The Red Rooster

When my father decided to lease the pitchfork dude ranch in the Spring of 1945 he had many immediate concerns not the least of which was to find and purchase at least 35 head of "gentle" horses for the guests to ride on the horseback rides that he intended to feature at the ranch. This had to be a daunting task in light of the tradition of horse trading and the added constraint of time. Horse traders were not, nor are they now, considered to be the most honorable of characters. "This horse will never stumble with a guest on board" may really mean "this horse is so stoved-up it can't walk." Even as a seven year old I could recognize that the 45 plus horses that dad had eventually purchased was a rag-tag lot. Of course as a seven year old, I also thought them to be the most beautiful bunch of horses on planet earth. One group that he purchased off of the wind river reservation had what was to be my best buddy a blue roan that I named blue. I wasn't into original names - just descriptive names. Fortunately for me, blue even as a three year old, was as I look back, one of the most gentle horses that Dad bought . Blue and I grew up together.

One of the horses from the wind river bunch turned out to be a real "head case". From the word "go" he was an outlaw, a real ding-bat ~ but one of the most beautiful horses that I have ever seen. He was a deep sorrel red with perfect white markings. I remember telling dad that he was as beautiful as a "red rooster". So from that day forward he was known as "the red rooster". We soon learned that the red rooster really didn't like people. In the tradition of Michael Vick, he was a fight'n rooster. Not only did he not like people on his back, he didn't like them to be around him. To shoe this horse, he had to be thrown and trussed up like a Christmas goose. He'd lie there snorting, screaming, and kicking as the horse shoe-er, who usually was my dad, attempted to put shoes on his hooves. It was at least a three hour episode ~ tempers high accompanied by a lot of swearing. I learned a lot of my best swear words during those encounters. But remember he was a beautiful animal.

Riders on this horse were out of the question. Hell you couldn't even get close to him. After time and much thought it was determined by dad and the wranglers that it would be best that they use him as a pack horse. This too, as it turned out, was not an easy task. The guests would "gush" about how beautiful this horse was as dad would attempt to "unpack" him on our trips to the beaver ponds for our weekly cook outs. Little did they know that in order to pack this animal he had to be blindfolded, have a hind leg tied up, and hobbled - immobilized. Unpacking him was a leap of faith. Reloading him after the cook out was done after the guests, on their horses, were departed on their way back to the ranch. This horse was a royal pain in the ass. But remember, he was beautiful.

As I look back, the only thing that saved his ass was the possibly that he would gentle down enough during the regular dude season that he would be a good pack horse during hunting season. The general rule was each pack horse carried two quarters of an elk carcass ~ an easy task for the horse and a easy load for the outfitter. During the lull between "dude season" and 'hunting season" that first year, practice sessions were held for this horse's impending hunting pack-horse season. Things were not really going that great but the decision was made to give him a "try". A week before hunting season off they went. I remember him being blindfolded, hobbled, and packed with camp gear. He was loaded with soft camp gear such as tents, bed rolls, and tarps in case he "blew up" and spread packed gear up and down the trail.

As I attended school during the early fall.I remember stories from returning hunters and guides about how the red rooster was doing ~ none of the stories were favorable. The red rooster never appeared with the first returning hunters carrying early elk, antelope and an occasional bear kills. He remained in camp apparently used as a pack animal carrying the animals back to the main hunting camp during the hunting season. As the end of hunting season approached I was anxious to see the return of the "pack string". Finally, the day arrived. It was a glorious sight just as I had anticipated.The sight of 35 head of horses coming down the trail was glorious. Some of the horses carried camp gear such as tents and stoves some, of course, carried the guides and remaining hunters, and lastly the remaining horses carried the last of the elk killed during the last hunt.

After all of the hunters and guides had disembarked and the animals had all been unpacked, feed, and turned out to pasture, I asked my dad, "where is the red rooster"? He replied simply, "bear bait". I immediately knew what that meant. And, I remember I also knew that that was the way it was. Beauty will carry you only so far. There has to be more.