. We warned him that he would have to eat the onion. He refused and got ready to leave the table. Dad stopped him and told him to eat the onions. He refused and the standoff ensued. We left the table leaving Dad and Mick. There was a lot of complaining on Mick’s part. I don’t know how long they were at the table, but the onion was eaten.

Bob, from Washington, was a city boy. Man could he run. He would leave the house and run about four and a half miles to the highway, and back. It must have seemed like it was uphill both ways. In reality it was uphill coming back. He had more stick to it than me. I only ran for important things, like chasing lost sheep and high school sports, that didn’t include track.

During hay season we spent some long days hauling hay. Several years there was chopped rye hay. Granddad would run the chopper and blow the hay into a wagon. The wagon got full and was towed to the stack area where it was backed up to an auger. Three boys is all that would fit across in a wagon. The hay was unloaded with pitch forks. The only injury I can recall was when I pinned my foot to the wagon floor with a pitch fork. I think we averaged about 5 minutes to unload the wagon. There was a trick. If you got too much hay into the auger the pipe would plug up. Did I mention there was a fourth boy in the stack spreading out the hay and making the stack.

If we got in too big of a hurry and the pipe plugged and all work stopped. A long extension ladder was placed in the stack yard. The ladder could not be leaned against the pipe because the pipe was not supported. Three boys held the ladder and the fourth climbed the ladder to the curve in the pipe. Using a nine sixth inch wrench the climber took the pipe apart. However, that was not the tricky part. If a wrench, bolt or washer was dropped it landed in the chopped hay and the hay ate the danged thing. Since we were 40 miles from a hardware store it was critical that nothing was dropped. The plug was cleared and the pipe reassembled and we were back in business. Did I mention that the most disliked job was working on the stack. Blowing rye hay and dirt were terrible. In your eyes and inside your clothing.

Our work days started fairly early. We wanted to be in the field when it was cool. We would work until about noon and break for lunch. The theory was we would then stay out of the field until it began to cool in the evening. It never worked that way. We ate lunch and got a short nap and were back in the field no later than two. Then we worked until late evening, whenever that was. Did you know that the hottest part of the day is between 2 and 4? We wore long sleeved shits, partially for protection from the rye, but mainly because the desert air is thin and we sunburned. The ground on the ranch was covered with fine pumice. The sun reflected off the pumice and actually burned the whites of our eyes. One would think sunglasses. Back then the sunglasses we could afford all had plastic lenses, and they dissolved in clarity due to the pumice. We did wear hats with about four inch brims for sun protection.

We had baled hay too. The baled hay was on the ground where the baler dropped it. The guy on the ground would roll the bale to get to the wire ties. As the bale rolled a cherry headed cricket was often found. Off the truck one of us would jump and grab the critter. I don’t recall ever killing a cricket. However there was a catch. About a third of the time the grabbing of the cricket got interesting. The intended victim cricket would actually be a scorpion. The mid air boy would see the stinging thing and do some pretty fantastic maneuvers, and we never laid hands on the scorpion. We did kill them. We didn’t have to worry about snakes. The pumice was too hard on their bellies.

The boys on the ground bucked the bales to the boy stacking on the truck. The fourth boy was the driver. Always a challenge. Get close to the bale, but not too close. Move the rig forwards, but not too fast. Driving was OK, but being inside a cab without air conditioning was pretty miserable. Besides, what was air conditioning. At the stack things were changed up. More boys were stacking. The rye hay was very slick so it had to be stacked with a pattern for each layer, or the stack would slide apart and you had to start over. Dad found a guy who made a diagram for us to follow. Of course there were stack games. Like throwing a bale off the rig and trying to knock the stacker down. The bales weighed about 110 pounds.

At night we slept in the bunk house which was couple hundred feet from the house. One time we decided to be defiant and sleep in. We knew dad would have to walk to the bunk house and get us. However, that never happened. Dad stepped out of the house and yelled. We didn’t stir. Then we heard the crackle of and electric stock prod. We were up n a flash. Lesson learned.

The City of Prineville had a population of under 5000 people. There were 6 police officers and one jailer/janitor. The police department owned 3 cars. Two were marked and the newer one was unmarked, it was the chief’s car. When there were three of us on patrol we had to drive to the chief’s house and get his car. On this night there were three of us on, but only two cars. I was sort of in trouble about catching a person after and elude incident. This night was a quiet night. The Sergeant and the Corporal decided to ride together in a market unit.

