Those horses get just like the people what owns ‘em

By Terri Jo Bek, Professor, Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture

Jo Bek

As I began to write this column it was below zero outside today. I realize this column will be appearing some weeks after I write it, so I¹m most hopeful the weather will be wonderfully warm. So, I¹m going to write with that in mind. Where I grew up in Kansas, the pastures had already been burned and the hills were beginning to turn green by the 15th of April. The trees were starting to bud and the redbuds were thinking about blooming. As a teenager I gathered up some of my very best sunburns in April, helping to take cattle out to pasture.

During the middle of April around 1 million and half a million cattle would descend into this region and have to be taken out to pasture. In the fifties, when I was a small child, they came in on the railroad cars from Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and other places south of Kansas. Some of those steers were not that excited about setting up residence in Kansas, no matter how nice the grass was. My dad was helping my grandad one day and he said that a big brindle Brahma loped to the end of the alley, bailed over the fence and headed south back to Texas. He was traveling at a high rate of speed and by the time my dad and grandad got out of the rail yards he had gathered quite a head start. He stayed on the county road and they finally caught him about five miles from the pens where he happened to hit the open range in our county. Dad was certain he was headed straight back to Texas.

When I matured to the point that I could go along and actually be of use, the cattle came in on cattle pots and sometimes we could dump them directly into the pastures from portable chutes. In addition, the turnpike in Kansas had been built from Kansas City to Wichita. The turnpike runs directly through the southeast corner of the county which is about 100 percent pasture. If you¹ve ever driven on the turnpike in that area there is one overpass that is labeled “cattle crossing.” It is used for getting cattle from the west side to the east side of the turnpike. The turnpike pens became the main hub for shipping cattle in the fall and somewhat less on bringing them in during April. When I worked at the veterinary clinic, I would take my vacations so that I could help my grandad ship in the fall and take cattle out in the spring.

I never enjoyed the spring turnout as much as the fall shipping time. In the spring we would start out of the pens with 600 or 700 steers and the front end would be running away and the back end were tired and trying to lay down and rest. Consequently, the crew would end up with two different groups to move at the same time. Other overseers would be leaving the yards with their groups of steers as well. One crew always ran short and two very young children were part of that crew. One day the two boys, the dad and the grandad were crossing the overpass and heading south. My grandad had me go help them get across the overpass. They had 600 head of steers in their group. The littlest boy¹s horse was misbehaving, so his grandad got off his horse and found him a switch. Every time he swatted the horse it would kick up behind, but he just kept going. I felt bad when I had to turn around and go back to help get our cattle across and head north up the fence. The last thing I saw as I turned and looked over my shoulder was 600 head of steers running as hard as they could down the fence to the south with everyone riding “hell bent for leather,” except for one little teary boy. The last I saw of them he was still swatting his horse with the horse kicking up behind; however, he was keeping up with the back end. The kids grew up to be very tough young men.

My cousin, Kris, went to help them sort some cattle out that had gotten mixed in with theirs. He said they were trying to hold them in the corner with not quite enough people to help, while the overseer was cutting out the strays. The cattle broke out and Kris built to the front at a high rate of speed to try and slow them down and turn them back into themselves. Apparently, as he was doing this, the overseer was cutting out the strays at a dead run. Kris said he thought that was pretty western, but they got everything accomplished and everyone survived.

This man was as handy with a rope as he was cutting cattle out of the herd. I always have to laugh when some roper is extremely particular about everything being just right when they are roping. This man would buy one new lariat at the beginning of pasture season. He did a great deal of his work by himself, so as he found strays he would rope them, take them to the road, tie them down by cutting off the end of his lariat and later coming back with a trailer and gathering up what he¹d caught that day. He would then tie his rope back together and use it to rope the next day. I actually saw him rope an 800-pound steer over the top of another one with two large knots in his nylon. He rode fairly small horses that were as tough as he was. In this case he actually had to step off and pull on the saddle horn while his little horse got his feet under himself and could stand more square to the steer. I never saw him miss what he was throwing at and I never heard him whine about anything. Those are the type of people I try to envision when I think I am having a bad day, and inevitably my day looks ever so much better.

Through the years team roping has evolved from a competition between ranch hands to a multi-million dollar industry. This past week my husband competed at the Cinch USTRC National Finals of Team Roping in Oklahoma, City and we dove head first into 5 days of team roping. During this time it got me thinking “Wow! What a change in team roping.”

I know most people think of team roping as cowboy thing, but this isn’t farther from the truth. Today’s team roper is anyone from the high school quarter back, preschooler, to your own grandparent. The whole family can participate and encourage each other while roping.

 Here at the ranch our two daughters are starting to rope. Just this past summer I was able to get back out in the arena and start to practice again. (I forgot just how frustrating roping could be, but I just keep going back to the arena.) We have neighbors that are now starting to learn to roper, just because of the comradely. 

But I think the biggest change in team roping is the horses and the horsemanship. Internet, training tapes, clinics, and other material now available have spurred this changed.

 No matter how young or young at heart you are, if you want to learn to rope I suggest you give it a try. If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

 Attached are some pictures from our trim of my husband. He is riding our stallion Duns of Impact, aka Jr.

