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  1. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    (I hope Nophest doesn't mind me stealing some of his space and broadband, and if he does I suppose the mods will figure out a way to tell me, but since I've got a lot of time on my hands and no word processing program I thought I might use this format to get some of my stories down, if for no one else but me. So don't pay them any mind. Its something more just for me and the rat in the glass cage syndrome).
     
    #1
  2. SilverLycan

    SilverLycan The XnXX Alpha Wolf

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    I'm not leaving until I hear a story, and that last one barely counts as a post since it was entirely in parenthesis.
     
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  3. Lookn4awillin1

    Lookn4awillin1 Porn Star

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    As long as it involves animals/nature/outdoor activity/anecdodal(sp)life story, fine. No damn politics or religion talked in this club. Come on, enrapture us, at least give us something better than the "is my dick big enough" or the "how do I please my girl" thread.
     
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  4. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    Cowboy days

    Rover and me

    It was a beautiful morning on top of the red bluff mesa. The sun was bright and warm and the air was freshly washed crystal clear by the rain the night before. I was on Friday, a big Chestnut colored horse, that was quick on his feet. And a good thing to because we were loping in circles and doing figure eights, and I was swinging low in the saddle from one side of his neck to the other, staying just ahead and out of reach of the rancher I worked for who was cussing me up one side and down the other doing his best to beat me over the head with his coiled up lariat, while Rover the sheep dog, with his ears freshly twisted, just kind of sat in one place and watched along with the sheep.

    As you might be able to guess there's a story behind this and it was kind of a long one. It had actually started six weeks before this when the same rancher and I were riding north out of the home ranch driving about a dozen cows. We topped out of the bottom of the badlands onto the plane and he stopped and pointed at the mountain range about 15 miles north of us and said; "Where's D Pass. Point to it."

    D Pass was the lowest spot on the eastern end of the Copper Mountains and no problem at all to point out and I did. "Ok where's the Berger Place"? he asked. I told him it was right at the bottom of the west side of the pass. "Good," he said, "take these cows there and I'll pick you up later."

    That sounded simple enough, but then he asked me another question that was quite odd at first. "You got plenty of cigarettes"? I said I had about a pack and a half and figuring he wanted to bum a couple off me for the ride back to the ranch I was reaching for my pack when he said; "Here, better take these," and when I looked he had three packs of his nasty old Salem's in his hand extending them to me. I knew right then when he said he'd pick me up later he meant much later.

    I just took the packs and stuffed them in my saddle bag and headed out. Old Fred was not much for conversation and even less for questions. But then even an stranger thing happened. As I headed out north and he turned south I heard him say; "Rover," and turned in time to see him point in my direction. Rover looked a bit perplexed so Fred snapped his fingers and pointed again and Rover turned towards the mountain and started following me and the cows.

    Well that made no sense at all. Rover was the rancher's best Sheep dog and we never worked him with cows so he wouldn't get kicked trampled or gored. In fact he didn't even follow the cows, instead he hung back with me just padding along kind of confused like I was. And with good reason. Rover and I didn't really know each other. He was a dog but not a pet. He was more like just one of the hands and when he wasn't working he kind of kept to himself.

    Cows have a swinging gate to them when they want to. Its a long kind of relaxed side to side walk that covers a lot of ground when they get in the swing of it. And these cows new they were headed out of the flat winter grounds to the green grass of the mountain and it didn't take us as long as I figured before we hit the Berger allotment (all 12 sections of it) and it wasn't much longer before I was at the gate at the bottom of a hill and just on the other side of that hill would be the old ranch house that sat at the head of some long forgotten hay fields with a creek running right down the middle of them.

    And I noticed as a got off my horse to open the gate that for the first time since we'd left Rover was all attentive with his ears perked forward. I didn't really understand that but as we topped the crest of the hill it was obvious because there next to the old abandoned ranch house was a sheep wagon and the rancher's entire band of sheep, all 1,000 of them. They covered all the meadows and were straggling out up towards the pass and the copper colored granite. There was also a truck parked next to the wagon and I could see a horse tied up to it. And I recognized it as part of the Britan outfit and figured it had to be Bobby and I was right.

    He came out of the wagon and greeted me with; "I heard you was coming, but I'd about given up hope and thought you'd been lost for a week."

    "No, Fred and I just rode out this morning. But that was after he'd gone to town and been drunk for a week." We both laughed in agreement that would explain the delay and then he said; "come on in your just in time for dinner." Which turned out to be lima beans and spagettios cooked together. (Cooking everything in the same pan wasn't the only domestic quirk Bobby had, but that's another story).