I was starting my second week as a Prineville Police Officer when this incident occurred. Before my first week had ended I was sort of labeled as trouble and assigned to the department’s corporal. Trouble seemed to follow me around and I somehow managed to get into it. The sergeant and corporal were riding in the front seat and I was sitting in the back seat of a patrol car. I was listening to them talk and to the radio, I was hoping to learn from their words of wisdom. We received a call of someone “casing” Joe’s Eastside Market. Now the market was outside the city limits of town, but a city commissioner owned the store, so off we went to check out the report.

I was dropped off at the front door while the sergeant and corporal went to the rear of the store. I had been there about a minute when the store owner arrived. He was drunk by all standards. He asked if I had checked the interior of the store. I told him the front door was locked and we had just arrived. He unlocked the front door. I stepped inside and he locked the door behind me. Well, I figured I would just stand there until I was rescued by the sergeant and corporal. I didn’t have a radio and beating on the door didn’t get me out. The commissioner just smiled.

I heard voices in the store and by listening I decided they were the bad guys. I yelled at them to give up and come out, but for some reason they refused. Have you ever tried to chase someone through a grocery store, up and down the isles. It became apparent to me that I had to think fast. I grabbed some cans of food and began throwing them over the isles at the bad guys. I herded them into a corner by throwing the cans and managed to grab them. I had two bad guys and one set of cuffs, and I wasn’t bright enough to cuff them together, so I didn’t cuff either one of them. Beside I didn’t have handcuff key.

I took them back to the front door. The owner looked at me and refused to unlock the door. Now I’m stuck inside with two bad guys and no way to request help, or to get out of the store. I asked the bad guys how they got in. They took me to the back of the store and showed me a hole they had made in the outer wall. I could hear the sergeant and corporal talking outside. I decided if I could hear them, they could hear me. I yelled that I was “sending two” out to them. I pushed the first guy out and he was jerked away, followed by a metallic ringing sound. I pushed the second guy out and he disappeared, again there was that same ringing sound.

I decided I didn’t like that ringing sound so I didn’t go out the hole. I yelled out that I was inside and the owner was at the front door, but he would not let me out that way. They told me to meet them at the front door. I went to the front door and the sergeant arrived with the store keys and let himself in. He wanted to know what I had gotten into this time, and why was I in the store? I explained my actions and walked him through the store. I was ahead of him near the hole in the wall when I heard the hammer get pulled back on his revolver. The Sergeant had already demonstrated that his revolver had a hair trigger. I stopped moving, wondering if I was going to be shot on the spot. The sergeant ordered me to show him my hands, without turning around. I did as I was told. He th

I was raised on dry land sheep and cattle ranch. We ran 600 cows and 4000 sheep, not counting bulls, rams, lambs or calves. Some things I learned the hard way, and other times by watching.

My brother and I purchased two old Rambouillet ewes. They were pregnant and had lambs. They were also the only registered sheep I ever purchased. Two of the lambs were rams (bucks). One grew horns and the other was a natural mulie, in simple terms he didn’t grown horns. When they were about a year old they were mixed with some Suffolk bucks. The fights began. The bucks had a hierarchy of dominance. First the hornless Suffolks took on the horned buck. I was rather worried. They would back up and run and then jump into the air hitting the opposing animals in the air. Yes some blood was spilled, but they just shook their heads and continued with life. I don’t recall who won the bouts. Next the attention was turned on the hornless ram. I figured he was going to get his neck broken, or head bashed in. This buck probably weighed in a hundred pounds less than his Suffolk rivals. They squared off and the bigger ram made the run and threw himself into the air at the little defenseless buck. That little thing did even not take evasive action. He just stood there. The airborne buck thought he had an easy win. The little guy dropped onto his knees and braced, lining up with the big boy’s nose. The big boy could not change his airborne trajectory. There was a mighty crack. The airborne buck staggered and wobbled. Blood flowed from his nose. When he recovered it was apparent his nose was broken. When the dominance fights continued the little buck was avoided. The little buck always won because he never went head to head. He cheated and went head to his opponents nose. I recall having several bucks that had crooked noses.

We were in Powell Butte at the shearing pens. My job was to keep the ewes and rams pushed into the holding pens and then keep the individual shearing pens at around five sheep, and never run out. The ewes weighed in at about 250 pounds and the bucks were 100 pounds above that. I was a whopping under a hundred pounds, but I knew how to handle and move sheep. Well it happened. Two bucks decided they didn’t like each other and they stopped the whole process. They were banging heads and no ewes would go around them. Then I had a brilliant idea. I saw a shovel with a wooden handle. I decided to insert the shovel handle between the bucks just as they knocked heads. My timing and anticipation were perfect. Crash they went and then my arms felt like they were going to vibrate and fall off. As for the shovel handle. It was in splinters. Lesson learned. Do not get between fighting bucks

