Diane Tribitt ~
Hillman, Minnesota
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My Neighbor's Dog
We saddled up one mornin�, in the early pre-dawn light;
The cow-dogs both were itchin� for a little pasture fight.
We tried to gather cattle without makin� any noise,
not whistlin� or ridin� out on 4-wheel pasture toys.
The cow-dogs names were Buck and Shoot, and cows were their forte.
The chores us cowboys thought was work, those dogs considered play.
The only troubles that we had when roundin� up the herd,
was when the cattle bellered, and the neighbor's Lab dog heard.
We brought the herd up nice and slow, and aimed �em to the pen,
each pickin� strays up as we went, but every now and then
a cow would stop along the way to beller for her calf,
and pretty soon the Lab showed up, and split the herd in half.
With not a clue of bovine ways, he left a trail of woe.
The cows stampeded blindly and their calves ran to and fro.
Both Buck and Shoot ran off to stop the evidential wreck,
as we all chased the Lab around - to rope him by the neck!
That devil-dog eluded ropes by crouching in tall grass,
so bailin� off my pasture horse, I dogged his sorry...butt.
I wrapped the fastest hooey any cowboy's ever done,
and kept him there �til ev�ry head was gathered�one by one.
Once all the calves were sorted off, so we could vaccinate,
I brought the Lab and tied �im to a post right by the gate.
He'd learn to keep away from here, and stay back home instead!
so with my belt I built a doggie �muzzle� for his head...
We ran the last cow through the chute and sent her down the trail,
untied the dog and strapped a few tin cans onto his tail.
We tied some bangers on the cans � �t speed �im up a bit,
and when we lit �em off he ran like he would never quit.
It weren't til then we stopped �t think, and question all our fun...
The neighbor's bound to be real mad - when he sees what we've done!
My neighbor was an or'nry man, the worst I ev�r saw,
and this would be the sort'a thing to stick hard in his craw.
The dog ran 'cross the pasture with the cans still tied on tight,
right through the creeks and fences, til he faded from our sight.
My, Lord! I thought, I'll catch some hell from him, when he finds out;
I'd rather tolerate his dog than hear him cuss and shout!
But I escaped my neighbor's wrath, and justice would prevail,
'cause barbwire fence had snagged the cans and pulled �em off his tail!
...Now, that would be the closest call that I have ever had
t� being dead, because my neighbor also was my dad�.
�2008, Diane Tribitt
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Half The Hand
I gazed upon my mother�s hands
That rivaled those of any man�s
Undoubtful
The hands that taught me wrong from right
Enfolding mine to pray at night
Devoutful
Those callused hands told voiceless tales
Of ranchin� life and weary trails
They�ve weathered
Kept wild mustangs lizzy-tied
Until their devils deep inside
Were tethered
They�ve throw�d down calves in Satan�s lair
While turnin� hide and singen� hair
Transcended
They�ve strung up miles o� fencin� wire
And under stars a kindled fire
They�ve tended
They�ve punched out dough and put up chow
Pulled calves out of the rankest cow
And branded
They�ve scattered dirt on broken sod
When those she loved rode off as God
Commanded
And should God let me live to be
As tough as her I guarantee
I�d ruther
But if He don�t, I�ll understand
Just so He makes me half the hand
As mother�
�2007, Diane Tribitt
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Upgrading The Herd
I rode through the herd and decided the ranch was sure need'n a change.
My cows were ready for wheelchairs and my calf crop looked just as strange.
The daddy's of those acorn calves were mostly tankers at the best;
Just some high fallootin' eaters that couldn't pass a semen test.
I needed some education on genetics and EPDs;
So I asked our local Beef Team to teach me 'bout pedigrees.
They shook their heads in disbelief as they checked out my sorry lot.
We ran the whole works through the chute and the Beef Team began to plot.
We culled out the thin and shelly cows, and sold those that forgot to calf.
By the time my old bulls were loaded my herd size was down to one-half.
I went and bought some replacements, black heifers that were Angus bred,
and bought some Angus bull power, in top five percents, black and red.
The Team said synchronization cut calving time down a few weeks;
We A.I.'d some and utilized some embryo implant techniques.
We used the new bulls for clean up. Our plan was exact and ideal.
I sure was anticipating new babies with Angus appeal.
Rumors 'bout upgrading my herd spread 'round at the coffee shop.
And city folk come drivin' by to check out my Angus calf crop.
With a renewed sense of cowboy pride I rode through that herd day and night.
But when the first calf hit the ground I dang near fainted at the sight!
This calf looked like an imposter with hair all red-speckled and white,
Standing there sucking a black cow...And two more were born that night.
I put them in the far pasture, tryin' to hide 'em from public view.
But those calves stood out like a sore thumb, and 'fore long most everyone knew
The word had spread like wild fire that my registered Angus bull
Threw red-and-white Shorthorn babies, and my pasture was darn near full.
But no-one asked why my black cows had Shorthorn calves on the ground
And the simple genetic deception made my herd "unique" and "profound!"
