Those horses get just like the people what owns ‘em
06.02.10
Those horses get just like the people what owns ‘em
By Terri Jo Bek, Professor, Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture
People always say, “Good help is hard to find.” My dad’s motto seemed to be, “We don’t care how good they are; if they survive, we’ll consider them trained.” Most of the people that he enlisted to help were actually pretty good hands. It was some of the help they brought along with them that caused the occasional wreck. Of course, if all was going well Dad might be the instigator of the wreck himself.
Dad enjoyed having people around and pulling practical jokes on unsuspecting individuals. That was one of his favorite activities. This also seemed to be the sort of people that would show up to help when we worked cattle or moved them from place to place. When I was attending college, both at Emporia State University and Colby Community College, he would call and say, “Why don’t you bring some of those fat girls home and we’ll work cattle?” Now, you have to understand that few to none of my friends could be termed “fat” in any remote sense of the word. This was my dad’s way of saying, “Why don’t you bring some of your friends home and we’ll see what we can do for entertainment.”
On one such occasion two friends from Colby decided they would come home with me during the fall semester and help drive our dad’s cows home from pasture. We unloaded in the southwest corner of the pasture and were proceeding to the backside, where we would spread out and make sure that we hadn’t left any livestock behind when we headed to the gate in the west fence. As we rode toward the opposite corner of the pasture, I could see a rider approaching from that direction. I asked Dad who it was and he said it was a guy that he’d met that worked in the local feedlot who was a pretty good hand.
As the rider came closer and closer to us, I could see his horse shying from something and appearing to be quite “goosy” about riding forward toward us. Closer and closer the rider approached, with his horse snorting and shying instead of riding forward with confidence. With several yards separating us, I realized that the horse was shying from something white wrapped around its breast collar. The ends of the white material kept flying around, causing the horse some anxiety. Once again the thought was running through my mind, “Where in the world did Dad find this guy?” Once we were all close enough to stop and for Dad to introduce everyone, it was obvious on closer scrutiny that the flapping white material was toilet paper that had been carefully wrapped around the breast collar of this man’s horse.
Dad introduced us to Norman Wilson. I was waiting in high anticipation as to the explanation for the toilet paper. As it happened, Mr. Wilson was eager to enlighten us as to its purpose. It seems that Norman Wilson grew up in Kansas, but very close to the Oklahoma border, so when he speaks there is a certain twang in his voice that can be heard in most of us that have lived in the Flint Hills very long. The farther south you go, the more pronounced it becomes. Norman informed us, “Iaaa hearrrrd that we were going to have some college girrrrrls along, soooo Iaaaa thought Iaaaa would sellll this toilet paper for a nickel a squaaare!” He accomplished this explanation without cracking even a hint of a smile. I looked at my friends and then at my dad. I was really wondering where Dad had managed to dig this one up. Finally, Norm and Dad cracked up. I would later learn as Norm and his family helped out on many occasions, that even though one is 99.9% sure that he is pulling your leg about something, there is that 1% of the time that causes you to hesitate while scrutinizing his implacable facial features to discern that this might be the one time that he is telling you the truth.
He nearly convinced a couple of young ladies that he had a dog that rode horses and played an instrument. They had come home with me after I had decided to sell my cows because my dad was ill and would no longer be able to take care of them. Norman was helping us and we had stopped and driven to town while I was doing some paperwork on some horses. They were all visiting about dogs, another of Norm’s favorite subjects. One of the girls mentioned that they owned a Corgi that liked to ride with them on their horses at her home. Norm said that he had a Corgi that liked to ride on horses as well, but he had to quit taking the dog along because he was annoying the other cowboys when the dog would start playing its harmonica. Now, one of the girls had been around Norm previously and the other one had spent a couple of days with him. However, as I observed them out of the corner of one of my eyes I noticed that Norm was wearing that look on his face that made everyone stop and wonder if he was telling the truth or not. Both girls were closely scrutinizing him, but he never wavered. Jodi finally said, “Right, Norm, right.” Then we all started laughing. He said, “I had you going didn’t I?” They both agreed that for a couple of seconds they were contemplating a harmonica playing Corgi. While my dad had the “stare,” Norman had the “look.” Even after all these years he still catches some of us from time to time.









