Big, Lean and
Mean
(c) 1998 by Louis
A. Carle
Old "Jack" was one
of the meanest mules
I ever harnessed,
no doubt.
The kind of a mule
that you ought to shoot,
But you couldn't do
without.
We tied him short to
the manger rail
And built him a narrer
box.
Else you couldn't
get near him with harness
And he's one you can't
outfox.
We kept a big kickrail
behind
So's we could stay
alive
And as mean as he
was in the barnstall
He was jist as bad
to drive.
His mouth was as hard
as horseshoe iron
So we gimmicked to
hold him in.
There was never a
man could muscle him down
But we never let him
win.
With a chain on his
nose and hobbled legs
He'd fight until he's
throwed.
But once he was hitched
to the wagon tongue
He could move a fearsome
load.
He always worked on
the off side
Stay-chained to the
axle ring
Then jockey-sticked
to the near horse
At the hinge on the
near horse hame.
The old mare that worked
beside him
Was smart enough to
know
To let Jack tighten
the staychain
So's he had to pull
the load.
I don't think I ever
saw him tired
And he never give
up slack.
I never saw him balk
or sull
Or quit 'n come runnin'
back.
He was eighteen hundred
pounds of mean
With a Devil's temper
to spare.
Not an ounce of fat,
jist muscle 'n lean
'N a head fulluh
"I don't care!"
I rassled that mule
from plowin' to reap
Then let him stand
for awhile.
And breathed a great
big sigh of releaf
When they hauled him
back to hell.
The Healing Hand
(c) 1999 by Louis
A. Carle
I remember derisive
laughter
As I worked to relieve
the pain
That was causing
the horse discomfort
From tailhead to base
of mane.
The child that owned
the pony
Spent much of each
ride at a run.
I had warned her about
what might happen
And now that
time had come.
It seemed that all
of my students,
And, indeed, all my
clients and friends.
Assumed that no matter
the problem
"Mr. Carle could "fix
it"or "mend."
This day she rode on
the mountain
And came off the slope
at full speed
Her pony stumbled
and tumbled
She's OK, but her
pony's in need.
She cried as she told
me what happend
"I did what you've
said not to do.
So I led him real
slow 'cross the canyon
He's hurt, so I brought
him to you."
"Please, Mr. Carle,
will you fix him?
I won't make him run,
ever again!
Please give him something
to help him.
I am to blame for
this pain".
I helped her remove
the saddle.
Ran my fingers along
his spine.
His pain at one point
was distressing
Under this gentle
pressure of mine.
I gently massaged the
muscles
Bunched where the
trauma had been
And applied a hot
pack of saltwater
And gently massaged
it again.
By then a small crowd
had gathered
And I heard more than
one anxious gasp
As I picked up the
left hind and held it.
"what ARE you doing
one asked?"
I didn't take time
to tell them that
As a small lad on
the land
My mentor had shared
his wisdom
And the use of the
healing hand.
As I started to rotate
the near leg
The horse began to
complain.
So I stopped and just
laid one hand on his back;
With the other I stroked
his mane.
Then to the off leg
- the same routine
'till I felt the little
knot go
There was a "SNAP"
so everyone heard it
I put the foot down,
oh so slow.
More hot pack, more
gentle massaging
This time with the
heal of my hand
A little more pressure
and movement
Then I allowed the
sweet paint horse to stand.
After a couple of minutes
I told the kid "Lead
him away."
And said to those
gathered around me
"He's "fixed" and
the "fix" will stay".
T'was then I began
my short lecture
As I had so often
before.
"He's willing to give
his life for you,
Please don't ask him
for anything more."
"When he's hurting
or ill or frightened, share love.
God made him from
from a handfull of sand.
Be quiet and kind
and gentle
And yours,too , can
be 'Healing Hands'".
Reflections At The
Pasture Gate
(c) 1998 by Louis
A. Carle
I spent some time this
morning,
Elbows on the pasture
gate,
Watching broodmares
and their babies eating hay.