My brother and I were setting up sheep while dad and my granddad tagged sheep. It was a little chilly. There was a couple inches of snow on the ground. We were laying 4 foot by 8 foot pieces of plywood on top of the snow so the sheep would slide easier and the taggers could work with relative ease. The boards were ¾ inch and heavier than I wanted to pickup and carry. So I would tip them into the air and shuffle them into place. To make a long story short.. My hands slipped on the wet and snow covered wood. Where did the wood go? It followed the laws of gravity and went towards the ground. Somehow my face got in the way and my nose took the lead. I caught the board with that appendage and lost some hide. Now my face was cold enough that I felt no pain. That or I have a numb skull. My eyes watered. No big deal. We stopped for lunch and the cook gave me the evil eye and suggested I stay outside his trailer. I did not understand such a rude reception. It was suggested I find a mirror. The pickup mirror worked. I had leaked blood all over my face. Once the mess was somewhat cleaned up I could have lunch. Ron and I actually got paid for this job. Ron used his money to purchase a nice hunting rifle. I used my money to purchase Becky an engagement ring.

I learned the hard way about butting animals. Sheep keep their eyes open until a split second before impact. That means they are harder to avoid until they are in the air. Cows and bulls seem to shut their eyes a bit sooner. I could work bulls and cows with a prod pole because of this. The charge, the closed eyes; place the prod pole across the head and brace. In manure covered corrals it was sort of fun to get pushed around. When I got tired of the push I angled the pole and exited the critter. Now that was probably not smart, but it was a thrill. I showed my technique to dad. He sort of scorned my method and produced a pitch fork. Critters did not like the pointed ends. Pitch forks and sheep did not work.

Dad’s partner, Jack Shumway, fed the bucks by throwing bales of hay off the back of a pickup. There were between 80 and 100 bucks. The bales weighed about a hundred pounds. The bucks learned to meet the bales in the air. They had fun breaking the bale’s strings. Dad was feeding the bucks. He didn’t toss the bales, he rolled them off the pickup in chunks. Then dad hopped off the back of the pickup. You guessed it. A buck met him in the air. Dad got a heavy pipe and he and that buck danced until the buck kept his head away from Dad. Dad and I were feeding some bulls baled hay. I thought it was fun to throw the bales onto the bull’s heads. Dad corrected me. He said if I wanted to jump on a bulls head I was going about it the right way. The thought of a 2000 pound animal tossing me into the air was enough to stop that game.

I am writing this because it is once again lambing and shearing season. I have 14 ewes and a buck to work. The buck is large and I need to shear and trim his feet. I wonder how that adventure is going to come about? Becky and I did make a shearing table so I hope that works.

This occurred in the City of Prineville. The town had under 5000 people and a lot of churches and bars. I was an officer in the city from 1971 through 1976.

I was sent to a residence and asked to transport a young man to the hospital because he had an apparent mental illness. Now I knew this young fellow and I can assure you that most of his illness was self inflicted from alcohol and drug abuse. I also knew that the gift of gab would get him to the hospital, because when he was high or drunk he didn’t feel pain and it would take more than me to win a wrestling match. I lied to the young man and talked him into my car and then out of the car and into a “secure” hospital room. I left him in the care of the nursing staff. They gave him an injection of something that was to make him mellow. He was very happy about receiving something in a needle.

A few hours later I was sent to a local church that had a very tall steeple. Inside the church a meeting was in progress when sounds were heard on the roof. It was thought that a giant bird or maybe a giant rat had gotten onto the roof. When the church folks went outside to investigate the strange noises they discovered a man had climbed to the top of the steeple and was cursing the world. When I arrived I discovered the man on the steeple was the same man I had left at the hospital, and he obviously wasn’t mellow any more. I had the dispatcher telephone the hospital personnel and determine why they had released the young man, or maybe he had escaped from their custody, because it was obvious he was still a danger to himself. The hospital said he had torn the heavy metal screen off his hospital room’s windows and had run off. I was informed that the hospital had not reported his unauthorized discharge because they didn’t want him back.

Now I’m standing on the ground looking up toward the young man, who was at least 50 feet up the steeple, singing away, but not in a language that was conducive to being sung from a church steeple, especially on a Sunday. Most of the church people were demanding I climb up on the church, and up the steeple, where I was to gently remove the young man. I was reluctant to make that climb. My wings were not fully developed and I figured I would be dislodged from the steeple and I would not be able to float to the ground gracefully, and besides the ensuing crash would ruin my image and muss my uniform.

I could have employed the talking the person down, but I had not been sent to one of those classes on crises intervention. Heck, I didn’t even know they existed. I was trying to remain professional and not simply curse the idiot. He was talking poorly about me.

