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Give me a home out in the west
cuz that’s the place that I like the best,
Put a 30-30 under my leg
N a Colt 45 so I won’t be afraid.
Put me out where there’s nuthin but cows
N a few wild horses on the range to browse,
where the litening flash N the thunder pops
N the horses buck that U can’t stop.
I jes want a home out in the west
cuz all other places I do detest.
Where the panthers scream N the grizzlies roam
it sounds to me like home sweet home.
But when its all over N life is dun,
when death shadows gather N my time has cum,
When I’ve rode my last horse N I’ve turned my last steer,
N my soul wings its way 2 that Celestial Sphere,
When my grave has been dug N I’m lade to rest,
Let it be in Wyoming, I love it the best.
Roy Young
aka “Bad Water Ben Brown” of the Bill Cody Wild West Show
(Shared by Candy Christoferson)
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VALENTINE’S DAY ON THE RANCH
By Mike Puhalo
You might buy your darlin’ chocolates,
wrapped in a bow or two.
Or a dozen pretty roses,
The choice is up to you.
You could take her out to dinner,
Or go dancing for a change.
do what ever it takes to brighten her life, in your home out on the range.
It’s a matter of survival,
Because once calving’s in full swing.
you’ll have very little time for romance, until the first green grass of Spring.
Don’t take your Valentine for granted,
Be sure to show her that you care.
So when you need her help at 2 A.M.
With luck she’ll still be there!.
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LENDING A HAND A HAND
By Rod Miller
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“I can do it,” she says,
And it’s sure enough true.
I’m just glad she doesn’t add
The “better than you.”
She can load and unload
Her horse and her tack
And handle that trailer
Driving forward or back.
She tosses baled hay
And big sacks of grain,
Hauls buckets of water
Without stress or strain.
I’d like to help, but she
Don’t need me for much-
To her, I’m as useless
As a foam rubber crutch.
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It’s a sad state of affairs
For an old bronc rider like me,
‘Cause I’m sweet on this
Young barrel racer, you see,
And it’s hard to score points
Or win her affection
When my every foray
Is met with rejection.
But what shatters my ego,
What hurts even more
Is that compared to her,
I’m a gunsel for sure.
Forget my regalia
And my bowlegged strut-
When it comes to cowboying,
That girl kicks my butt.
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MY FATHER’S HORSES
By D. W. Groethe, Bainville, MT
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It must’ve been a day
For peace an’ reverie,
When my father took a pencil in his hand
An’ scribed upon his notebook,
All the horses that he’d had,
When growin’ up on West Dakota land.
I can see him sittin,’ thoughtful,
Soft smile in his eyes,
As the ponies pranced before him once again.
Then he jotted each one down
With a slow an’ careful hand.
Sometimes, horses can count right up with kin.
Tobe, Frank, an’ Muggins,
Daisy an’ Daisey II,
(His mem’ry felt a breeze that stirred their manes.)
Charlie, Chub, an’ Pearl
Found their way up to the front
An’ back once more upon the dusty plains.
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Prince I an’ II an’ Mike
Come lopin’ lightly into view,
He penned their mem’ries gentle on the page,
a-waitin’ an’ a thinkin’,
he was missin’…just a few
when Queen an’ May neared, nickerin’ thru the sage.
An’ finally, down the draw
Come Thunder, Buck an’ Bill,
Aflyin’ like the wind an’ they was one.
Then he eased back in his chair,
Contemplatin’ all that’s there,
His gatherin’ of the old bunch was all done.
Yeah, it must’ve been a day
of peace an’ reverie
In his office, at a desk of metal gray,
When the ol’ man made a tally
a-gatherin’ up his cavvy
One last time, afore they slipped away
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