One year ago today I started blogging, at first I did not
know what the heck I was doing, and I still don’t but I am having fun. I have
manage to write a post most every day a total of 340 post with the help of a
guest post or two, for which I am very grateful . I have found that I can
write, as I have been told that my dyslexia would not let me do it. In the past
year I have written more than I have written in the sixty four years preceding. I have found I like to write poems and
express my thought on the world and life. To all of you who have came and left comments I
would like to say thank you. This day would have not come if I were not for
your support. So I am saying thank you
from my heart, soul and being again and bless you as god has so bless me.
I started this blog with the hope and last ditch effort to
save my home from foreclosure, and bring in a supplement to my social security;
it has brought in some extra income but not much. I would like to express a great
deal of thanks to a fellow blogger who help me save my home by writing to my mortgage
company and getting them to work with me.
The idea of a garage sell came as if I had something to sell
I would hold a garage sale to get the extra money needed to save my home. But the
only thing I have to sell is my ideas and memories. Spiltmilk is all I have so
that is how the Spiltmilk cyber ranch came into being. I grew up around
ranching and cowboys and always dream of having a ranch of my own. Most of my
working life I have worked in the electronic field of research and development of
the Aerospace industry. So from work, play and dreams I have posted.
I posted a story about mouse, every cowboy needs a sidekick,
saddle pal, and the story of a little pika I called mouse came to mind, it is a
true story and I am reposting it today.
There
is a place out there to the west where a little fellar, that I know as Mouse
was born and raised. At the north end and a little bit west of the Great
Salt Lake there is what’s left of an old Rail Road Town of Kelton. Now I
was about sixteen and rancher friend of mine who had some eighty head of beef
free roaming out there, invited me to join the round up. Weekend roundups
were always lots of fun and I got to play cowboy and they always put out a good
meal BBQ steak and all the fixens. We all call the place the west desert rather
than Kelton. There not much of anything good out there, just salt grass,
alkali, horn toad, rattle snake, sage brush, ticks and scorpions, and the
ghost town of kelton and it is hotter than a lime kiln. It was about a 100 degrees’
in the shade and there ain’t any. In its day kelton was a one wild town.
Filled with saloons and marriage houses, you see there was some law against
brothels, so the enterprising folks of kelton had the marriage houses where a
fellar could get hitched for five bucks and then go over to the court house and
get divorce for fifty cents. They tell me that there was a marriage the
lasted a whole week. Any way the old tail of Kelton hay days make for some fun
camp fire stories.
I was
out looking for cattle to get headed back to the herd when I spotted some
cotton tails running thru the sage brush. Now back then in august you don’t eat
rabbits but there was a bounty on them and two dollars bounty and a dollar for
the pelt. Well I got down off that ranch horse as I had never shot a gun from
his back and some horses don’t exactly like having a gun fired around him or
form their backs. I stated off in to the sage when I spotted him. That
little fist size ball of fur laying there Panting twitching. I did not
know what the heck I was looking at. His ears were not long like a rabbit, they
were round about the size of a dime. He did not have but a stub of a
tail. Now I did something that you should not do with a strange wild
animal and that is I bent over and pick it up. It looked more dead than alive.
I look him over and he did not look like a rat or a mouse or a ground squirrel.
I just did not know what the heck he was. I took my bandana and wet it down and
made a lean-to and laid him in the shade of it. I got into my saddle bag
a got out the trail mix and offered him a dried apple chip; he was sitting up
in the cool shade of the bandana, not trying to run off as I thought he might.
I put down some water in a bottle cap for him to drink, and then back off
and sat down to watch him. Well he made short work of the apple chip and I
could see he was making a speedy recovery.
I
could hear the foreman calling me, he wanted to know if I was all right and
what he really wanted was me back on the
horse and looking for cattle. Well I was getting ready to leave and that
darn critter came right up my pant leg to my vest pocket after the apple chips
and there was no stopping him. Just then the foreman rode up and started
to tell me that I was out here to be rounding up cattle not playing around or
sitting on my rear. He was a little more pacific. When I could get a
chance to say my piece I showed him the critter that has now made a home in my
vest pocket. The foreman tells me that it is a Pika mouse and
he want to know how I caught one, their fastest critter on four legs out there.
I think there was a put down in there somewhere.
Well I got mounted and started back to flushing cow out of the brush. You know when you find a cow you got to get him head to the herd and we generally make some noise to spook out of the brush and keep them moving. You whistle or crack a bull whip and yell. And some of the feller’s have a leather popper on the loose end of the lariat, Anything to make some noise, now I was one that did a lot of whistling and popping my lariat. I had found three head of yearling and started pushing them out to the herd. Whistling and making some noise. Then I heard a loud high pitch whistle come from my vest pocket. It was that mouse in my pocket and he sure could make noise. I t worked on the cows alright sending them at a trot headed the right direction. The other hands were getting a charge out of my saddle pal and the
foreman proclaimed him as the best wrangler on the roundup.
Well I got mounted and started back to flushing cow out of the brush. You know when you find a cow you got to get him head to the herd and we generally make some noise to spook out of the brush and keep them moving. You whistle or crack a bull whip and yell. And some of the feller’s have a leather popper on the loose end of the lariat, Anything to make some noise, now I was one that did a lot of whistling and popping my lariat. I had found three head of yearling and started pushing them out to the herd. Whistling and making some noise. Then I heard a loud high pitch whistle come from my vest pocket. It was that mouse in my pocket and he sure could make noise. I t worked on the cows alright sending them at a trot headed the right direction. The other hands were getting a charge out of my saddle pal and the
foreman proclaimed him as the best wrangler on the roundup.
Well
that’s how Mouse and I met a long time ago. He can find more ways to get me and
him into more trouble than any ten people that I can name. Now we ride the
internet all over the blog-a-sphere and see how much trouble we can get into.
I had mouse for two years till I found he had pass away one morning. So to keep him alive I write him some adventures and share the friendship we had.
Thank you for stopping by and help me celebrate
my one year of blogging. God bless