As I stood there a deputy drove up in his patrol car. I was thankful for any assistance he might be able to give me. He was the only other officer on duty, besides me, in Crook County. I explained the situation to him and while we were there the church people were yelling at me to climb up the steeple and rescue the man. The deputy looked at me and then walked quietly to the side of the church. He looked up at the young man and yelled until he had his attention. Then to my utter horror he made a statement that I haven’t forgotten. He said, “ You crazy son of a bitch, either climb down off that roof or jump and splatter your guts on the sidewalk because you’re making me late for lunch ”.

All of the church people stood there in stunned silence. Their mouths were the shapes of large “O’s” and their eyes were as big as dinner plates. I knew this was going to be reported to my boss as a large public relations disaster. There was a roar coming from the top of the steeple, the young man was making the unearthly noise. Down he came with speed that would make an antelope jealous. He sounded like an enraged lion or maybe a mad bull, or maybe both at once. When he landed on the ground, it was on both feet, he attacked me, not the insulting deputy. Down to the ground we went. In the scuffle that followed the deputy helped me handcuff the young man and place him in the back of my patrol car. Once in the patrol car he rolled onto his back and kicked all of the back windows out of my patrol unit.

I hauled him to jail in my newly air conditioned car. When he sobered up he was again a calm young man. I must confess that my boss was not impressed about the newly air conditioned car. He was also not pleased about insulting the poor man because of being late to lunch. He still thinks I coached the deputy about what to say to the disturbed young man. By the way my wings still haven’t developed.

Then there was Jewell. She was a looker and had never been ridden. I got her home and broke her to ride and pack deer. I bought her and Hunter in 1999, the year I retired from police work. She became our pasture pet until her knee and feet disintegrated. Once I was riding her in the pasture when she bogged it and bucked. She fell, rolled over and I jumped off. As she got up I jumped back on. No harm, no foul. Dang she was fast, but she tolerated me. Was sort of a nice way to ride a bucking horse.

See, Becky was assisting with horse names, otherwise I would have had Red number…Hunter was pretty well broke out and he packed deer and elk. His only real trouble was he is lazy. To work on his feet I had to use a barn wall so he could lean against it, or he fell down. When you put shoes on a horse the hoof is first prepared and then the shoes are nailed on. I took me 15 minutes to a half an hour per foot. One afternoon it was stormy and windy with lightning and barking dogs. I decided Hunter needed a ride to make certain he was grand kid proof. Well he bucked and reared up. I jerked his head and he lost his balance and we crashed. I landed on the point of my shoulder. A noise was heard, you know the cracking of a bone sound.. I led Hunter to the barn and discovered I could not raise my right arm. Hunter was not even shaken up. Becky helped me put the saddle and gear up. At the hospital I was asked if anything hurt and I said only when I moved my right arm. I was humored and the doctor finally relented and ordered an x-ray. The doc came back wide eyed and showed me the film. My collar bone was in three pieces. I was sent home and told I had no limits if I could stand the pain. Becky and I hauled and stacked hay in the barn the next day. Yes the thing healed.

I have packed deer and elk on Hunter. I packed deer on Jewell. Hunter is pretty bomb proof. Although he likes kids and will tolerate them on his back he has never been ridden by kids without being led. As I write this Hunter has developed arthritis in his knees. It is painful for him to walk so he is on medication. No he still doesn’t like his feet to be trimmed.

The best pack horse I ever had was named Chief. He was an ugly looking horse, white with spots. When we bought him I had to reach an understanding with him. As I put the saddle on he tried to bite me. We got that straightened out. The first ride was with a halter and he did fairly well. At home he and I had a talk and he became a wonder. Seems that two women had owned him and he had bluffed them into doing only what he wanted. The first deer I tied on him I expected him to buck the deer off. He never flinched. Then I took him elk hunting. He loved the wilderness and was like a cat walking through logs and brush. My brother killed an elk and it was several miles into the wilderness. I took Chief and a heavy rope. When I got to the elk I tied Chief to a large tree. Then I proceeded to load the elk quarters onto his back. He never flinched. Taking him out was a wonder. He sidestepped trees so the pack did not rub. He actually crouched if he thought a tree branch was going to touch the top of the pack. I lost Chief to old age.

Red number 2 packed second best, I used him for police work.. However he didn’t care about smashing the pack into trees, and that was a problem. He packed an elk out for me in the dark. If you don’t know, horses can see better in the dark than people can. The problem on the in the dark pack was Red wanted to be in front of me. I could visualize him attacking trees with the pack. I didn’t have a flashlight. I stayed in front. For revenge he stepped on my heels as often as he could. The next day I was really sore footed. The pack out was about seven miles.

