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Baxter Black

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

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We were watching The History Channel at Grandma’s casita. It was a story about the USS Enterprise being attacked. It was 1945. They were describing acts of heroism that occurred.

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Yer not gonna keep ’er, still, are ya Dad?
She must be twelve years old.

I reckon she’s closer to fourteen now,
And naturally half-polled.

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It’s fall on the cow outfit.

Time to get out the WD-40 and grease up the handles on the squeeze chute. Maybe find the three or four syringes that work, buy some new gaskets and barrels along with a box of needles.

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This is my wife. She does the books.
I do the important stuff,
Like mend the fence and check the cows.
She makes sure the income’s enough

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Talk about takin’ a beating.

I stood on the porch at Dale’s horse farm and soaked up the view. It was deep springtime in west Tennessee. The grass was so green it hurt your eyes.

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It’s funny how the world goes around. Francisco and I were checking cows, making a big circle early in the morning to beat the heat. It’s peaceful out there.

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