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WAGON TONGUES
"Wagon tongues," is what I heard him say
Instantly I thought of my old cowboy days
My mind roamed in and out of years gone by
And I thought of all the roundups, wet or dry.
There was the time I learned to let my horse do the work
And I remembered how Cotton liked to be a real jerk
Then I could almost taste ol' Cooky's noon meals
Five-star cuisine hauled out to the camp on wheels.
Just the thought of wagon tongues pointed at the north star
Thousands of episodes to fill up a cowboy's memoir
Ropin', brandin', sortin', doctorin' and everything
Twice a year, rain or shine, every fall and every spring.
Then I thought of those spotted calves
And how cuttin' 'em out cut the herd in halves
All because the Mrs. liked 'em and she made 'em pets
She had to go and give 'em names, lest we might forget.
I thought of the cattle market and the price of stock
And could we afford to put 'em on the auction block
I thought of the times when the cost of feed
Made it senseless to even try to breed.
Why'd he have to go and say "wagon tongues?"
Livin' in the past, singin' songs already sung
Bring me back to the here and now
Take my mind away from the range and the cow.
So I asked him why that subject was on his mind
Was it part of his past too - how far behind?
Did he and I have some memories to share?
I wanted to know, when and where.
So since I asked, he said, "this is why"
"I often speak my mind," then he paused with a sigh
"But no matter what I say, I'm missunderstood and it get's distorted"
"By those old biddies in the neighborhood" he snorted.
His strange and unrelated thoughts were a puzzle
I wished I hadn't asked. I wished I had a muzzle
Wagon tongues and cow herds were on my mind
And here he was, talking 'bout womenkind.
But again, I bit down and asked about his past
And then he let it all out - finally at last
He said, "those ol' biddies and their waggin' tongues will be the death of me"
To my chagrin, I decided it would be best if I just let it be.
© 2023 Brian McNeal
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HOW TO BUY A HORSE
The young cowboy went up to the ranch boss.
And told him about his desire to buy a good hoss.
Together they carefully looked over the herd.
The lad had his pick and the boss said not a word.
It was the oldest and most feeble horse you'd ever seen.
The boss knew the kid couldn't hardly afford a sack of beans.
So he sold the old nag cheap and the deal was done.
But the kid was stuck. As for trailer and truck, he had none.
The ranch boss agreed to keep the horse a few more days.
But the young shaver would have to return without delay.
So off the kid goes to beg, steal or borrow a good outfit.
Returning a few days later with a trailer and hauling permit.
The ranch boss said, "I'm sorry to tell you son, but your horse died."
"Well, put him in the trailer," replied the kid, "but I guess he won't need to be tied.'
So that's what they did, cowboy and dead horse drove away.
Well, that was the end of the story, until just yesterday.
It'd been about a year since the incident when the two met once more.
The ranch boss asked him what he'd done with his dead horse.
"Why, I sold him of course," the kid mumbled.
"Sold him?!" The ranch boss was disgruntled.
"How in the world do you sell a horse that is dead?"
To which the kid boasted proudly, "And I bought a better horse instead."
"Since no one but you and me knew the horse was deceased,"
"I sold five hundred raffle tickets at five dollars apiece."
"When the winner came to collect his prize, I told him the horse was dead,
"It was an unfortunate reaction to something that he musta been fed."
"I fidgeted and fussed and shuffled my feet as I said, 'Aw shucks,'
"I guess that means I'm gonna have to give you back your five bucks."
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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ODE TO THE CHUCK WAGON
She's a good 'ol girl, my chuck wagon is.
No trail to follow, just what we got on the skizze.
But she'll be ready when the crew is done with biz.
She's a good 'ol girl, this chuck wagon of mine.
Lumbering along, just a little bit behind.
Pulled by two of my favorite trusty equine.
A good 'ol girl, she is, this Studebaker of old.
Always there in the rain, the heat and the cold.
A favorite gathering spot for the hands, I'm told.
I call her a girl, but she's a lady, oh so fine.
Built to turn an eye, she's my joy and pride.
To the cowboys, she's a welcome sign.
She never asks if her boot makes her rear look big.
Or if her bonnet matches the rest of her rig.
But her looks can sure make you git up and dance a jig.
Born in the year of Tom Sawyer's birth,
When Colonel Custer was put below the earth.
She's a good 'ol girl, still earning all she's worth.
She started life back in eighteen and seventy six.
But she's far from being a just a pile of sticks.
A few wrinkles here and there is something we can fix.
With love and care the surgery was begun, yes it was.
Cutting out all her cancer, using every one of my saws.
Transplanting new where needed and some just for cause.
She's a new girl now, ain't that right Shan?
With Studebaker green right from a can.
She'll be ready again when camp is filled with hands.
Low maintanence, she is, just grease her when she squeels.
She'll keep feedin' the hungry and the curious with tasty meals.
Yup, she's a pretty good 'ol girl, this cookbox on wheels.
