Git ready fer uh Texiz ride, y'all. It’s that time of the year in Texas when you can hop into an air-conditioned vehicle and, if you’ve got enough gasoline money, roll across several counties just for the sake of shopping at a souvenir “trading post” that also sells candy, cookies, cakes and pies. Maybe Davy Crockett coonskin caps.
Could go to a casino, but all the casinos are in Oklahoma and Louisiana celebrating the bankrolls left behind by Texans.
Some people might take a similar “souvenir exploration trip” to get a glimpse of something historical. Not this Texas husband.
I traveled south on the highways out of the metroplex because, one recent Saturday, that’s what my homebodyspouse Martha suddenly wanted to do.
And, how, you may ask, does this fit into our weekend feature “Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap.” You see that big photo of the Longhorn and a companion. The companion may be sleeping and so, too, may some of the babies in the back ground. Thus, Yep, Let Sleeping Dogies Lie & Napping Cows Nap.” See how easily we corralled that connection?
Now, mimagnificaesoposaspouse (compound multilingual word) Martha is a native Texan — born in Dallas before it became regarded as New York’s Sixth Burrough and had so many business and residential ties to The Big Apple.
I’m also a native Texan — born in a former asylum [not kidding] in Texarkana, Texas, two blocks from the state line — yep, born Texan by two blocks — I coulda seen Arkansas if I’d been able to look. Thank you, Lord.
Grew up with a horse named Silver … well, he was on TV and belonged to the Lone Ranger. We had a Border Collie named Queenie with nothing to herd but three brothers with no sense of direction. She was busy and patient.
I explained our Lone Star provenance so you can believe that the Two-steppin’ Cowgirl Martha and Wrangler Larry both know everything there is to know about cattle, horses, livestock and rainchin’, er, ranching. Sorry — accent key on my computer toggled itself.
What you see in that opening photograph — and I’m switching to bonafide ranch terminology now — is “the open air baby’s nursery” where Momma and Poppa cattle and heifer babysitters can watch over the adorable bambinos. [LARRY NOTE: I sound just like a veteran rainch-hand, don’t I, pard? Grab yer reins, ahm fixin’ tuh spur this computer’s ribchips and kick up a cloud uh cyberdust!]
I suspect — though I don’t know fur shure — that the big lug near the fence is a Texas Longhorn. And that is his missus lounging just behind him -- do female Longhorns have horns? We'll check that via cattlehands.
Out in the pasture, you see their bovine offspring (and cousins, maybe) napping in the big middle of their meal. That’s what beeves will do — go to sleep in a serving of hay. And, yeah, ah’m danged near posuhtif them ain’t no dairy cattle — thayuts why I used “beeves,” a term I learned while taking a class called Comprehending Cattle Trail Lingo via the educational TV show Rawhide. That wasn’t on PBS — hadn’t been invented yet. It was on NET (National Education Television). I’m kidding. That was Channel 2 in Texarkana, but our rabbit ears didn’t pick it up unless we wired ‘em into the handsome noggin adornments of our pet Longhorn Duck. He had to hold his head at a southeast to northwest angle to pick up shows broadcast from Shreveport about 75 miles away. Duck was usually good for about a half-hour show before he’d lose interest and wander away from the herd. Why “Duck”? He waddled whenever he’d roam the prairie.
Anyway, fascinated by the bovine couple near the fence, I asked them for an interview and both shook their heads. As I walked way, I heard the cow I assumed to be the missus snort derisively, “City people. Sheesh. Don’t they know we moved out here for the quiet?” The bull nodded and accidentally clanked a horn against the fence.
As people from Texas know, nearly all of us Texans are ranchers. Might be a few farmers. But, basically, there’s nobody in Texas who doesn’t have a few cattle, a horse or two and some goats and chickens roamin’ their spreads from fence to fence and back to the alley. Everybody shout Yeehaw!
And we all wear big hats, boots, jeans with belts and big buckles and holsters in which to put either our pistols or cellphones. Used to carry checkbooks in holsters but that’s an era that’s gone with cassette players in the dashbord.
Some Texas ranches, such as the one that runs along the highway toward Hico, also have those wonderful Texas Party Horses. There’s one in the shade. Later the Party Horse came over to the tall fence to say “Howdy” to thuh buckaroo shooting pitchers with a phone. That Party Horse has a delightful Texas accent is darlin’.
I believe this breed of striped, smaller horses was developed on a ranch near Jacksburro.
Wait, let me check that. Sorry. It’s Jacksboro — pays to do research. Also, ignore that horse breeding theory. Consider this one: These Texas Party Horses may have resulted from breeding of beautiful French exploration ponies set free near cavalry horses who pastured near the Trinity River during the and legendary expeditions of René Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle. He was known to all us 7th grade students of mandatory Texas History courses as “Luh Sawl.” The bred-into-existence stripes may have been inspired by French sailors wearing their traditional une marinière or un tricot rayé striped shirts.
[LARRY ASIDE: Time out. I really, desperately need to check my Texas History, particularly the early European exploration. Details are fuzzy — like mixing sailor shirts with party horse strips — impossible, oui? Time to click on the Texas Historical Association’s WEBSITE HERE for some reality in history!]
FYI, That final photo is Porche Noel posed on the back of the couch while Martha naps. Porche was showing me how she kept her balance while riding a Bison named Betina during her old gig at Buffalo Bills’ Casino Trading Post near Droopin’ Horns out in Cowpuddle County. Director of the show made her wear a big floppy movie saloon- appropriate mustache. “I lost weight — you cain’t chew a fake mustache. I gacked a lot,” Porche smiled Texasly, then asked, “Yew got treats?”
[DEAR READERS: If you’ve gotten this far in this edition, heed this plea: We’d love to publish photographs of your sleeping dogs and napping cats and any other critters who slumber at your place -- we'll feature 'em in our long-running weekend feature, Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap. Send photo and info to dallrp@aol.com and tell us, also, why you love your critter and, maybe what your critter loves about you. You’ll be helping people decide to open their homes to animals who don’t have homes. And you’ll be helping insomniacs avoid a night of torture; i.e., awake all night wondering, “If i pull these boots on, will I be able to get ‘em off without bribing a dog who really loves to bite down on a boot toe and pull until the leather pops off my paw.”]
— Leave thoughts or what passes for them by clicking on ‘comment’ below or by emailing dallrp@aol.com and put WEAR A SADDLE SEATBELT, COWBOY in the subject line. —