Those horses get just like the people what owns ‘em

By Terri Jo Bek, Professor, Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture

Jo Bek

Although most cowboys prefer to do their work horseback, there are times when they seek a substitute. Even my dad would crawl onto the back of the pickup or “ride” the passenger window as I chased calves so he could rope them after we fed the cows. It was just faster than going all the way back to the house to get a horse and we always carried a rope in whatever vehicle was being used to feed the cows or yearlings.

I’ve seen people roping off the backs of pickups, three-wheelers, four-wheelers and we even had a student that rode around campus on a unicycle swinging a rope. To my knowledge he never roped anything on the unicycle except maybe another student.

Probably the wildest event in which I was involved came about as a result of helping my brother, Jess. Jess had lost his arm to bone cancer when he was a senior in high school. Due to the location of the cancer, they had taken his arm off above the shoulder joint. He had adapted to his situation and everyone was willing to help Jess when he needed it. One of his buddies and he even figured out how to put all the controls for his motorcycle on one side so he could run it with one arm. I’d seen him stick his reins in his mouth when he was riding and needed his one good arm for something. He also had the ability to talk people into just about anything.

Jess came and got me late one afternoon to help him doctor a calf out in the pasture. He said that we’d just use the pickup instead of taking a horse out to the pasture. I figured I’d just rope the calf off the back of the pickup; however, as I got out to get onto the back of the flatbed, he said, “No, no, come up here and I’ll show you how we caught one the other day.”

I walked to the front of the pickup where he was standing. I told him there wasn’t any place to sit on the hood, and he pointed to the tire mounted on the front of the grill. As I stood frowning, Jess said, “Get up there and I’ll show you what I mean.” I crawled on the hood and he showed me where to sit behind the tire in the gap between the tire and the hood. He finished the procedure by pushing me down into the gap so that I was completely and firmly wedged into the gap. Jess got back into the pickup, hung out the window and said, “Oh, yeah. If I throw you off, just roll forward so I don’t run over you. I threw Mike off the other day and he rolled forward.” I had my rope and Jess proceeded to line the calf out so I could rope him. The calf weighed about 300 pounds and he took exception to being roped up on the flat, so he hung a hard right and went over the edge of the hill through the outcroppings of limestone and was headed toward some of the other cows at the bottom of the hill. I figured Jess would slow down, ease off the outcroppings and we would continue our pursuit on the bottom. Jess had other ideas. He didn’t slow down at all. We looked like “Rat Patrol” coming off those rocks. When we went airborne, I laid back onto the hood, because there was nothing to hold onto. Jess hung out the window and yelled, “Rope him, rope him!” I sat back up when we got to the bottom, threw my loop, but I didn’t get my slack jerked quick enough so I ended up with one hind foot. The calf was jerking my arms like a little jackhammer. Jess jumped out of the pickup laughing and slapping his leg with his cap. I looked at him while trying to maintain control of the calf and said, “Do you think maybe you could get down there and get that calf.”

That wasn’t my last roping adventure with Jess. One afternoon after we’d worked and driven cattle all day, Jess had gone and checked on a yearling they’d been doctoring and had turned into the pasture. He came and found me and said he felt it needed one more shot of antibiotics. I started to go and catch my horse, which I had just turned out into the corral. Jess said that we didn’t have time to do that and we’d just use the pickup. Since it was starting to get dark, I didn’t argue. When we got to the pasture and I had crawled up to my position behind the tire, Jess turned on the headlights, leaned out of the pickup and said, “See, we have lights in the arena!”

As he started after the yearling, it turned and was headed straight for a hedgerow. I had trouble keeping my concentration on roping as the trees loomed ever closer at a high rate of speed. The yearling veered to the right, and I laid down on the hood and yelled at the top of my voice, “Trees!!!” Jess stopped the pickup, leaned out and said, “I’ve lived here for 23 years and I’m perfectly aware that there are trees here, Jo.” I sat back up and he headed after the steer. This time I spied a washed-out cattle trail on the back side of a terrace. It was about 12 inches by 12 inches. I knew Jess couldn’t see it so once again I laid back onto the hood. I bounced about a foot up off the hood and then back down onto it. Jess hung out the window and said, “Sorry!” I sat back up and roped the steer. Jess jumped out of the pickup, ran down the rope and mugged the steer. After I’d doctored the steer, Jess looked at me, grinned and said, “Now, see! You would have just been getting here with your horse.” I believe he received a “stare” as I stalked back to the pickup.

My husband and I are blessed with two horse-loving daughters. Most of our time is spent outside with the horses or something that pertains to them. Our oldest is six and has been bitten by the barrel racing & roping bug.

Even though my daughter is only six she has taught us more about patience, finding different ways of explaining a concept, and how to have fun. In the middle of summer the missing factor in our practice session was fun. Point blank she told us she didn’t want to rope any more, so my husband and I took a step back. We didn’t ask her to rope or practice instead we just let her do her own thing for a while.

Just this past month she has picked her rope back up, and the one thing we haven’t forgotten is the fun. We have mock USTRC competitions with her heading for her dad, and them making it to the short go for the saddles, and the National Shoot Out to go to Oklahoma.

The difference now is that she wants to rope, she wants to know which roping they are competing in, plus she asks her dad to come and rope!

So everyone out there add some fun to your practice time.