We packed another horse with deer and elk. He was a big solid ranch horse. He was adverse to packing deer and elk. Once they were tied on he was great. However, I think I can take you back into a wilderness and show you the trail he left by smashing elk horns into trees. That was not a problem once you knew it was going to happen. You were very careful about where you took him. Now the problem. When you first approached Whiskey with a meat he would spin and sort of kick. This movement would dump you and the meat onto the ground. The temptation was to beat him within an inch of his life. Once he had you on the ground he just glared at you and then stood still as the now dirty meat was loaded on. Once I learned the getting pushed down thing, I mostly remembered to tell folks that the first approach was hazardous. He never hurt anyone and the pushed down folks stood in amazement while I loaded the horse and while he never moved.

My brother broke a colt out for himself. The horse was named Lip because when he got mad his lower lip stuck out. I remember Ron riding him the first couple times. Lip would bog his head and buck in a straight line. He bucked straight until he head butted the corral fence. I guess that knocked some sense into him. The last time Lip bucked I thought he was going to die. Ron had a brand new rifle, complete with a scope. He was very careful with the rifle so it didn’t get scratched or banged up. For an unknown reason Lip bucked. I don’t recall if Ron hit the dirt. When the dust cleared the rifle was not to be found. Ron was visualizing a broken rifle and Lip’s life was at risk. After several minutes of searching the rifle was found. It was suspended in sage brush. It had not touched the ground and it was not scratched. Whiskey lived.

Packing into elk camp one year we utilized Whiskey and Red. One day I was in the lead with Red and I think it was Levi that was following with Whiskey. Whiskey was not happy and the poor kid was having to drag him up the trail. Well Levi was suddenly yelling and Whiskey tried to knock Red and I off the trail. Seems as though Red stepped on a yellow jacket nest. Along came Levi and Whiskey. Now the yellow jackets were angry at having their house stepped on. The opening to their house was a hole in the ground. Red and I did not get stung by the mad things, but I know for certain Whiskey did. Whiskey was not hard to lead for at least a mile before he reverted to his old habits.

We had a ranch horse named Rusty. Rusty was a good cow horse and a fair riding horse. He was not trustworthy around strangers. I was deer hunting with him, and I got a buck deer high up on a mountain, about 2 miles from a road. My theory was that the horse was going to pack the deer out, not me cause I am rather lazy. I tied Rusty to a big pile of brush and approached him with the deer. He wasn’t having any part of the deer. I tried rubbing his nose with blood in hopes that would help..I think rubbing blood on a horses nose must be a wives tale. No change. I tied him to a bigger bush and roped his four feet together and pushed him against rock rim. Then I securely tied the deer to the saddle. This took about an hour and I was getting cranky. I released Rusty’s feet and the fun began. He began bucking. He bucked around me lots of times, all the way down the mountain, but he packed the deer out. I don’t know who won, but I never packed him again.

I was riding Red in the Bend parks for events. It was decided I didn’t know about horses. I got sent to the Inn of the 7th Mountain Resort where a dude wrangler was going to evaluate me and my horse. I took two horses, Red and Rusty. Another Officer had to go along. This was because the other officer had gotten bucked off during an event.

It was sort of funny. His horse unloaded him on a paved street. He slid across the street and head butted a curb. His lights went out. I checked and he was breathing so I requested an ambulance and then caught his horse. The ambulance crew was excited. First they ran over an events in progress sign. Then they got to us. By now I had evaluated the situation. The officer sat up and talked. He would see his blood and pass out. He did this several times. The ambulance crew loaded him into the back of their rig. I heard them say there was no pulse. I looked and they were preparing to shock the officer. I yelled that he was wearing a protective vest. Out of the ambulance flew the vest, no shock was required.

For formal evaluation, I saddled Red and rode into an arena. The “expert” started yelling and shook a plastic tarp. No problem, Red did not flinch. I took the trap and pulled it over Red and I, still no reaction. So now I decided to have some fun. I switched to Rusty. I shook the tarp and he spooked and shied away. So I did the only thing I could think of. Using a rope I laid Rusty down. I kept him on the ground and worked a tarp around and over him. When he settled down I let him back up onto his feet. Then I took the tarp and pulled it over Rusty while I was on him. This process took me about an hour. The wrangler said both horses passed the check. Folks I’m telling you that Red was great around people. Rusty was still a solid ranch horse, but would never be a park horse. The wrangler called my boss and told him my horses were great, but not to have me come back because I knew more than he did. Which was true.

When I rode in the parks I wore a straw hat and a police uniform. After I left the police department all of the officers wore their uniforms and a crash helmet. I think the helmet ruined the PR factor. If the department was worried that the officers might get hurt by their horses then neither the horse nor its rider should have been assigned that duty. However, maybe the City was told by someone that it was a requirement. For an example. Some guy wanted to drive a horse and wagon in a parade. I think he was advertising his business of carriage rides. His horses spooked and damaged several cars before the setup was stopped. I saw the crash happen, but I was too far away to help the poor guy out. I hope his insurance was good.