_____________________
© 2024 Brian McNeal (Inspired by Kent Rollin's 1876 Studebaker remodel project)
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BUSTER
I called him Buster after the most famous cowboy I know
Just what I wanted, a big, sixteen-hand Palomino
I didn't know much about him except what the seller told me
But I loaded him up and trailered home what the seller sold me
At least that was what I thought I had done
Come to find out, I'd been the object of his fun
For six months me and Buster didn't get along
He was everything I wanted, so I couldn't figure out what was wrong
Finally, I contacted a trainer I knew who was more seasoned
He saddled him up and rode all day long, looking for the reason
At the end of the day, he was scratching his head in disbelief
"I see what you mean," he said, "but this should be some relief"
"I'll bet he's smarter than you think, he's just got you buffaloed"
That's when Buster and I became good friends, when I learned his code
I've never had a horse who looked so fine under saddle and tack
From that day on, Buster and I never looked back
Here's what the trainer told me when he took me off to the side
"Buying a horse is a whole lot like getting a mail-order bride"
"Once the honeymoon is over, you start using the horsewhip"
"But that's backwards, before the honeymoon, you're supposed to have a courtship"
Well, now, it seems Buster and I have been courtin' each other forever
Year after year after year and things have never been better
I say good morning to him each and every single day
And he says, "That's all well and good, now give me some hay"
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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SHE SEES BEARS
She was the horse that no cowboy wanted to ride
There wasn't any particular reason they could give
But she was always the last to have a saddle applied
I think it was because the cowboys all wanted to live.
Except for kids and fools, she was the horse no one ever rode
She had that protective instinct the same as mothers
If a cowboy were to ride her, it was said he had brains of a toad
There wasn't anything really wrong with her except she had other druthers.
There wasn't ever a cowboy who stayed in the saddle
She turned 'em end for end and over the middle
They all landed hard with their brains addled
Why she was this way was always a guess or a riddle
"She sees bears" Lloyd would say when asked to explain
Wasn't anything anyone could put their finger on
Never a snake, a skunk or a train
But she certainly had a reputation
"She musta seen bears" became the standard joke
Whenever someone rode her and told Lloyd all about it
We'd bet money that's what he'd say and none of us ever went broke
We'd see the dude comin' and git our money out lickety-split.
I remember when Lloyd was caught dozzin'
While ridin' her down the trail into town
He woke up sudden but sorta frozin'
Tryin' to figure out how he'd gotten down
Here he was on the ground lookin up at the mare
Perplexed, embarrassed and ashamed
Next we knew he was beatin' his chest with his upper torso bare
And stringin' out five dollar words unrestrained.
Thank God for western apparel with snaps
He ripped that shirt off his chest with one jerk
"Serves 'ya right," said Old Bill Stewart, "for being horseback while takin' naps."
"No wonder the mare went berserk"
Now to help you better understand this tale
It is necessary to back up and begin anew
To tell you what happened before we hit the trail
So you'll know just why this all went askew
You see, the boss man's wife didn't allow any smokin' or chew
So after breakfast Lloyd was rarin' to have a puff
But gettin' off the property first was always the rule
So he stowed a handfull of strike-'em-anywheres in his shirt pocket and said, "that ought to be 'nuff."
Well he'd forgot all about those matches
Until he was a goin' up and a comin' down
When the mare caught him nappin'
And decided he'd look a heap better bein' on the ground.
We'd all have been crying our eyes out if it hadn't been for laughin'
Poor 'ol Lloyd flailin' around like a fish outa water
Rollin' on the ground, beatin' and thrashin'
And usin' words that he hadn't oughter.
"I've never been a best man"
"And never a breast man,"
Said Lloyd, after he'd studied his man-made tan
"But now I'll forever be a breast brand man"
On his chest just above his heart
Was the firebrand those matches had left
The day Lloyd's dreams came apart
When the mare left him utterly bereft
It musta' been the friction of those matches rubbin on his pocket
That set ablaze every one of his manly chest hairs
And popped Lloyds eyes right out of their socket
And all we could say was, "Hey Lloyd, she musta seen bears."
...
© 2024 Brian McNeal Published 4/16/24 NATIONAL COWBOY POETRY GATHERING FAN PAGE
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SOULSICK CINDY
She was a mare the way the story is told
With a foal at her side that wasn't very old
Beautiful to look at and smooth as glass
But it weren't long before she showed her sass
Cindy was her name and playing with your mind was her game
Start out with a willingness to go but then prentend to be lame
Trottin' along real fine and then suddenly just stop on a dime
She could elevate horse savvy to the sublime
She was big and strong and mighty classy
The look in her eyes said a sweet equine lassie
Cow sense, you bet, but somedays not yet
Spook, shake, shudder, quake and upset
She was smart as a grizzled old college professor
But the cowboy on her back needed to be a guesser
Fast as a jet whenever it suited her reason
Minute by minute she'd go in and out of season
Unsaddle, untack and turn her loose at the rail
She'd weave in and out around the turns over hill and dale
If the gate was open, you'd find her back in her stall
Waiting for you and a bucket of feed but that's not all
What a horse she was and what a horse she weren't
Couldn't figure her out. What voltage and what current?
