Meetin' The Old Man

It’s a late spring afternoon. I’m riding my horse on a dirt road that runs along the edge of the walnut orchard  where the Mexican pear pickers’ camp, Little Tijuana, was last summer.  On the other side of the dirt road are hills – hills that used to belong to the old Davila Ranch. It’s clear and warm, and I’m for sure 15 years old  and feeling important.

I’ve never been back here on my horse before. I’ve been here on a tractor, but being here on a horse is a whole different thing.

I want to learn – learn all I can about cattle and cowboyin’  – and I know one of the best ways for me to do it is to get into a field with them. With no one around watchin’ me or tellin’ me what to do. This is as good a place as any to do it.

I’ve been workin’ after school and on the weekends for a rancher friend for about six months now. I’ve been around cattle on my horse. But not alone. Not when it’s just him and me and I can do as I please.

I came back here thinkin’ I might check on those cows I see up there on that hill. They belong to The Ranch − that’s what we call the outfit that owns most of the land around here. There’re about 30 cows up close to the top, and it’s so inviting to go up there and ride among them. All I want to do is look and watch and see how they move. To get a feel for ’em and how they act.

I’m takin’ a chance. ’Cause the ranch manager (we call him The Old Man) could come along any time. If he does, he’ll raise holy hell thinkin’ I’m up to no good ’cause I was trespassin’.  But that makes doin' it even more exciting.

So I get off, open the wire gate and lead my horse through.

I’m alone in new territory. I haven’t been in here before or done this before. I’m not used to this ground under my feet. There’s a lot of it and I feel kinda small standing here.

It’s a different sensation this time as I put my foot in the stirrup. I swing my leg over and find the other one with the point of my boot. Then I just sit there lookin’. Lookin’ at open space, out into the middle of nowhere, green hills and cattle, and there’s no place I’d rather be.

We’ve got an objective: those cows up on the top of that hill. I ride up there, but they’re farther away than they looked. They move away as I approach them, but stay close. I’m not a threat and they know that. All I’m doin’ is lookin’.

But … lookin’ for what? I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for. But … I keep lookin’ anyway. What do you look for? I didn’t know. Cows with runny noses? These don’t have any runny noses. When they’re not eatin’, they’re standin’ there sticking their tongues in one nostril then the other. Why do they do that?

I like watchin’ them, and for a brief moment they’re mine. It feels right and there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.

I figure  we better not stay up here too much longer ’cause the Old Man or his cow boss Manuel will catch us for sure. So, I head my horse back down the hill.

I’m a bit edgy when I leave the field − thinkin’ I might get caught just as I’m closin’ the gate.

Hell, I’ll just tell ’em the truth. I wasn’t doin’ nothin' − just checkin’ the cows. Sounds OK to me − and I don’t see a thing wrong with that. But I get the feeling that it’s not going to go down well with them. It’s the first time I’ve ever done this on the Ranch’s property, and it looks like I’m not going to get caught.

I close the gate and ride back down the dirt road.  Somethin’s different: I feel bigger than I was before and I’m thinkin’ − thinkin’ about how my horse moves around the cattle. He knows things about ’em that I don’t yet.

Then I see a cloud of dust movin’ towards me over the trees. It’s the Old Man’s car coming this way. Then it hits me, “Oh man, this isn’t good.”

He pulls up close to me, stops and waits until I get around to his side of the car. Right off, he asks me in a rough, gravely voice, “Were you ridin’  in that field?” I tell him I was.

I don’t think he hears me, ’cause in the same breath he tells me, “Well, if you were, then you’ve been trespassing.”

Then he asks, “What were you doin’ in there?”

I tell him, “I was just checkin’ the cows.” Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be doin’.

Then he says, “I got Manuel for that and don’t need anybody else doin’ it.”

I tell him, “OK.”

Then he says, “Don’t you go up there again without checking with Manuel first.” 

I say, “OK.”

That was a strange thing for him to say after what he’d said before. Maybe in his way he was tellin’ me it was ok if I checked with Manuel first.  

He drove off and I got back on my horse and headed home. That’s the first time I’d ever spoken with him. He was ornery, but not as ornery as folks made him out to be.

Still, it surprised me when he said that about checkin’ with Manuel first. I thought about it, but I wasn’t gonna do that. Not yet anyway.

I did what I went up there to do − even got caught and it turned out ok.

Talkin’ to Manuel, that was a whole other thing. Him with that one eye of his staring out at you from under that hat.