newsletter6907

August 7, 2007

Howdy Again From Montana.....

....where the cattle are fat, the horses are fast, and the women are all good lookin’. We’ve done our monthly drawing for July, and JJ Seilstad of Lewistown, Montana was the winner this time. It’s the first time in a long time that we’ve actually had a name come out of the hat from our home state. Here’s what JJ can expect in his mailbox:

From one of our faithful sponsors, an entire year’s complimentary subscription to American Cowboy Magazine.
“The Bar-D Roundup, Volume II” CD, compliments of the fine folks at cowboypoetry.com. It’s a collection of some of the world’s very best cowboy poetry, both classic and contemporary.
The special 25^th Anniversary CD from the Cowboy Songs & Range Ballads, produced by the Buffalo Bill Historical Center.
One of the latest CD’s from my New Mexico pal, Kip Calahan, entitled “You’re Lookin’ at Country”.
An autographed copy of “Shootin’ the Breeze, Cowboy Style,” one of our own books of cowboy stories. (Most of them true…… sort of.)
An autographed copy of “Honky Tonk Town”, the true tale of a real wild and wooly western town by historian Gary A. Wilson.

Life continues to be interesting on our outfit. We’re headed to the Roosevelt County Fair in Culbertson, Montana for a show this Friday night, and then will be helping with the Cowboy Church services at the Valley County Fair in Glasgow, MT on Sunday. Then we’ll be on the road down into KBHB country to do a show at Union Center, South Dakota for the folks at Cammack Ranch Supply on the 18^th.
The ranch work is beginning to look like maybe we’re on the road a little too much, and maybe nobody lives here. But this HAS been one of the best grass years that I can remember, even if it has been powerfully hot and dry lately. We did have a range fire a couple of weeks ago…. and naturally…. I was off doing a show near Virginia City. Luckily the neighbors spotted it and put it out for us. Boy, it’s great to have good neighbors.
We’re planning on starting to feature a few cowboy music artist interviews and their music in the next few weeks, both on our syndicated radio program, and also via a little email note and putting them on the web. We have a lot of friends that play and record some dynamite Cowboy/Western music that most folks aren’t even aware of. The reason? Because they don’t ever get played on mainstream radio. What a shame. We’re going to try to fix that, and give you a chance give a listen to their music and hear in their own words what makes them tick.
Don’t forget that a book of cowboy stories is a great gift and a good way to relax when you get an extra minute. I like to tell folks that they’re a perfect bathroom book, “because the stories are just the right length….. and the atmosphere’s perfect.”

Here’s the link for a little peek at “Shootin’ the Breeze, Cowboy Style.

Shootin' the Breeze, Cowboy Style

I’ve included a sample chapter here just for fun.

Chapter 2
Southern Snake Bite
© 2007 Bear Valley Press

It’s really funny. Out here in the range country there are some places that the rattlesnakes are thicker ‘n the dickens and then just a few miles away there aren’t any at all. I guess maybe there’s some things we just aren’t supposed to figure out, but why they’re so prolific in one place and not in others does seem a little strange. If there is anything I hate it’s a snake, and anyone that’s ever shared real estate with ‘em has a tale or two to tell.

I was just thinkin’ of a snake story that I heard about a couple of early day settlers. They had a bunch of rattlesnakes move into their root cellar. They must have dug the cellar into a hill that was either on top of the snake den, or at least close to it, and it was a real catastrophe. The poor lady of the house was from back east, and scared spit-less of snakes, while the old man was completely oblivious to her concerns.

He was lookin’ for gold under every rock and was dead certain that he’d be rich at any minute, so he didn’t have time to worry about a little inconvenience like a few snakes in the root cellar. He “fixed” the problem, though. The enterprising and far too busy prospector hung an old cowbell on the inside of the cellar door with the following instructions to his frightened mate:

“Shake the door a little before you go in so the bell rings, and then listen. If you don’t hear a rattle go right on in. If you hear a snake in there, just take a stick with you.” I’m not too sure how all that turned out, but I think maybe that remedy might stretch the marital bliss on our outfit a little. Heck, a bull snake or two in the basement can get the cook all stirred up around here.

