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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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It was a fairly nice day for Cut Bank in early April. A little breeze blowin’ off the reservation, the sun about the color of skimmed milk and the creek startin’ to show the runoff.

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To supplement farm income, some get their wives jobs in town. Others expand their hobbies (i.e., making saddles, braiding horsehair or running for county commissioner). Some, in desperation, get a real estate license.

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I read somewhere the average “practice life span” of a large-animal vet is eight years. After they quit L.A. practice, they go into small-animal practice, government work, industry, university, research or some other less hazardous profession.

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If our wives had picked their husbands
with the care we buy a bull
There’d be a lot more
bachelors on the street.

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Have you ever been embarrassed by your good dog? Me either. I’ve got a good dog. An Australian shepherd with one blue eye, and I believe he loves me. I believe I love him. He’ll go with me anywhere.

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Yer lookin’ at a feller with no tennis shoes, a ’76 GMC pickup, an outhouse and a learning permit for a cellphone. But, lest you lump me into that group of stodgy ol’ dinosaurs who cling to the days of Garth Brooks, pygmy Angus and real spare tires, let me assure you I have stepped boldly into the modern world of manly footwear.

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