Let me set the record straight. My friend Spud and I were the same age and rode bucking stock to break the horses out for ranch work. We were Desert Rats. When we got to high school Spud rode in a couple rodeos. I don’t know how he did. Me, myself and I never considered a rodeo. First off it is too far to the ground to get bucked off. Second if you do complete the ride you are supposed to grab onto a pick up rider and be lowered to the ground. That maneuver is nuts. I would have done what Ron did at Oregon State University. The rodeo club wanted him to try out. He rode two bucking horses to a stand still. Sort of pissed the rodeo folks off when their wild broncs became saddle horses. This uninvited him to their club.

Some I forgot to ride.

First horse was Applejack. I fell off when he bucked after I hit him with a stick. I was 5 years old and ended up with a split ear lobe. That sort of was painful. We were in sheep camp, several miles south of Bend. The ride to town was painful because I felt every bump and I had lived in relative state of no pain. At the doctor’s office I made a life changing mistake. I kicked the doctor. The consequences of that kick are remembered to this day. Yes I treat doctors with respect.

Next was the sweet little donkey. I was still about 5 years old and the donkey was so sweet. I managed to put a bridle on him. I don’t recall where I got the bridle. I asked for a saddle and the request was denied. Now you may wonder what can go wrong. Sweet donkey and a bareback ride. I climbed on and the danged thing just stood there. Looking back on the situation I am certain the donkey was giving me a last moment to reconsider. I kicked the donkey and he began walking. Great a ride at last. Except he would not turn right or left. Then he began trotting. I decided I wanted a walk. I pulled on the reins to slow down. Except the donkey must have thought I meant faster. He began a gallop. Well that wasn’t as hard to ride as the trot. I kept pulling back and maybe said stop in horse language. The donkey must have understood horse language. He dropped to his knee and stopped. I was suddenly air born, but I still had the reins. Except the reins got tight and I did a flip and landed on my back. No I was not hurt, but I was out of breath. The donkey’s head was directly over mine. He looked me in the eye, with I told you so, and walked off. Was sort of a while before I tried that again.

Then there was Brownie, the horse Jack gave me. I saddled her and climbed on. She sort of accepted me and we learned to ride together. She had never been ridden before. She was a great horse and you could work cattle all day on her. If a calf cut back you had best be paying attention because she would turn fast enough and low enough to the ground you would get dirt in the tops of your boots. Did I mention she was a big horse. half Percheron and half Quarter Horse. Her only fault was her feet. They were very hard. Except for trimming I don’t recall ever putting shoes on her.

Then came Tag. He didn’t like to start the riding thing. He bucked nonstop without moving. He was the first horse I actually rode that was bucking. I was up there and he was a reluctant participant. Dad opened the gate and off we went. He could see an escape route and I could see miles of open range land. He began bucking just outside the corral. Now to stop a horse from bucking I was told to pull their head around and onto your knee. With a mighty tug I pulled the left rein. It broke. All was not lost. I pulled the right rein. Yup, it broke. I looked to the ground which was miles away. I decided it was to dangerous to get off. Tag bucked until my neck and shoulders hurt. Then he hesitated and I sprang to the ground. I don’t know who educated who. That was the last time he bucked. I could work ornery bulls with him or cows and calves. My granddad liked to ride him. Tag was a very big, muscular horse and he was fast. He and Granddad got along well. Tag would cut after a calf and then correct himself and catch granddad. Tag’s mother was a sort of race horse mare that we never rode. She had moon blindness so she could not be ridden at night because she could not see a thing. In the daytime she became excited she would run backward until she fell over. Tag must have inherited that trait because in his older life you had to be careful. If a spot on his shoulder became sweaty you knew he was about to loose it and go backward. One time dad loaned Tag and Lip, another horse we broke, to the neighbors. We never got on a horse after it was saddled before we lead it a bit. Well those cowpoke saddled and jumped on. Both horse bogged their heads and threw their riders to the ground. The cowboys lead the horses a bit ad then worked the rest of the day without any more mishaps.

