Cow Sense  by  BYRD WOODWARD

Each morning I came late to the table,
I smelled like the hogs I’d just slopped…
Coming from the barn, I’d gathered the eggs
And picked up the kindling I’d chopped.

None of the other men had all these chores
But my dad was who owned the land…
The old man expected more from me than
He did from some driftin’ hired hand.

I bolted down grub, got up ‘fore the sun,
Was the last one down for the night…
I paid with my pride and a hard, sour glare
When I couldn’t tell ‘close’ from ‘right’.

I slept in the saddle up on a nag,
An orn’ry mare that I’d named ‘Cursed’.
Dad said, “Son, I pay all these hands wages!
They’ve a right to pick their mounts first!”

Stubborn, cow-hocked, sway-backed and jug-headed,
She’d never learned ‘git up’ from ‘whoa’…
She’d head out the gate with her tail on fire
Dead set on providin’ a show.

She stepped in every hole on the prairie,
Her lope sent shocks up through my spine…
I told anyone who saw me on her
That she sure as heck wasn’t mine!

Nope, she belonged to somebody I knew
Who’d asked me to shake out her tail;
“You think I’d own me a pony like this
To set all day long on the trail?”
 

I mended the tack and hammered in nails…
And worked hard from ‘can see’ to ‘cain’t’,
And just when the day seemed about over
I learned that it probably ain’t.

I chucked grub for the hands on a round-up
One fall when our Cookie got sick;
Pitched hay from the log sled in the winter
And hauled blocks of salt to the lick.

I watered and fed them… then I gentled
Ponies for some hands who’d been thrown;
I sorted, roped, cut, branded and de-horned…
Then stretched barbed wire fencing alone.

Schooling came in a poor second to me
But dad saw I kept up the grade;
“You’ll be thanking me for this someday, son…
When you’ve got these bills to be paid.”

I cussed my dad out and swore to myself
I’d just ride away…and I did…
I learned stock-brokering down in Phoenix,
Wore suits and put bonds up for bid.

But I never could ‘put on’ the city
And leave all those ranch roots behind…
My raisin’ dogged me like a bummer calf…
Nudging me up out of that grind.

So now I’m all grown, out here on my own,
I’ve mended a mile of wire fence…
Grateful and glad I had a dad who was…
Willing to teach me some ‘cow sense’.

Byrd Woodward© 6-30-2005

 

                       BYRD  WOODWARD
     Byrd Woodward lives in Spring Valley, AZ with her husband of 46 years, Woody; they have three grown children, two terrific grandkids and now a great- grand daughter, born in the summer of 2005. Byrd is a retired teacher who taught natural science  for 25 years for the Audubon Society;  and she has been a member of the Audubon Society for all those years. She used to work at the Sharlot Hall Museum in Prescott, Arizona as the weekend Visitor's Service Coordinator; but she is now retired. 

           Byrd comes from a long line of pioneer ranching and farming folks from the Payette River Canyon country in Idaho and has rhymed since before she could write. She gathered her courage at the Arizona State Cowboy Poetry Gathering in 2000 and read her work during an open mike session; since that time she has been invited to appear at poetry gatherings around Arizona as well as in Utah, Montana and Idaho. She writes about the life she led as a youngster with her parents and grandparents on their little one-loop cow outfits as well as historical (and imaginary) events regarding cowboy life and the development of the West.
 
                    Byrd  was voted by her peers a top 5 finisher for ‘female poet of the year’ by the AWA in 2002. She has been named one of the 'Eight Seconds' in the Lariat Laureate section at the Bar-D Cowboy Poetry website  three times in four years; and there is an extensive section devoted to her poetry, complete with background information for many of the poems along with old photos of people who inspired them. http://cowboypoetry.com/byrdwoodward.htm .

              This is a very interesting collection of poems....and it gives an insight into the mind and life of the poet who wrote them, Byrd Woodward.   Her poetry is packed with an emotional intensity and realism that is compelling. You won't stop with one poem....! She is a mighty fine poet who has a  gift for portraying human feeling and the human condition that is much like the great Australian poet and author, Henry Lawson.  Her poem, We're Waitin' On You , is particularly vivid and memorable.  Compare this poem with Lawson's Past Carin' ( http://wacobelle.org/pastcarin.html  ) and see if you don't agree.
              
                                                       You can contact Byrd by email:

                The poem appearing on this  webpage may not be excerpted, copied, reproduced, used or performed in any form (graphic, electronic or  mechanical), for any purpose without the express written permission of Byrd Woodward.

                HOME               MORE COWBOY POETRY