Just Livin' by the Book

A delightful Bible verse reads: Know your sheep by name; carefully attend to your flocks (Proverbs 27:23). We have no sheep, but everyone else on the place has a name. We usually don’t put much thought into it, though, as critters seem to have a knack for self-christening.

For instance, my favorite Angus, Princess, is a dignified and regal beauty. The heifer Teddy Bear earned her name by virtue of her chubbiness, short legs and tail, and small, fuzzy ears. After she gave birth, she retitled herself Teddy the Terrible Bear because she’s about as protective of her calf (a big guy named Yogi) as a mama grizzly is of her cub.

Our adventurous and high-flying Nigerian Dwarf goat is—who else—Amelia Earhart, also known as Meels (it’s just easier to say). Her round, sweet, blue-eyed, frosty-colored twin is Blueberry.

Our little grey tabby goes by Smokey, short for Holy-smokes-what-a-holy-terror. His nickname, Smokey Pew Mew, is derived from a few of his close encounters with skunks. Just recently, a lean black cat with an infected eye joined our ranks. We dubbed him Spike because he has the same physique and toughness of Snoopy’s brother, and because he reminds Hubby of a human Spike he used to know.

My sweet Quarter Horse mare is Sugar, but due to her chubby, round figure, I often call her Sugar Plum. Hubby has a Tennessee Walker gelding named Solomon, although the only thing he’s wise about is staying away from ornery bulls and protective mama cows.

Both dogs have people names—Jessie and Bodie—because, of course, they are people!

We don’t have to be told to “carefully attend to your flocks”, since we spend the majority of our time, energy and money in making sure that our animals are well-nourished, healthy, safe and comfortable. Hubby says I live by the motto: “If the animals ain’t happy, I ain’t happy.” He adds that “Animal Accommodation Specialist” should be on my résumé, which sounds better than “Pet and Livestock Co-dependent.”

Obviously, Hubby exaggerates my pet-pandering tendencies. I’ll explain my position just as soon as I let the dogs back in the house (it’s hot outside, you know), feed them each a biscuit, fork up the hay that the baler missed in the fields, unload it by the haystack, carry fresh water to the goat pen, let the horses out, cuddle the cats, feed them fresh food because they don’t like the “old” food from this morning, drizzle the dog food with hamburger drippings, put the horses back in the corral, bring the goats into the barn (safe from coyotes), give them some hay and—okay, well, maybe he’s got a point!

Of Character and Cowboy Boots

This is probably the busiest time of year for us, what with haying, irrigating, gardening and canning. Nevertheless, we took a few days off to get together with family to visit and attend the Cheyenne Frontier Days rodeo finals. CFD attracts the best rodeo athletes in the world—men and women, horses and bulls—not to mention some of the hottest country music stars and thousands of tourists from all over the world.

 If you’ve never been to a rodeo, especially this one, you might think it the most redneck of sports. But, dirt and manure not withstanding, I believe it to be one of the classiest. Consider the following:

·         Before the rodeo begins, the announcer prays aloud for our troops, our nation, and the safety of the contestants. People aren’t required to participate but don’t sue anyone who does.

·         The bronc and bull riding events are scored by judges. If a rider doesn’t like the score he gets, you’ll never see him screaming in the face of the officials like you often see at other professional sporting events.

·         After a Christian football player scores a touchdown, he might take a knee or point heavenwards to thank God, but a Christian bronc or bull rider does so whether he scored big or bit the dust and got no score.

·         Instead of cheerleaders, rodeo has clowns. The “barrel man” is the funny clown; the “bullfighters” courageously and acrobatically risk their lives saving the riders from the ornery, ton-plus bulls. Oh, and the clowns are fully clothed.

·         Rodeo cowboys and cowgirls don’t have contracts, agents, or unions—and most make less in a year than most pro ball players make in a day.

·         At the rodeo and home on the ranch, the animals are fed and cared for before the people sit down to eat.

The Virginian would have liked this sport.

Got Hay?

I’m a self-diagnosed hayseed, which, according to the dictionary, is “an unsophisticated person from a rural area; yokel; hick.”

Unsophisticated?  Check. There’s manure on my boots by the back door and alfalfa crumbs in my coat pockets. I haven’t worn lipstick or panty hose in decades, a good percentage of my favorite t-shirts have tractors on them, and I couldn’t walk in high heels even if I owned them. I actually enjoy irrigating, harrowing and cleaning the barn.

Person from a rural area? Check. We live on a small ranch in Wyoming. The entire state (total population: just over 544,000) is a rural area.

Yokel? Check. I prefer flea markets to malls, the Bible to the latest thriller or any of the classics, walks to parties, rodeos to movies, home-grown beef and vegetables to gourmet anything. Furthermore, all our animals—even the cows—have names; most of them have nicknames as well.

Hick? Check. The only section I go to on craigslist is “farm and garden”, and Tractor Supply is my favorite store. As Hubby remarked one day, “If someone handed you a fistful of money and told you to go to town to buy yourself a new outfit, you’d come home with some Carharts and a rose bush.”

I’m no expert, but I doubt that hayseeditis is curable—not by education, anyway. Hubby and I have three college degrees between us, but we still choose to pretty much sweat for a living. I can guarantee that it’s not contagious, so if you’re not already a hayseed, it’s perfectly safe to read this blog.

Whether you're a card-carrying hayseed, a closet hayseed, or a hayseed-at-heart-but-stuck-in-a-suit, welcome to my blog. If you're none of the above and proud of it, stick around anyway--if you can't laugh with us, then feel free to laugh at us!