    It was only over dinner and washing the dishes that I finally got told what I was supposed to do. Bobby was supposed to ride for stray cows and I was supposed to keep the sheep gathered up and on the hay fields until we docked them (which is cut their tails off, castrate the males, vaccinate and brand them).

    It sounded simple enough as we bedded down except Bobby added I needed to keep tally of them to make sure they were all in the fields. Now that didn't sound to easy and I asked him how I was supposed to count 1,000 sheep. "Easy," he said, "just count the legs and divide by four."

    Well it turned out to be easier than I thought it would be. I had close to 1,000 sheep in the fields when we bedded down and by the time the sun came up the next morning I had not one. Instead, they were all up in the rocks above the ranch house, spread out across at least a couple of square miles and most of it in country where a horse couldn't go because of the rock outcroppings and steepness of the terrain.

    So me and my horse and Rover headed out on what would become my morning routine. Circling clear up around the sheep near the head of the mountain and then working our way down gathering the sheep in front of us and pushing them down to the fields. And it was under kind of Bobby's watchful eye. When he rode in around noon the first day he asked me he rode down to the creek where I was sitting and watching them and asked me; "where's the sheep"? I just pointed to the fields and then he asked; "no, where's the other 700 of them."

    By the next day he was willing to admit I gathered about half of them, and by the end of the week he said I was getting close. The problem was that by the time I searched them all out and tried to push them to the meadow some of the ones I'd gathered would already be trying to escape back up into the rocks. I explained that to him and he looked at kind of funny and said; "use the dog."

    Now I knew that when it comes to working sheep a dog is worth 10 men. And I'd had Rover with me every day and he'd helped me move them but Bobby finally explained; "you've got to send him. Just point at the sheep you want him to gather in the rocks and he'll bring them to you while you keep moving the others."

    Well that made a world of difference. I'd just point at the little bunches of sheep in the rocks and say "Rover" and he'd take off and slink around them and then move up on them real low like and they'd see him and run in the opposite direction. He'd push them right to me and we'd gather them up and move them to the field and Rover would keep them all in one bunch.

    But then the next problem was they wouldn't stay in one bunch or even in the hay fields. I'd put them there but the minute I turned my back or wasn't looking one old ewe would start to wonder back up towards the rocks and about 20 or 30 sheep would start to follow her. I'd mount up and circle them back but by the time I did there would be three or four other old ewes leading their own little following off in different directions.

    Now, I didn't understand sheep and they didn't understand me. The problem was I was long on temper and short on patience. I figured I could teach them a lesson. So one day when this same old ewe headed out I decided I'd just drag her back. I mounted up, shook out my rope, threw my loop, dallied and spun my horse the other way. How was I supposed to know you couldn't do that with sheep. I only had a 40 foot rope but I could clearly hear the snap of her neck at the end of it. Opps. And worst of all none of the other sheep were the least impressed to see her laying there twitching her last. They just walked right around her.

    I can tell you its a messy business to make a dead sheep look like a coyote kill. You have to slash the throat and belly and it won't work anyway if nothing like eagles or other scavengers come along to clean up the mess. So roping them was out.

    But I still had a personal grudge match going with some of those old ewes that by that time I come to recognize personally. By this time Rover and I had gotten to be really good friends and partners so one morning then I saw the ewe leading them off, Rover was looking at me kind of excited and instead of just sending him this time I said; "Rover, sick that bitch."

    Rover seemed to understand perfectly and instead of slinking off on a low crawl around them he took off at a high dead run and when he hit that lead sheep he rolled her and I could see the wool fly. Talk about impressed. Not just the sheep he attacked but all the ones following her suddenly turned and ran back to the field. Rover then came back and sat down beside me and for maybe the first time I petted and hugged him. Amazing, Rover hated sheep as bad as I did. Who knew?

    From that point on I would say that Rover and I had the most well disciplined band of sheep on Copper Mountain. We'd hit them in the rocks in the morning and let me tell you they would stampede to the hay field. They still tried to sneak off on me all the time but as soon as they saw Rover coming they'd high tail it back to the hayfield. A little bloody perhaps in a few places but none the less where they were supposed to be. And there was even marked improvement in me and Rover's relationship. I didn't even have to say; "sick that bitch" any more. I'd just point and send him and he'd do the rest.

    I was even getting compliments from Bobby and even Fred (when he finally sobered up enough to actually bring a crew and dock) He said he was going to fire me if I didn't have them all gathered up (as if there was a line of people wanting to work 16 hours for $5 a day) and I could tell he was actually surprised to see that I did have all the sheep gathered.

