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Baxter Black

Baxter Black is a cowboy poet, author, vaquero philosophizer, left-handed roper and former large animal veterinarian.

LATEST

We all have great memories of “the best party.”

I had a party. It lasted 48 hours. I lost my socks, my dignity, two days of my life, six pingpong balls and four pounds.

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I was just about to cull the cow
when the boss sees me swingin’ the gate.
“Hold it there, Doc, for a minute yet, ’cause I’ve not quite decided her fate.

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Harold has been dismantling his feedlot. He built it over 40 years ago and eventually achieved a 30,000- head capacity. You can imagine the accumulation of steel, rubber, railroad ties, nails, car bodies, pipe, chains, wire, horseshoes and baler twine.

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Life is just a bowl of cherries
to a first-rate feedlot hand.
All the gates swing free and easy;

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In this column I have often mentioned scours, abscesses, big tits, bad bags, cancer eyes, foot rot, slurry pits, afterbirth, retained placenta, castration, heat cycles, sheep pellets and snotty noses.

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In rural America, farmers and “rural lifestylers” are often neighbors. Seeking a place to better raise their children, to retire in peace or to escape the continuing anxiety of the city, they move to the country and build a house on a 2-acre plot.

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