She ran on full octane or she stood on all her brakes
A puzzlement, bewilderment or winner of the sweepstakes?
But I'll never forget the savvy she showed
On her good days, whether or not we rode
Or the way her shinny coat glowed in the sun
I'll always remember how she gave us a whole lot of fun
© 2022 Brian McNeal
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HORSE TRADING
When Grandad said he needed to see a man about a horse,
He literally meant it
When it came to trading he was a talented force
Of course, he also might come home with a Buick
He was no handyman but that's not to say he wasn't handy with tools
He knew what a paint brush was for and how to work it
When it came to swapping he was no man's fool
He'd usually come back with the horse, the bridle and the bit.
Turn-Over was not a phrase that was known back then
But Fixer-Uppers could be had for a song
He'd find one and negotiate until the deal was done
Then go to work until there was nothing left that was wrong
Use it, rent it, trade it or sell it
Whatever the case may be
Trading, for him, was like frying eggs in a skillet
He continued with that long past the age of eighty
He cut hair for a mere ten cents
Back when a gent would bet a buck on a billiards game
But get a haircut at home to save the expense
Trading hustles or horses, to him it was all the same
Whenever he made a swap, he knew all along
That if he let the other guy keep his own shirt
He would get the deal for a song
Then sell it for the price of a whole concert
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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WE CALLED HIM NORM
His name was Norm and he was a puppy dog horse
The kind of horse you get for a young girl's first
And like always you get what you see or worse
But you seldom get anything versed.
Norm had that "I wanna be your friend" look
Until you were on top and expecting to stick
He'd see anything, a rock, a twig or running water in the brook
And he'd have you on the ground feeling sick.
We couldn't quite figure him out
But that's what you get with a 6 year old
Norm was different - no doubt
You just never knew what would make him unfold
Then one day a woman was driving by on the road
She stopped and waved me over, wanting to talk.
She said, "I just had to stop, cause that's a horse I've know'd."
"I used to own him, he comes from show stock"
She was excited to tell me about his early years
How many ribbons and trophies he'd won
About his lineage just before she shed a few tears
"But tell me," she said, "what do you do with him son?"
I proceeded to tell her that he was bought for trail rides and for fun
But he has some issues that we can't handle
Like spookin' at leaves and takin' off at a run
He's a love on the ground but under saddle he's a handful
She chuckled and said, "Of course, his world was in the show ring"
"So all this is foreign territory to him"
"You wanted an old crow, but what you got is a canary wanting to sing"
"But he's smart so give him lots of training and don't skim"
Then I told her "We call him Norm"
"That's what the seller called him"
She said, "Well, that fits his form"
"That's his actual name, just a bit trimmed"
"We gave him that handle as a nickname"
"Shortened down for ease of use"
"His papered, registered name for legal claims"
"Is 'Y-B-Normal' which fits his personality like a noose."
© 2023 Brian McNeal
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MEDICINE HAT
A crown of brown centered on the top of his head
A Medicine Hat Paint horse, white and red
A Native American name that fit with ease
And a personality to match that of Cochise
Tall and strong with lots of git-up-and-go
Hooves pounding the ground blow-by-blow
Always out in front of the herd by yards
Ready to ride hard at full throttle, full charge
He loved the saddle and the tack
Made him feel good with a rider on his back
A creature made for earnin' his pay
One of the miracles created on the sixth day
Calling him a Paint horse is just not the right salute
Not right at all for a horse this absolute
A horse like Cochise earns your esteem
It's hard not to like a horse with a Medicine Hat bloodstream
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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TOO MUCH APATHY
Arizonans awoke one hot summer morning
Headlines said: "Horses Slaughtered"
No one brave enough to give warning
All corralled, none fed or watered.
The horror of it shocked us
A cold slap on a hot desert day
Some alive, some just a carcass
Neighbors walk by and never say.
Find someone, anyone to blame
How did this get so unspeakable?
Bureaucrats do their job without aim
Unpaid back taxes, IRS receivables.
Arrest the owner and confiscate
Value perceived but doesn't eat
Items to quickly liquidate
Ignore the herd as you hastily retreat.
Rescue teams finally arrive
Thirty-two can still be saved
Euthanize four who won't stay alive
Unlock the barn full of hay.
Kingman BLM wranglers and auctioneer
Selections by lottery to be fair
Horse lovers gather from far and near
Ready, willing and able with due care.
Money pooled from Wickenburg clan
Horse trailer borrowed just in case
At least save one if we can
We'll take the last one left by your grace.
The one no one else wanted
A six-month old stud colt
Fees paid, horse adopted
Secure the trailer with a bolt.
Homeward bound to show the crew
Stories to tell, it went so well
The trailer was perfect, who knew?
A dozen owners, where will he dwell?
First one, then the next
A pass-around horse as applicable
Lived to a ripe old age, never again hexed
Thanks to a few who were charitable.
© 1987-2024 Brian McNeal
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