One thing that I learned from my early education about
life on the range was that at least once a year you had to go out and round up
your stock for branding. To a five-year-old fertile mind this was a task worth
doing but you needed a least one ranch hand to help you. I could only think of
one person who was capable of this awesome task. This was Harold who also had
all the right equipment for the job. Harold owned his own rope, tricycle and
the spirit that had brought him through many gun battles in the back yard. More
important, Harold was one year younger so he would follow my directions. So
early one Saturday morning, Harold and I began scouting the neighborhood for
available livestock. One by one we were able to bring in the strays that
crossed our paths that morning. Some were willing, some had to be unleashed and
some were downright uncooperative. But we persevered and by the end of the
morning we had filled the backyard with an assortment at least twenty pedigree
and mongrel dogs. Since at the age of five I had not mastered the art of
sneaking matches out of the kitchen, I calmly walked into the house and asked
my mother for a few matches so Harold and I could start branding the cattle. Harold’s
mother was soon at our door step fetching her son and all his equipment and I
had the humbling task of returning each of the dogs to their rightful owners
coupled with an apology that was encouraged by my mother who graciously joined
me in the task.
