Welcome To The Bullpen
Springtime on the Rocking 3R
Harold Ratliff
Fire in the stove crackles as the coffee starts to brew.
Darkness outside, Daylight hasn’t busted through,
You can hear my boots clacking as I walk across the floor,
time to feed the horses as I head towards the door.
Today is sure to be a long one, with lots of work to do.
I’ll have a cup of coffee while waiting on the crew.
Four hundred head of black baldies, we’ll bring em’ to the pen,
to cut, brand, and doctor, fore we sort em’ out again.
For two long years the rains, they’ve failed to fall.
Tanks were dry and grass just wasn’t very tall.
But early last spring, GOD granted us our due,
the grass did grow and tanks filled with water’s blue.
Met Cookie at the campfire, where the wood was fired up.
Biscuits in Dutch ovens, scrambled eggs, and coffee cup,
thick gravy starting to bubble, bacon popping o’er the flame,
prayers uttered over breakfast, the LORD’s name we do proclaim.
The horses have been saddled and wait on picket lines,
for cowboys to climb aboard and chase crafty old bovines.
The orders handed out, to cowboy one and all,
and all are mounted up, sitting saddle straight and tall.
Me and Little Joe work the range out to the west,
and find our share of cows, that put us to the test.
With rope in hand I round up all the cattle from the draw,
brush popping on my leggings, thistles grabbing like a claw.
Find em’ in small herds making gather kinda’ slow.
Push cattle all together to the meadow down below.
One ole cuss decided that she wanted none of that,
and with calf in tow, she headed out across the flat.
Little Joe takes off across the pasture, giving chase,
whipping and a riding as his big sorrel runs the race.
But just before he lets the loop to his lariat fly,
the sorrel stumbles, hits the ground in the blink of an eye.
Little Joe went rolling, his cayuse is lost in dust.
Riding up to Joe, I see he stands in complete disgust.
He said, I almost had her as he gathers up his horse,
and crawls back in the saddle, having to use a little force.
His nose, a little crooked, but none the worse for wear.
The elbow a little bloody, and missing a patch of hair.
Cowboy hat sets crooked up on his bald round head.
Joe sends me out a looking for this renegade instead.
Bout an hour later, as Joe holds the herd below,
I’m headed through the coulee, with cow and calf in tow.
This herd is finally gathered and back to base we trek,
but the day is far from over if we want to earn our check.
Bring this bunch into the pen, join others at the fire,
where calves are dragged up to us and branding will transpire.
Jimmy castrates all the bull calves, as Phil holds em’ good and tight.
Cowboys all a working, trying to finish fore the night.
Heifers all been sorted, mommas back grazing on tall grass,
steers are moved into the pens, trucks waiting to amass,
loads of beef are going to feed lots to put on grain,
make the boss some money, so we can do this all again.
Work on the 3R done, cowboys headed to get clean,
and right back to the campfire for steak and plate of beans.
The boss has sprung for a cowboy band, rowdy and little loud.
I reflect back on our hard days work, and for that I’m very proud.
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