Little cowboys tend to think they’re big enough to do big cowboy things pretty early in life. My son Colin was sure no exception. At three he thought he was big enough to help rope and doctor yearling cattle and was pretty put out with me because I didn’t agree. When he was five he asked if he would get to rope at our next branding. I told him if he practiced a lot and I thought he was ready, he could. He about wore his rope out that winter so he’d be ready. He was riding an old bridle horse gelding at this stage. Chigger was dead broke, had dragged thousands of calves to the fire and was as bullet proof for a little kid to learn on as there was. I knew Chigger would keep them both out of a wreck if he could. So, permission was granted. For whatever reason, mysterious to this day, his Dad thought he ought to rope on a cotton wrapped horn instead of even a mule hide wrapped horn, and no amount of argument would turn him. My reasoning that his little hands weren’t strong enough to hold his wraps on a nearly slick horn, and mule hide would help him, but my opinion wasn’t counted. So, cotton is was. I showed Colin how to get his wraps and then put some pressure on them by holding his hand down behind his leg. Hoping for the best, we gathered the cows. After sorting off the cows to cut down on the crowd in the pen, with his Dad’s coaching and my praying, we started in to brand the calves. We had an inner tube tied at the bottom of the gate post with a short piece of nylon rope on it, so a neighbor and I would be able to roll the calf and put its front feet into that loop as it went by. The heeler would turn his horse and hold the calf snug with his rope. We didn’t have a big bunch at the time, so this was a pretty good way to brand calves with a small crew. Chigger was well versed in this method and would do his part. Being the Mom, of course I had to document the day in photos, so I was watching through the camera lens as Colin roped his first set of heels, and holding his slack high, let Chigger go to the gate. He was coached to go to his horn at the right time, and the first calf was stretched out with little problem. It was a younger calf, so didn’t put much strain on his dallies and he was a smiling little boy. Success had him hooked! Things went along well, and of course there were some misses, but he was doing a pretty good job for his first time. He was having a big time and even his Dad might have nearly grinned once. Then he roped a big calf and the calf pulled a foot out of the loop and took off across the pen, jerking that nylon rope around the cotton wrapped horn at a smoking pace, thereby burning blisters into the little hand of the roper. It hurt bad, but he didn’t let go and finally with his Dad’s help on the ground, he got the calf dragged out of the pen and we got him stretched out and I branded him quick so he could be let go. If you’ve had a rope burn you know how bad it hurt. Imagine being a little six year old boy with a child’s soft skin. It had practically cooked his hand, to say the least. Tears? Yes, there were, but no carrying on, just the tears from the pain of it and probably because it also scared him. I gave his Dad a look that should have killed him off over that cotton wrap on Colin’s horn, as I examined our son’s hand. It was a solid blister clear across the palm, and the meaty parts of his fingers were burned too. My look must have gotten the message across, because his dad took that slick cotton off and put some mule hide on the horn after the fact. That didn’t unburn the hand, but, since Colin still wanted to rope (he was addicted by this point) it was better. We got back to branding. Cautiously, Colin built a loop and roped another small one. I know it hurt to hold his dallies, but he gritted his teeth and dragged the little calf out. About this time, I realized that one particular calf wasn’t in the pen. He was pretty distinctive as he was part Brahman and would have the generous ears of one. I went through the cows and discovered that his mother was missing too. So, Colin’s Dad stepped on his horse to go find the missing pair. The neighbor, LeRoy, and I would continue branding with Colin roping. We weren’t in a big hurry, so I coached and we helped him all we could and still do our jobs, and work progressed. Colin roped another big calf and Chigger walked him out the gate. Even with the grippier mule hide, though, the weight of the calf pulled the rope through Colin’s hand enough to completely peel the blisters off of the rope burn from earlier. I believe it took the pain level from an 8 to a 10 pretty quickly! He held his dallies until we got the calf secured and quickly branded, but this time, I decided that it was time to cool off his hand and not make it worse. So, I insisted that Colin go to the house and wash his hand well in cold water and grab an ice pack and hold it on his hand. He did, under protest, and then it was LeRoy and I standing around doing nothing until Colin’s Dad returned with the missing pair. It so happened that LeRoy had his saddle in the back of his pickup, so I suggested that if he’d like, he could rope and drag on Chigger. He grinned and said that would suit him fine. I took Colin’s little saddle off of Chigger while LeRoy got his dragged out of his pickup and straightened out and ready to put on Chigger. Now, Chigger was a great gelding. Rock solid in every way a saddle horse should be. But he had a funny idiosyncrasy that he had until his dying day. He saddled like a real bronc every single time. He’d cock his head, point an ear, blow rollers out his nose, kink his side away and cock his left hind foot like he’d reach up with it and knock the saddle and maybe you, away. I mean, he was like a Will James illustration of a bad bronc. Every time. If you unsaddled him over the nooning, then went to saddle him in an hour, he would be the same way. If he hadn’t been ridden for two years, it was the same way. All bluff, but an academy award winning acting job on his part. I handed Chigger off to LeRoy and LeRoy rubbed his back smooth then swung his blanket on. Snort! When he grabbed his saddle and set himself to swing it on him, Chigger let out a whistle and snort and did his routine outlaw act. I assured LeRoy he was bluffing so LeRoy swung his saddle on and when he had it set, he turned toward me and said “If I hadn’t just seen that little boy riding him, I don’t think I’d have guts enough to ride him!” He finished saddling him, led him off a little, stepped on and we resumed branding. About that time the missing pair and Bill showed up (she’d been over in the neighbors due to a bad watergap) and Colin came back out to help us finish with a bandage and an ice pack on his hand, and we got the rest of them branded up and turned back with their mamas. One might think that the awful rope burns might have discouraged a little kid, but it sure didn’t. He was ready and willing to rope and drag calves again at the next opportunity. In private, his Dad and I had a heart to heart talk about properly wrapping a little one’s saddle horn too. No one even died, though my mama grizzly was pretty strong. I don’t know how many thousands of calves, plus yearlings, that Colin has roped and dragged to a branding fire in the ensuing 30 years, but even when he gets a burn, he doesn’t stop. Just like the determined little boy, who in spite of tears, went back in to the pen and roped another one. It’s an addiction that started early. He shows no sign of wanting to give it up either!
Jan was raised on a ranch in far western South Dakota. She grew up horseback working all descriptions of cattle, plus sheep and horses. After leaving home she pursued a post-graduate study of cowboying and dayworking in Nebraska, New Mexico, Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota....