Then there was Homer and Dolly. They lived in pretty bad snake country, and I’m not too sure you ever get really used to it. Neither one of them liked the nasty critters, but Dolly was especially afraid of them. Back in the fifties sometime they had a real scare. The indoor plumbin’ that Homer had installed about ten years earlier went on the fritz. The sewer line plugged up or something, and the john didn’t work anymore, but Homer was busy hayin’ and didn’t have time to dig the durn thing up. Besides, they still had the old biffy out by the barn, and that had worked for forty years before. He just didn’t view the problem with the same degree of urgency as Dolly did.

“I’ll get ‘er fixed before winter sets in, but we just don’t have the time right now. You gotta make hay while the sun shines.”

“But the grass is tall out there, and there are snakes everyplace. That’s just plain dangerous, Homer,” Dolly pleaded…. to no avail.

“It’s a funny thing to me that we used that ol’ outhouse for forty years without gettin’ snake bit. Just get the lawnmower and cut the grass around there. It’ll be fine.”

Dolly dutifully and very carefully cut the tall grass on both sides of the seldom used path, certain that she would be attacked by a herd of snakes at any moment, but as luck would have it, didn’t see a single one. She sicked the dog on every grasshopper that buzzed, and there were sure plenty of those. The poor ol’ girl was nervous as a tomcat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.

The old out house was in pretty bad repair. It hadn’t been used for several years, and the old door was just sort of hangin’ there by the top hinge. Now, Dolly really needed to use the antiquated old facility, but was trying desperately to put it off long enough to let Homer use it first. She’d make HIM be the one to make sure there weren’t a bunch of snakes in there. It was almost noon, and he was due in from the hay field at anytime, but she simply couldn’t wait any longer. She just had to go….NOW.

Brandishing an old hoe she had gotten from the garden out in front of herself like a Samurai swordsman closing in for the kill, Dolly slowly crept up to the foreboding structure. She very warily pulled the broken door completely open, keeping a sharp ear tuned for that dreadful snake rattle she was certain would begin at any moment. Nothing. She peered quickly into the corners for any of the vile reptiles that might be lurking inside, but thankfully again, came up empty.

“Thank Goodness!” Dolly thought to herself…. “No snakes!” She quickly brushed the dust from the old wooded seat and hurriedly sat down to the urgent business at hand. She had barely made it in time.

The blissful sweet relief was short lived and very abruptly interrupted by a sharp and sudden pain in the very sensitive southern end of her anatomy. SNAKE BIT!! In the haste of the moment, she had forgotten to look IN the hole before she’d sat down. With a yell that would put a Comanche to shame, and her bloomers still around her ankles, Dolly double-hopped across the forty yards between the biffy and the mowing machine her hubby was just pullin’ into the yard. Homer says he thinks she probably set some sort of a sack race record…. too bad there wasn’t an official timer present.

“I’ve been snake bit!” she shrieked. We’ve got to get to the doctor!”

Now, Homer is normally a calm sort, but this WAS an emergency, so he loaded her right up in the their old ’49 Ford and took off for town with the dust boilin’ out behind them. Dolly cried hysterically for the entire twenty miles. The doctor quickly looked her over with all the due diligence of a businessman perusing his morning paper. Sure enough…. right there between the obituaries and the sports section he found a little bruise. Fortunately, he was absolutely certain it wasn’t caused by a snakebite, so no further treatment was needed. Relieved by the good news, Dolly had finally settled back down some, and they headed the old Ford back home to get to the bottom of the problem.

Armed with the trusty hoe, Homer soon discovered the source of the teeth marks on Dolly’s southern exposure. Peering into the toilet hole, he came eyeball to eyeball with a crotchety old settin’ hen all fluffed out on her nest. I think maybe that’s where the old sayin’, “Madder ‘n a Wet Hen” got started.

"Well, there ya go. I sure hope you got a kick out of that little story. Gotta run. See you next time.
Click on the link below to get your own copy."

Shootin' the Breeze, Cowboy Style