There used to be a lot of sheep in this country. Much to the consternation of more than a few cowboys, it was actually the sheep that made the big ranches. One ol’ boy told me that the cattle business was sort of a luxury, and a fella has to run sheep until he can get money enough ahead to trade himself into a herd of cows.
Maybe he was right, but then there’s the other well-healed big operator that started right out in the cattle business. The old boy sure didn’t look the part, though. He wore old brogan clod-hopper shoes tied up with binder twine, and raggedy old clothes that would make a sheepherder look like a fashion statement from Madison Avenue. The old guy looked for all the world like a bum that had just fallen off a freight train.
*
Someone asked him once why he dressed like that, with as big an operation as he had.
“Well,” was his reply, “ever’ time I got money enough ahead to dress like a cowboy, I just decided to buy out another homesteader instead.”
Everyone has their priorities, I guess.
It takes a special sort of a guy to herd sheep. The work is pretty lonesome. It’s just one old boy and his dogs out in the middle of no place with a band of sheep to keep on good grass and water. The guys would be all alone for weeks on end with no one to talk to except the critters around them. Of course keeping the coyotes and other predators from packin’ the lambs off was pretty much a full-time job.
Coyotes are a piece of cake compared to what some guys had to deal with. One old herder up in the Dupuyer country used to nail the grizzly ears to the side of the wagon box so he could keep score, and he’d get quite a collection by the end of the season.
Marvin DePriest was herdin’ sheep for Bud Gordon years ago, and on one of Bud’s trips to the north range to re-supply the herders, Marvin was lettin’ the boss know how sick he was getting of the groceries. With no refrigeration in his wagon, the cuisine was pretty limited.
“Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a good fried chicken dinner,” Marvin commented, with his mouth watering at the very thought. “I’m sure gettin’ sick of soda crackers and mutton.”
Bud was a good ol’ boy and certainly wanted to keep his herders happy if he could, so he promised to bring Marvin up a young rooster the next time he came around with groceries.
A couple of weeks later, Bud showed back up at Marvin’s camp with another load of groceries, and sure as the world, he had a good young rooster in a crate in the back of the pickup, just like he’d promised. Marvin was elated. He could hardly wait.
As soon as Bud’s dust had settled on his trip back to headquarters, Marvin started in unraveling an old gunny sack to make a little string to tie his rooster up. He fastened the string around one of the rooster’s hind legs and tied him up to the spoke on the wagon wheel with 20 or 30 feet of slack, so he could scratch around out there on the prairie.
Exactly why he didn’t eat that rooster the day he got him remains a mystery. Maybe the idea was to fatten him up a little more, I don’t know. Well, the plan sort of backfired. Being lonesome like he was, Marvin got kind of attached to his new feathery friend. He even named him Oscar.
Now, chickens aren’t really known for their great intellect. I think they’ve got a brain about the size of a pea, and most of them are dumber than a sack of hammers, but Oscar was different. He was one smart rooster. Whenever a chicken hawk would come close, Ol’ Oscar would beat feet under the wagon and crawl up on the reach (that’s the long pole that holds the two axles together). He spent the nights roosting up there under the wagon, too. No critters were ever going to get him where he was hiding. Not with this super hiding place and Marvin’s dogs laying right there close.
As time went on, Marvin and Oscar became fast friends, with the sheepherder becoming more impressed by the day with how that chicken could effortlessly evade the hawks, owls, and coyotes that would have loved to have him for lunch. The two developed a unique relationship, not often seen between man and bird. Some say the two even carried on philosophical discussions concerning economics and politics, but I really find that a little hard to believe.
Be that as it may, Marvin just couldn’t bring himself to eat Oscar. A fella just can’t chop the head off his friend and then eat him for dinner. Marvin made up his mind to send him back with Bud the next time he came up with groceries.
A couple of weeks went by, and here came Bud again; surprised to see that rooster still tied with 30 feet of string to the wagon wheel. He asked Marvin why he hadn’t eaten him yet.
“Oh, I can’t eat him. That’s the smartest rooster I’ve ever seen,” the herder explained. He went into great detail about how Oscar watched the sky and dashed under the wagon at the very sight of a hawk. “You just need to haul him back to the ranch and throw him in the chicken coop where you got him.”
“I can’t do that,” Bud explained. “The other roosters will kill him, now. He’s been gone for over a month, and a strange rooster in the coop will cause the biggest fight you ever saw. I’m afraid they’ll kill ’im, Marvin.”
Marvin just stood there in silence for a moment as he mulled all this over in his head. “I don’t think so,” he finally answered. “That’s one smart rooster, and I can’t bear to eat him, so just take him on back home with you. Movin’ the wagon with a rooster tied to it ain’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I’m afraid I’ll run over him, an’ that’d be a real waste. Jus’ take him back home and turn him loose.”
Bud could see that Marvin’s mind was made up. He was pretty sure of what would happen when he threw that young rooster back in the coop, but he crated him up and hauled him back to the ranch anyway.
Sure enough, Bud had barely turned his back from releasing Oscar back into the chicken coop, when the awfullest chicken fight you ever saw broke out. It was a real dog pile with feathers flying everyplace as every rooster in the coop piled on top of the stranger.
Bud just shook his head. “I knew that was going to happen,” he said to himself. “Marvin should have fried that rooster when he had the chance.”
The chicken squawkin’ continued for several minutes as Bud did a few evening chores around the place. In fact, the ruckus was sill going on when he stuck his head back in the door to see what was left of Marvin’s fine feathered friend.
The fight was still going strong, but much to Bud’s surprise, there over in the corner on the top rung of the roost sat Oscar; a smug look of victory on his beak. Somehow he’d managed to sneak out from under the bottom of that pile of fighting roosters, and was content as could be to sit out the rest of the scrap ... safe and sound on his high, safe vantage point.
Oscar was one smart rooster. What his ultimate fate was, I never did hear. All I know for sure is that I agree with Marvin. It’d be a sin to eat a chicken that was that smart.
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