Next was a horse that I called Red or Blaze. This was Red # 1 because until Becky set me straight I always named horses by color. Red was a good education for me. He always bucked sometime during the day when you rode him. He would start with the standard: bog his head and buck about three jumps ahead. Then he would come up high in the front and sunfish out, jamming himself sideways to the ground like he was going to fall onto his side, one side and then the other. I fell off him when we came out of a plowed field onto solid dirt. He bogged his head and I braced, oops with the new saddle. I rolled down his neck and landed sitting in the dirt with his head in my back. He trotted home and I walked. Last time I rode him I was 3-4 miles from the house, and he hadn’t bucked. Then he did and I lost my hat. I rode back and got off. I picked up my hat. As I was turning to get back on he whirled and kicked me, dislocating my knee. I flopped around in the brush and decided I had best get something done. I was in tall enough brush I could not be seen resting on the ground. I used my other foot and got my knee back into working positions. Red would not let me catch him. He stayed about 10 feet in front of me until we were about a mile from the house. Then he quit me. I walked home. The house was full of visitors. I went to the bedroom and got a rifle and headed out the door. Evidently Dad saw me and asked where I was headed. I told him I was going after my saddle. Next question was where was the saddle, answer was it was just over the hill. Next question was why the rifle. I said my saddle was still on Red. I had to leave the rifle and go collect Red with a pickup. Not long after the foreman of the ZX Ranch stopped by. He was looking at the horses in the corral. Dad sold him Red because he was a beauty. I was asked if I could ride the horse. The answer was yes. About a year later the foreman stopped by and he asked if I had actually ridden the horse. Answer was yes and I had worked cows on him a lot. He laughed and said he loved the horse because none of his genuine cowboys could ever ride him, and here I was a sheepherder and I had ridden the horse. Red later got sold to a bucking string, he was never ridden.

Next was Chicken Charlie. He was a wonderful horse and he was pretty green. Becky and I were a couple miles out and going to move horses. He started tossing his head. I snapped the reins and he continued. Next toss I slammed him with my spurs. He went straight up and when I shifted my weight he swapped ends. I was off balance and landed in the brush, straddling a big rock. I wasn’t hurt and he waited. We went on to move horses and that was the Man From Snowy River ride. He and I had an agreement. I didn’t jam him with spurs and he didn’t buck. I went in to the Navy. When I got back I learned that Chicken Charlie lived at the neighbors. I next heard that he and Red were both in a bucking string in Madras. We watched Red buck first. Classic buck and sun fish, the rider fell off. Then was Chicken Charlie. He came straight up and then swapped ends, and put a spin into the process, and his rider fell off. One was called the Pine Mountain Special and the other the Brother’s Special. I don’t know how long Chicken Charlie bucked. Red bucked and was unridden for several years. Then one day they opened the bucking gate and he simply walked out the gate, never to buck again.

Next horse of significance was again called Red. He was a race horse and he was very fast. He won almost all of his races, with a catch. He would start and then buck the jockey off and continue the race and usually win. Dad bought him. First time Dad rode him they were moving cows. A calf cut back and Red started after the calf. Only he ran the calf’s speed. Dad kicked him and Red stopped and rolled Dad off into the brush. I got called. I was riding in the corral. I could not see a problem. Dad opened the gate. As we cleared the gate I kicked Red with my spurs to make him run. Well he bogged it and bucked and screamed and bit my feet. When that was over he was a cattle horse. He didn’t like kids and would not tolerate them on him. We were hunting on Pine Mountain and we got a deer. We sent Levi (about 7 years old) back to get the horse. Levi came back riding him. Levi said it was too far to walk so he just climbed on. I rode Red for ranch work and for the police department. He was great with people and allowed little kids to pull his tail and crawl under him. He only got upset twice. First time I was working traffic and this guy in a fancy car kept crowding up behind Red. I felt Red shift and there was a loud metallic bang. Red had kicked the fancy car’s bumper. It didn’t hurt Red, but it did knock all the dust off the car. I don’t think there was damage, but the guy was half frightened and didn’t say anything. Second was a punk kid. He walked up to Red and punched him in the nose. Red set back on his heels and then lunged forward. I stopped Red before he tore a hunk off the kid with his teeth. Red was pissed. I told the kid that he best start running because I was just going to let Red have him. The race was on. I just sat still and enjoyed the ride. We went through crowds of people, through tents and under awnings. The kid finally climbed up on a picnic table and stopped, exhausted and crying. I told the kid to leave the park, and he did.

