Quote from Forum Archives on October 16, 2002, 11:48 am

Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>

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~~HONEST TO GOODNESS COWBOY~~

 

"Silt, Colorado!" hollered the greyhound bus driver, as he pulled off
to the side of the road.

 

I grabbed my small bag and climbed off the bus. Sitting beside the
road was a large man who was standing beside an old army jeep.

 

"Are you Roger Kiser?" he asked me.

 

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

 

"My name is Owen Boulton.  I own the Rainbow K Ranch," he said
as he stuck out his hand to shake mine.

 

I had been sent to Colorado by the Juvenile Judge in Florida so that I
could work on a ranch. It was a program that had been set up to help
troubled teenagers.

 

Within a week I had been turned into a full fledge cowboy. I had been
assigned a large horse named "Brownie" and had been given a full
outfit of western wear, as well as a list of never ending duties which
started at around 4 o'clock each morning.

 

Things went rather well for the first couple of months. We worked
from 4am until 6pm, seven days a week. We bailed hay, branded
cattle, collected chicken eggs, mended fences and shoveled cow
manure. It was a never ending job.

 

The best part was my horse, Brownie. I guess she had been given
that name because she was brown in color. In addition to my other
chores, it was my job to care for her. I fed her, bathed her and brushed
her down on a daily basis.

 

Every morning when I would come out to collect the eggs from the
chicken coop, she was always waiting for me by the gate. I would walk
over and pet her on her side. She would toss her head backwards and
make a strange sound like she was blowing through her lips. Slobber
would fly everywhere.

 

"I bet you could sure whistle loud if you had some hands," I would
tell her. She would stomp her feet and turn around in a circle.

 

There were not very many things that I loved on the face of this earth
when I was a young boy. But that horse was one thing that I would
have died for.

 

After we ranch hands had eaten our breakfast, I was told that I would
have to go with several of the older men and repair fences up on the
northern range. We loaded the jeep with fencing materials and tools
and off we went. It was almost 7pm when we got back to the ranch.

 

As we drove up to the barn, I saw about twenty ranch hands all sitting
around in a circle. I got out of the jeep and walked toward the large
crowd.

 

"What's going on?" I asked.

 

"It's your horse, Brownie. She's dead," said one of the men.

 

Slowly I walked up to where Brownie was laying in the corral. I bent
down and petted her on her side. It took everything i had to keep from
crying in front of all those men.

 

All at once, the corral gate opened and Mr. Boulton came riding in on
an old tractor. He began scooping out a large hole right next to Brownie.
"What's he gonna do?" I yelled out.

 

"We always bury the horses right where they drop," said one of the
ranch hands.

 

I stood to the side while he dug the hole for Brownie. I would wipe the
tears from my eyes as they rolled down my cheeks. I will never forget
that feeling of sadness for as long as I live.

 

When the hole had been dug, the men all stood back so that Brownie
could be moved into the large hole. Mr Boulton lowered the large tractor
scoop and moved toward Brownie.

 

"PLEASE MR. OWEN SIR! Please don't move Brownie with that tractor
bucket. You'll cut her and mess her up!" I yelled out at him. I ran out
in front of the tractor, waving my hands and arms up into the air.

 

"Look here boy," said Mr. Boulton. "We have no choice but to do this
when a horse dies. She is just too heavy to move by hand."

 

"I'll get her in the hole. I swear I will Mr Owen, sir." I screamed as loud
as I could. I ran over to Brownie and I pushed on her head as hard as
I could, but she barely moved. I pushed and pushed -- as hard as I
could -- but her body was just too heavy. Nothing I tried to do would move
her any closer toward the hole. Finally, I stopped pushing and I just lay
there in the dirt with my head resting against Brownie's side. "Please don't
use that bucket scoop on Brownie," I kept saying, over and over.

 

One at a time, the ranch hands began to get down off their horses. Each positioned himself around the large brown horse and they began to push
and pull with all their might. Inch by inch, Brownie moved toward the large
hole in the ground. All at once she began to slide downhill. I raised her
head, as best I could, so that her face would not be scarred. The next thing
I knew, I was being pulled down into the hole.

 

Suddenly, everything went totally silent. I just sat there at the bottom of the
hole with Brownie's head resting on my lap. Dust and dirt was settling all
around me.

 

Slowly, I got to my feet and I placed her head flat on the ground. Then I
positioned each of her legs so that they were straight. I removed my west-
ern shirt and I placed it over her face so that dirt would not get into her
eyes. I stood there crying as my best friend was being covered with dirt.
    
Most of that night I stayed in the barn cleaning Brownie's stall. I cried until
I could cry no more. I guess I was just too embarrassed to go back to the bunkhouse with the rest of the ranch hands.

 

Early the next morning, I walked back to the bunkhouse to shower and
change clothes before going out to collect the chicken eggs. As I entered
the small wooden house, the ranch hands were up and getting dressed.
Laying on my bunk was eight dollars and some change. On a match book
cover was written, "Buy yourself a new western shirt."

 

When I looked up, all the men were smiling at me. One of them said, "You
may be a city boy R.D. (that's what they always called me) but you definite-
ly have the heart that it takes to be a real honest to goodness cowboy."

 

I wiped my swollen red eyes and I smiled real proud like.

 

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~~I Saw Jesus~~

 

I saw Jesus last week.
He was wearing blue jeans and an old shirt. He was up at the church building; He was alone and working hard. For just a minute he looked a little like one of our members. But it was Jesus, I could tell by his smile.

 

I saw Jesus last Sabbath.
He was teaching a Bible class.
He didn't talk real loud or use long words, But you could tell he believed what he said. For just a minute, he looked like my Sabbath School teacher. But it was Jesus, I could tell by his loving voice.

 

I saw Jesus yesterday.
He was at the hospital visiting a friend who was sick. They prayed together quietly. For just a minute he looked like Brother Jones. But it was Jesus, I could tell by the tears in his eyes.

 

I saw Jesus this morning.
He was in my kitchen making my breakfast and fixing me a special lunch. For just a minute he looked like my mom. But it was Jesus, I could feel the love from his heart.

 

I see Jesus everywhere,
Taking food to the sick,
Welcoming others to his home,
Being friendly to a newcomer and for just a minute I think he's someone I know.

 

But it's always Jesus,
I can tell by the way He serves.

 

May someone see Jesus in you today.

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~~Worth Repeating~~

He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant
woman.  He worked in a carpentry shop until he was thirty,
and then for three years he was an itinerant preacher.

 

When the tide of popular opinion turned against him, his
friends ran away.  He was turned over to his enemies.
He was tried and convicted.  He was nailed upon a cross
between two thieves.  When he was dead, he was laid in a
borrowed grave.

 

He never wrote a book.  He never held an office.  He never
owned a home.  He never went to college.  He never travelled
more than two hundred miles from the place where he was born.
He never did one of the things that usually accompanies
greatness.

 

Yet all the armies that ever marched, and all the governments
that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, have not
affected life upon this earth as powerfully as has that One
Solitary Life.

 

Have a Blessed Day
Dave and Barbara

 

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