Cowboys of the Open Range
In 1991 I met a girl at college named Rachel who lived on a ranch near
Mission, SD. My friends and I were invited to her ranch for a weekend
of riding horses and prairie dog hunting. The ranch had acres of
grassland with miles of barbed wire fence. There were horses, prairie
dogs and hay bails. Of course, three-wheelers were not allowed on the
ranch.
We
stayed up late on Friday night so on Saturday morning I slept in, ate
a large breakfast, took a shower and then walked outside. To my
surprise everyone was waiting for me by the barn. I thought I looked
pretty good, but all of my friends were laughing at me. My mullet was
slicked back with mousse. I was sporting my gray and black sleeveless
shirt that had a full length zipper down the front. My nylon shirt
hung over my black nylon parachute pants. I also wore unlaced high
tops. My so-called friends were wearing jeans, boots and t-shirts they
had borrowed from Rachel’s brothers. I guess the early bird gets the
worm.
I had never ridden a horse before so I was given gentle old Betsy.
Rachel said her dad used Betsy to give the grandkids rides because she
was so docile. I nicknamed her Elmer. For some strange reason we did
not use saddles. I believe it was laziness. I had to use a fence to
board old Betsy because without a saddle there were no stirrups. At
the time I was 6’8” and weighed 275 lbs. Poor Betsy seemed to quiver
and tear up as I settled onto her bowing back. Rachel assured me old
Betsy would not run because she was too old and she preferred to walk.
What could go wrong?
Rachel gave us a tour around the homestead. She led and all of the
horses followed her. I felt like a cowboy on the open range without a
care in the world. Then it happened. Rachel and my friends wanted to
run their horses so they took off in a cloud of dust. In light of the
perfect greeting card tour of the homestead, I had loosened my grip on
Betsy’s reins. All of a sudden, she jolted forward and I lost the
reins completely. She started to increase speed and the nice easy
going ride turned into a gallop. Betsy’s movement reminded me of a
clown bobble car in a parade. I had to hold on for dear life because
my nylon pants mixed with horses’ sweat made a slippery surface
similar to cooking spray on a Teflon pan. I was in extreme pain but I
could not say anything because I was laughing so hard. The torment
lasted for about a mile then Betsy stopped dead in her tracks and
would not move. I can still hear my friends laughing as I walked the
gentle giant back to the barn. I met my match that day and her name
was Betsy.
I cannot imagine riding a horse for an entire day moving cattle like
the wranglers did on the open range. Their muscles must have been sore
and their bones must have ached. I have always heard the cowboys of
the open range were tough. My mile long experience on Betsy proved
they were tougher than me. I never rode a horse again, but that hasn’t
stopped me from enjoying the beautiful open range on a true West River
ranch located in the great land of South Dakota.
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