Red and I had a wreck in Redmond. I was letting him run full out on wet irrigated grass. Desert horse and desert rider. We turned too fast. His feet went out from under him and we landed on our right sides. I held him down while I kicked free of the saddle. I let him up and he stood up. He had grass stains from his feet to the middle of his back. I started to stand up, but the world went black. I went back to my knees. The lights came back on and I tried to stand up. Yup the world got black. Back to my knees. I found a rock and sat on it. My ears started ringing and the world went black. I could hear, but not see. Becky came and asked me if I was alright. I told her I was great, only I could not see. Then the ringing stopped and I could see again. Off to the hospital. I chipped a tooth and stretched a knee and broke seven of eight bones in my wrist. The doctor set and casted the wrist and turned me loose. No, Red was not hurt. Another adventure was putting shoes on Red. Becky was helping when that wreck occurred. Dang horse jerked and stomped. A nail went thru my thumb and then my thumb smashed my big toe. Did I mention the nail was through the horses hoof? Becky said all the appropriate swear words for me. I asked why she did that, I was amazed. She said she was just getting the swear words out of the way. To the hospital I went because my foot was killing me. At the hospital no one cared about my hurting toe. They were fixated on my thumb’s nail hole. I was threatened with surgery. They finally gave me a liquid IV of antibiotics and let me go home. Damn people refused to look at my poor toe. I think it was broken. I used Red until he died of old age. He could not hear because I worked crowds too close to live music In the parks in Bend.

The City of Prineville had a population of under 5000 people. There were 6 police officers and one jailer/janitor. The police department owned 3 cars. Two were marked and the newer one was unmarked, it was the chief’s car. When there were three of us on patrol we had to drive to the chief’s house and get his car. On this night there were three of us on, but only two cars. I was sort of in trouble about catching a person after an elude incident. This night was a quiet night. The Sergeant and the Corporal decided to ride together in a market unit.

I was starting my second week as a Prineville Police Officer when this incident occurred. Before my first week had ended I was sort of labeled as trouble and assigned to the department’s corporal. Trouble seemed to follow me around and I somehow managed to get into it. The sergeant and corporal were riding in the front seat and I was sitting in the back seat of a patrol car. I was listening to them talk and to the police radio. I was hoping to learn from their words of wisdom. We received a call of someone “casing” Joe’s Eastside Market. Now the market was outside the city limits of town, but a city commissioner owned the store, so off we went to check out the report.

I was dropped off at the front door while the sergeant and corporal went to the rear of the store. I had been there about a minute when the store owner arrived. He was drunk by all standards. He asked if I had checked the interior of the store. I told him the front door was locked and we had just arrived. He unlocked the front door. I stepped inside and he locked the door behind me. Well, I figured I would just stand there until I was rescued by the sergeant and corporal. I didn’t have a radio and beating on the door didn’t get me out. The commissioner just smiled.

I heard voices in the store and by listening I decided they were the bad guys. I yelled at them to give up and come out, but for some reason they refused. Have you ever tried to chase someone through a grocery store, up and down the isles? It became apparent to me that I had to think fast. I grabbed some cans of food and began throwing them over the isles at the bad guys. I herded them into a corner by throwing the cans and managed to grab them. I had two bad guys and one set of cuffs, and I wasn’t bright enough to cuff them together, so I didn’t cuff either one of them. Beside I didn’t have a handcuff key.

I took them back to the front door. The owner looked at me and refused to unlock the door. Now I’m stuck inside with two bad guys and no way to request help, or to get out of the store. I asked the bad guys how they got in. They took me to the back of the store and showed me a hole they had made in the outer wall. I could hear the sergeant and corporal talking outside. I decided if I could hear them, they could hear me. I yelled that I was “sending two” out to them. I pushed the first guy out and he was jerked away, followed by a metallic ringing sound. I pushed the second guy out and he disappeared, again there was that same ringing sound.

I decided I didn’t like that ringing sound so I didn’t go out the hole. I yelled out that I was inside and the owner was at the front door, but he would not let me out that way. They told me to meet them at the front door. I went to the front door and the sergeant arrived with the store keys and let himself in. He wanted to know what I had gotten into this time, and why was I in the store? I explained my actions and walked him through the store. I was ahead of him near the hole in the wall when I heard the hammer get pulled back on his revolver. The Sergeant had already demonstrated that his revolver had a hair trigger. I stopped moving, wondering if I was going to be shot on the spot. The sergeant ordered me to show him my hands, without turning around. I did as I was told. He then said he was going to put cuffs on me and not to move. I didn’t move a muscle. I heard the cuffs ratchet down, but not on me. The sergeant had spotted a third guy hiding in the store room, that’s who he was talking to.

The dispatcher had actually been told by a witness that people were “stealing cases” from the store. She told us people were casing the store. We found the get away driver passed out behind the wheel of a car a short distance away. He had about a dozen car gas caps in his vehicle that led to the arrest of the four for stealing gas from several people, along with a burglary charge. One of those gas caps belonged to the city commissioner that owned the store.

The ringing sound I heard was caused by the bad guys heads impacting the side of the patrol car, making them go to sleep. The sergeant and corporal thought the two guys were escaping from me and as they exited the store they were launched into the side of the patrol car. I knew I didn’t like that ringing sound.

Would you believe I still had the reputation as “trouble”