When I was a boy one of my dreams was to be a cowboy and have a horse and spend my time riding the range. Ted had owned a horse called “Bluebird” but it was gone before I was old enough to remember so it didn’t count. I guess that experience was enough for Mom and Dad because we never had another horse except in my imagination.
Uncle Laurald Bigler and Uncle Alma Bigler were brothers and both had horses and ran cattle. Uncle Laurald and Aunt Vera lived just across the street from The Rock House. Out behind their house was a big barn where they kept their milk cows and horses and it was a place where we spent many hours playing. Just in front of the barn and next to their big garage was the “Saddle Shop.” The saddle shop was where they stored the saddles and other tack for the horses like bridles, saddle blankets and ropes. It was like a wonderland to me and whenever I could talk Elsie (Elsie was their daughter my age) into it, we would go into the saddle shop and play cowboys.
The saddle shop was arranged with saddle stands along one wall. When the saddles were not in use, they were stored by putting them on the saddle stands in a line, all facing the same direction. We would go in and select the imaginary “fearless steed” we wanted to ride and climb into that saddle and the fun would begin.
Sometimes we were cowboys rounding up cattle. Sometimes we were cowboys fighting off bands of Indians. Sometimes we just raced our saddles (horses) to see which one was fastest. Sometimes we were roping calves for branding. Sometimes our imaginary horses were gentle and well behaved. Sometimes they were wild broncos. We would spend hours in the saddle shop riding those saddles and making believe we were riding real horses. If our parents couldn’t find us anywhere else, we were usually in the saddle shop.
When I got a little older I got to borrow a horse once in a while and I was in “hog heaven” or should I say “horse heaven.” I remember one time when I borrowed one of Uncle Laurald’s horses called Flash to help drive some cattle up the canyon to a pasture they were using. Flash was an old and experienced “cow pony” and when we got the cows into the pasture, one of them decided to take off. In a flash, my horse lived up to his name and took off after the misbehaving cow. I found myself riding down the field at a gallop chasing this dumb cow. I was hanging on for dear life. I remember hitting my foot on one of the fence posts as we galloped by. I almost got brushed off with some low tree limbs as well. It was a wild ride but after it was over, I loved it.
When I was in my teens, Uncle Mart Porter asked several of us boys if we would like to help with roundup at his ranch down at Young. A bunch of us eagerly volunteered. We rode to Young in the back of his pickup. We got to stay for two or three days. We each got assigned a horse. Mine was named Crescent. He was a sorrel color. I never could decide whether he got his name from the crescent of white on his forehead or from being as hard headed as a crescent wrench. We got up early in the morning and rode out and spent all day rounding up the cows and calves from the hills and valleys on their ranch. We drove the bunched cattle back to the ranch by evening and did the same thing the next day. After two days of it I had about had my fill of being a cowboy. We got to help castrate, brand and dehorn the calves. It was hard work but we had a good time. That was about the extent of my “real cowboy” days.