October 2, 2003

Reading classified advertisements is a deep-seated habit. First things I read in the Livestock Weekly are the real estate offerings. I study the ranches in Coahuila, Montana and British Columbia, dreaming the dreams of a 20 year-old setting out to spread my brand across the boundless West and run big steers in the shadow of the image of Mr. Goodnight.

I'm always looking for a chance there might be an outfit cheap enough to finance or lease purchase. Men of my advanced years need to think big. Never know when a deal might arise to take the pressure off the coyote buffer zone we are holding as a seedbed for bitterweed and prickly pear and a Mexican eagle flyway.

The influence of this obsession spurred my imagination. I thought of an advertisement for my outfit the other day while waiting for a truck at the gate leading in from the highway: "Historic West Texas ranch with 11 miles of frontage on major highway. Thirty miles too far west to reach 10-inch annual rainfall belt, needs water well rig to deepen wells." (I had just learned there was worse news than buying a new string of pipe.)

Bit more time passed and this one popped up, "Will care and pasture mother ewes for the next 12 months on halves. Need working partner to furnish 100 tons of number two shelled corn, 30 tons of fine stem alfalfa hay, and 15 tons of molasses blocks. No references needed." Hot on the subject of sheep, I wrote this one, "Old time sheep rancher wants ratio of predators to livestock balanced on his ranges to the sheep's advantage. Can assure privacy for eradicators. Please, no telephone calls."

The working partner idea brought back an old advertisement a rancher east of Angelo ran several times a year in the daily paper: "Ranch job open. Call before 5 a.m. and after 10 p.m. at night. Furnish wood and water." Moved forward to fit the times, "Lady experienced in ranch cooking, care of children, pump and gauge oil wells, ride and doctor sick cattle, have grade school teacher's certificate, needs to relocate east and north of the Mississippi River. Farther north and east the better."

So many items came back, like, "Lost or strayed three year-old red and white bull. Last seen in railroad right of way heading east. Gain positive identification by calling 325-835-2113. Keep bull." Or, an offer to sell cattle, "44 head of short bred Angus heifers. Been running with low birthweight bulls two weeks. Ready to go as soon as quarantine is lifted on ranch."

Toyed with offering the fleet of trucks and pickups parked by rusty trailers at the ranch. "Big dispersion of ranch rolling stock. Homemade bumper and gooseneck trailers, half-ton and ton pickups, propane units, tool boxes and grill guards, collection of lug wrenches and high-lift jacks, tow chains and tow bars, used radiator and gas caps, leaf and coil springs. Need time to apply for new titles and license plates. One, maybe two, of the vehicles are ready for state inspection."

Still no truck, and nobody willing to stop to visit on the highway, I remembered "Old Jelly Roll," the kid horse we bought who threw a bronc rider from Fort Stockton so hard, he threatened to turn us in to the Red Cross for fostering dangerous working conditions. "Jelly Roll" should have been, but wasn't, represented in an advertisement reading: "Nine year-old kid horse. Spur Mark and Cold Jaw breeding. Contact owner and trainer at Community Hospital during visiting hours."

On the horse subject, every night the Big Boss and his polo cronies sat in the back yard of the bunkhouse at the old ranch or met at stables or training fields, they traded horses, praised horses, matched races, and did everything about horses except ride and shoe horses. I'd sure liked to have submitted this offering for one of their pets. To wit: "Swap or sell polo prospect named 'Iguana.' Two expert farriers can change shoes in one-half day. Sound on three feet. Goes back to Glass Eye and Albino Brain. Back even farther to Slouchy Slug and Ex Lax."

By the time the truck came, I'd reviewed Border Collies close to chicken farms needing geographical changes: "Free puppies. Come after children's bedtime," to "Complete dispersal of Mary Kay cosmetic inventory 30 miles north of Van Horn, Texas. No deal too small."

Part of the new West passed through my imagination during my wait. Never had any luck before writing classifieds, but I never had gone so deep into the truth.

October 2, 2003