I've learned that embryo transfers don't boggle the fine minds of some
on ways of bovine reproduction...But how could the rest be so dumb!
�2006, Diane Tribitt
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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The Roundup
Majestic ribbons of red slowly rise
As morning sun lights up Badland skies
From the ranch we watch with coffee in hand
As dawn spreads its wings over glorious land
Our mounts are saddled, we're ready to ride
From daylight till dusk, searching far and wide,
To round up all of the pairs we can find
Hoping we won't leave a critter behind
From Red Shirt Table we trailer our load
Out east on a hypothetical road
We park our rigs where land meets the skies
Awed by the vision that befell our eyes.
From north to south lay true beauty exposed
And from east to west, pure Heaven disclosed
I wonder as I gaze down from the hill
If this was how God enforces His will.
Is He tending His herd, as we are now
Searching the draws for every calf and cow
Rounding them up with such infinite love
Out of dry gullies to grasslands above?
Is He our herd master bringing us in
Branding our hearts to exonerate sin
Roping us in if we stray from His path
To watering holes for our Baptismal bath?
He has a corral that will hold us all
Though there are some who won't answer His call
He knows some will stray, and some will come late,
But cowboy He is, He'll stay by that gate.
His herd is mixed color, sizes and breed
But He made them all to follow one creed
So when it's our time He'll hold the gate wide
For us to pass through and stay at His side.
�2005, Diane Tribitt
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Bermuda Bay
We bought him down in Mexico. He was in the crowbait pen
He weren't no looker, that's for sure, and ain't improved a bit since then
We named our horse "Bermuda" and folks just laughed, but I suppose
They only saw a jug head horse with a big, old Roman nose
They jawed about his broom-tailed mane and said his hair's as course as straw -
That he's wall-eyed and big footed, and just a plain equine outlaw
Now, it's tough to catch that rebel - He's like Houdini in the pen
But once you lay a rope on him you're his master once again
He's good withered for a saddle and he's got heart as well as brawn
When the farrier comes to trim him up that horse 'bout puts his own shoes on
The kids rode him at county fairs and rented stalls for hay and feed
They wrote BERMUDA as his name and MEXICAN as his breed
He's cowy and he loves to work. His ears lay flat. His nostrils flare.
He'll ride through brush and woods and muck - that horse will go 'bout anywhere
My husband was a pickup man and he loved to ride that bay
But a bronco horse took them down and only one survived that day
So that horse and I decided we'd work together, him and I,
We'd ride the ranch and work them cows and somehow we'd get by
He's trailed my kids a hundred miles. We've roped cows and gathered up stock.
We've rode through Dakota's Badlands climbing tables of solid rock
If you've ever had a horse like him you know what I'm trying to say
Though soon I'll have to turn him out, I'll always love Bermuda Bay
�2005, Diane Tribitt
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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What's It Take
He studied them intently while he watched them disappear
"What's it take to be a cowboy, mom? Why can't I ride this year?"
I searched for words of wisdom and prayed he'd understand
That blood and sweat and tears were prices paid by every hand.
While pulling calves and eating dust and riding fence all day
Don't sound too tough; those men all knew the price they had to pay.
"If money's what you're after, son, you'd better change your mind.
Go work in town from nine to five and leave these dreams behind."
I slowly sat down next to him and looked him in the eye
To tell him of the things he'd need to know to get him by.
I figured cowboy ethics would be difficult to teach,
But a whole lifetime of learnin' just transpired into a speech.
"Cowboys reach beyond themselves; they don't complain or whine.
They know each time they saddle up their life is on the line."
Some day you might be forced to fight for things that you believe in.
A cowboy knows there's right and wrong, and nothing' in between 'em."
"The work is hard, especially when bad weather plays a part.
You'll have some chores you won't much like, but finish what you start.
When wrongs are done you set them right. Stand firm and never run.
A cowboy rides through hell and back to do what must be done."
"A handshake is your solemn word that keeps your dealings square.
Treat others how you'd like to be. Be tough, but still be fair.
Cowboys don't like lyin' ways and cheatin' just ain't done.
If you make a promise keep it, son, else don't be makin' none."
"When signing on for wages you are riding for a brand.
Just work like it was your own spread and be a top-notch hand.
You'll listen hard and speak your piece, and joke around a bit.
But when there's nothing more to say, you don't be saying' it."
"Kind deeds are done without repay, but give more than you take.
Be good to folk both young and old and true to friends you make.
Treat women with your best regard, no matter who or where,
And take the time to stop and help the poor and sick out there."
"It won't be long you'll pack your bags and ride out with them, too.
Just hold on tight, and do it right, and make me proud of you.
When that day comes just saddle up your hopes and dreams and ride,
And don't forget that Jesus will be riding at your side."
When I got done I swear I saw amusement in his eyes.
He pulled the brim down on his hat and said, to my surprise,
"Some day I'll ride with all those men and be the best, you'll see.
And thank you, ma'am for your advice...but dad is teaching me."
�2005, Diane Tribitt
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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