And below them in
the willow grove
My dogs were hunting
squirrel,
And I thought "I'm
thankful for this brand new day."
My body may be aging
And my eyes be past
their prime.
And I've lost most
of the strength that I once had.
But what takes the
"do it" from me
Gives me time to just
reflect
Upon a life that really
wasn't all that bad.
THE COWBOY BREED
(c) 1997 by Louis
A. Carle
"Grandpa, why are cowboys?"
Well the Good Lord
saw a need
And instead of just
another man
He built the cowboy
breed.
Why, when old
Noah built the ARC
He never could have
done
The job of roundin'
up the critters --
Two by two or one
by one.
So he hired your great,
great, great
Great, great,
great Uncle Dan
To do the gatherin'
for him
Cause Dan was a top
cow-hand.
So Uncle Dan brought
his good stud
That he called Du
Sean Sun
And a little mare
called Jody --
And in no time had
it done.
A white faced cow and
a longhorn bull
And a gander and a
goose --
A red hen and a rooster,
Two coyotes and some
moose.
He bushed out all the
critters
And locked 'em
in their stalls
Aboard the ARC that
Noah built,
"Sun" and "Jody" last
of all.
Uncle Dan walked up
to Noah
And declared he'd
earned his pay
But instead of thirty
shekles
Noah asked the boy
to stay.
Cause there would be
a terrible flood
Man nor beast would
not survive
But the folks and
critters on the arc
Would all be kept
alive.
So Uncle Dan had figured
He was headed for
a swim
But now he's bein'
told
That The Great Jehova
needed him.
Noah's wife had brought
on board
A country maiden fair,
A buxom girl with
bright blue eyes
And pretty palimino
hair.
This maiden was a ranch-
raised lass
Who would work and
do it all.
From cookin' beans
to jerkin' beef,
Ropin' calves or cleanin'
stalls.
She and Dan were of
the cowboy breed
So they became the
pair
And Noah as ship's
captain
Married them right
there.
A big ol' Texas rainstorm
Was startin' to move
in
So Dan bed and fed
the livestock
Along with Japeth,
Ham and Shem.
For forty days and
forty nights
They seldom left their
beds
And the whole of earth
got flooded
Just like Old Noah'd
said.
When the ground commenced
'a dryin'
Uncle Dan rode out
on Sun
Aunt Elizabeth rode
Old Jody
Cause their work on
board was done.
For pay they took the
Brahman bull
And the calvie White-face
cow
And started north
ahuntin' grass
And made this solemn
vow.
To raise their stock
on open range
And tend to their
own need
And to do their best
to populate
The world with the
cowboy breed!
So that's why there
are cowboys.
Though it may seem
strange to you,
It's the way that
it was told to me,
So I suppose it's
true.
That's enough
for now. If you think that you would want more , as Jimmy Durante
used to say "I've got a million of 'em".
Good luck with the
feeders !
The old
was been cowboy,
Louis A. Carle
LOUIS A. CARLE
Was born in 1924 and
raised on an Illinois “corn and hog’ farm” where the farming power was
horses and a goodly portion of the family income was from breaking and
training heavy work horses as well as light harness and pleasure horses.
Here he fed a lot of hogs, built a lot of fence and milked
a lot of cows ----and ----was working and “training” horses from about
the age of ten.
His father died when
he was three years old so his wonderful mother was left with four little
children to care for and to teach the value of hard work and the spiritual
things of life.
As a helicopter pilot
in World War Two he served in the South Pacfic assigned to the 13th Army
Air Corps, 2nd Emergency Rescue Squadron.
A severe heart problem
in 1987 stopped his active training and horseshoeing but, with the help
of his wife of more than 24 years, he still keeps somewhat active
breeding Quarter Horses, Longhorn cattle, Rhodesian Ridgeback
and Australian Shepherd dogs.
He is now spending
a large portion of his time writing “Cowboy Poetry” which he calls his
rhyming autobiography.
His wife, Irma-Ann
is an artist and full time art teacher. She illustrates many of these
poems and is a major reason for the acceptance of his books.
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