Rattlesnake Roundup… no, not the world famous one in texas.

Another roundup story that my dad told me was when he was out there and after a long day he decided
he needed to use the toilet. They were in a spot where there was an outhouse available. My dad
entered the place and began his preparation when he heard the distinctive buzz of a rattler! Quickly
he pulled out his belt as a weapon and, in the complete dark; he jumped up on the seat and started
hollering for help. The rattler rattled and by dad stood guard until someone finally heard the cries and
came with a shovel to decapitate the creature. Maybe my fear of rattlesnakes is somewhat genetic.

Ps. I have never seen anyone as skilled in decapitating a snake as my grandpa. He is simply like a ninja
with a garden ho. I’ve seen him take off a head mid-strike!

Keep the Sabbath Day

My dad comes from a western ranching family. Both sets of his grandparents owned and operated large
ranches in the southwest. He was raised riding horses and working cattle. I once asked my father what
he would do for a living if money was no object and he said that he would go back to being a cowboy.

Every year the there would be a roundup out on the ranch. All the boys would participate in gathering
the herd for the annual maintenance. Most of the cowboys were pretty stereotypically rough around
the edges and very “manly”. The roundup usually lasted several weeks. Each day started early and was
filled full of cows, horses, dust, and food. One Saturday my dad decided that he would stay out on the
ranch and work through the weekend while his father, my grandfather, headed back to town to go to
church the next day.

My father woke up that Sunday morning with an aching conscience. He knew that he should be in
church that day too, but all the rides back had left the day before. Fortunately my grandpa had a feeling
that he should go back out on Sunday morning. He did and they were both able to attend the Sunday
services. I’m thankful for these men setting a good example for me when it comes to Sunday worship.
We never miss a meeting.

No Really, Don’t Play With Matches!

One night Gilbert and Dad were out camping on the foothills. They made a fire and cooked a rabbit and
then went to sleep. As the desert night wore on it got colder and colder. My dad was using a denim
blanket as a sleeping bag and he kept moving closer and closer to the fire. It got colder and colder
and Dad moved closer and closer. The blanket caught on fire and warmed everyone up. Luckily they

were able to put out the blaze and save both boy and blanket… well, most of the blanket. That blanket
became our family picnic blanket when I was a little kid.

Don’t Play With Matches!

This one has to be one of my favorites. My dad was over at Gilbert’s house and they were playing. They
were also supposed to be babysitting Gilbert’s little sister. What were they playing with? The boys had
decided to have some fun with some matches and caps from their cap guns. This was great fun.

Eventually Aunt Jackie, Gilbert’s mother, returned home to find her little girl standing out in the coral
under a horse. Gilbert’s sister was unharmed but Aunt Jackie was plenty mad. She came looking for the
boys who should have been watching the sister. As she came Gilbert quickly stuffed the matches and
caps into his pockets so he wouldn’t get caught.

Aunt Jackie used a barrel stave for discipline that day and as she took it to Gilbert his pants started
smoking. Next thing they knew the back pocket of Gilbert’s pants was burning. That was quite the
beating!

My Dad’s Knife

When my dad was growing up he had a best friend named Gilbert. He and Gilbert spent a lot of time

camping, hiking, hunting, and doing other boy things. One day they decided to take a hike up into the

foothills behind my dad’s house. As they hiked up a small canyon they found a tree and in the tree was

a mountain lion or a bobcat. Gilbert, being an avid hunter, took out his knife and threw it at the cat. The

knife then lodged in the trunk of the tree just below the cat.

This presented the boys a unique problem. If the knife was one of theirs they would have left it and

hopefully remembered to get it back on the way home if the cat had left. The knife, however, belonged

to Gilbert’s dad, Uncle Harry. I imagine Gilbert felt like Small’s on sandlot. He knew he had to get the

knife back.

The boys devised a plan. My dad would cover Gilbert, by throwing rocks at the cat, while Gilbert climbed

the tree. Brilliant? I don’t think so, but it worked. The knife was recovered safely and the boys continued

the hike.

Bedtime Stories

When I was little my father used to put me to bed by telling me stories about when he was a little kid
like me, but who played and lived in a rural community. His stories always have fascinated me and so I
thought that I would share a few with all of you. So these are stories from when I was a little kid that I
remember my father telling me before I fell asleep.

Disclaimer: These stories are according to my memory and are true or untrue as such.