Buckaroo Wisdom

by

Buck Toff

I was at the trail head yesterday about to ride out my second colt when up drives ol’ Ima Gunsel. I watched Ima for a while and I have to say that fella is lucky he ain’t been shot dead.

First, he don’t know how to back a trailer so he hasta pull in all cockeyed so he can pull straight out. Now that takes up room for about five more trailers.

Ima unloads ol’ Dobbin and leaves his trailer door open and flappin in the wind, and it swings over and knocks out a taillight on the next trailer. Then, he ties up ol’ Dobbin to the trailer on a lead about twenty feet long and goes off to the outhouse.

We know what’s gonna happen and it does. Ol’ Dobbin pulls back (cause Ima ain’t got him halter broke) and his back legs fold up and he is purt soon wrapped up in his lead rope, with all intents of breakin’ his fool leg. Fortunately for ol’ Dobbin, a coupla well intentioned ladies stampede over and set the poor horse free. But ‘cause ol Ima tied the sonovagun with a knot that would hold a Percheron stud in heat, the ladies hadda cut the rope and they cut it mighty close to ol’ Dobbin’s halter.

Now the ladies were well intentioned, but the now shortened lead rope was way too short for them to get holt of ol Dobbin in his current state of anxiety. So, ol’ Dobbin’s off to the races with the well intentioned ladies in hot pursuit. And outta sight they go.

About thirty seconds after their swift disappearance here comes Ima Gunsel, smilin’and lookin’ pretty punchy in his cowboy attire. His smile disappeared pretty quick when he rounds the trailer and sees that his horse is gone. Ima quickly dissolves into a state of panic. First, he don’t see what’s left of the tie rope hangin’ to the trailer, then he starts lookin’ round to see who stolt his horse. Ol Ima is a sendin’ out some powerful threatin’ words about how he’s gonna do some shootin’ here directly. The bad words are flyin’ like feathers in a wind storm when ol Dobbin comes awheelin back though the trailers at about a hunnert miles a hour. A bit later here comes the two well intentioned ladies hollerin’ words that would embarrass a drill sergeant, sweat drippin and them funny lookin’ boots that goes half way to their waist all muddy and their tight pants was some torn from the bushes ol’ Dobbin had run ‘em through.

Before the ladies could pursue ol Dobbin outta the trail head parking lot again, Ima starts hollerin’ that they better stop tryin’ to steal his horse. Well, folks, the well intentioned ladies both did slidin’ stops that woulda won the futurity. And roll backs that brought tears to my eyes. Man, if I could get ol’ Frank to stop and turn like that, man. Now the ladies come at Ima like them zombies in Night of the Living Dead, only a bunch faster. Ima stood his ground for about two seconds, then he folds in two gettin outta there. The well intentioned ladies justa bout had him when he slammed the outhouse door.

One of the well intentioned ladies kepta kickin’ and bangin’ on the door while the other remembered that no well equipped trail rider ever left home without a hammer and nails in the trailer. They was loaded and gone about two minutes after gettin Ima pretty well secured in the outhouse

I went over and put a loop over ol Dobbin, led him into the trailer and closed the door. Last I heard of Ima was some catawallerin about needin help gettin outta the outhouse. Seems to me that is where they put stuff like ol Ima.