    Then after we docked he told me, WE (emphasis added) were going to move all 1,000 of them to the red bluff mesa. I added the emphasis because I knew there wouldn't be any WE the next morning when I gathered up the sheep and headed out. It was just ME and Rover. But like I said we had a very well disciplined band of sheep by then.

    But there was a problem and that was those sheep liked their copper colored rocks a lot better than the mesa and Rover and I had to keep pushing them. We'd managed to get them to go through the gate but I still had to move them as far as the salt blocks and water and they kept trying to double back on me.

    So I kept sending Rover after then on one side while I rode out on the other side. Rover and I would meet back up behind them and they'd move for a while and then try to double back and I'd send Rover again. And I'd just done that, and Rover had just bowled the errant ewe over and there was still wool in the air when all of a sudden I heard "ROVER!!!!" and old Fred had showed up out of nowhere. He flew past me, dismounted like a calf roper, grabbed poor old over and started whacking him on the head and twisting his ears, screaming "NO!! NO!!" with each whack and twist.

    Then a couple second later he let go of Rover and started walking towards me. "Goddamned no good dumb kid. Ruin my dog will you? You're the one who needs a lesson." He was reaching out to grab the bridle on my horse, and I might have been a dumb kid, but not dumb enough to let him get a hold of it so he could jerk me off my horse and twist MY ears. So instead I threw all my weight into one stirrup and sunk my spur into Friday's opposite side and we spun away.

    Now talk about being a dumb kid. If I'd been thinking I would have run Fred's horse off in the process and I wouldn't have had to spend the next half hour loping in circles and figure eights out there on that beautiful morning on the red bluff mesa. But I didn't and once Fred got mounted up we kept running ducking and dodging until Fred's horse finally played out and he had to walk him, his hangover, and Rover back to the stock truck, while I kept a safe distance.

    As he left he did holler out that I would never work another one of his dogs again. Yeah, well if I never worked another one of his sheep again it would be too soon for me. But then those are other stories.
     
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  5. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    Cowboy days

    Me and Bobby and the Sheep Wagon

    I don't know how many of you have ever seen a sheep wagon let alone stayed in one of them. I've included a picture just in case. But if you haven't despite appearances sheep wagons are a very hospitable environment to live in. They're much better in the summer than they are in the winter, but they've got stoves in them and you can survive in one even in the winter.

    Now, I'm sure most of you have seen campers or camper trailers but in my own opinion I've yet to see anything that rivaled a sheep wagon when it comes to usable space. Every square inch is used for something and it's pretty amazing how much stuff you can get into one of them. They have little special place for everything if you know how to use it or where to look. But then they have to because they were built for guys who would live in them for as much as six months at a time without ever going to town.

    Most of them have little dutch doors that latch together so you can open both of them or one of them. As soon as you enter there's a little cast iron stove on the right, and a long bench on the left. Everything under the bench is storage space. Just past the stove are cupboards and another little bench with again more storage space. In the back is the bed, which is raised about half way up the height of the wagon. In the front of the bed are about a half dozen drawers (the longest ones you may have ever seen because they are as long as the bed is wide) and the table which slides under the bed when its not in use. Below that are two doors that open under the bed and again more storage space. That leaves a space about two feet wide to walk in until you get past the stove and then there's a rectangle of about four feet by two feet of space to move around in.

    If its a real working sheep wagon and you really get to looking around in it you'll probably find a little bit of something left by every herder who every occupied it. Just all kinds of odd things, maybe a pipe to two, medicines, nick knacks, things you'll never figure out what they were and always books. This one I could tell actually had been Old Zimmo's for a long time. They way I could tell that was because there were two complete sets of encyclopedias in the storage space under the bed.

    Zimmo was either a sheep herder or a wino depending on where you saw him. He spent most of his time out on the range with the sheep, but if he wasn't out there he was in town drinking until all his money was gone or the delirium tremors started to set in which ever came first. But in either place probably the one thing you'd never guess was he knew just about everything in the world. He must have had a photographic memory and he would literally read whole sets of encyclopedias from A to Z and remember it. He also read all the classics and history books by the dozens. But he had retired by then and taken up residence in the basement of a bar.

    Anyway if I've explained it right you should have a pretty good idea of a sheep wagon and know it was actually a pretty good place for a man to live for extended periods of time. But there was a problem with this sheep wagon and that was there wasn't a man in it there were two of us (at least for the better part of a month).

    I'd ridden in there with cows and got stuck with sheep. Bobby had already been living in it for a month before that and now we had to share it and don't go getting any Brokeback Mountain ideas but when I say share it that means even the bed.

    It didn't seem all that odd back then. I was 15 and Bobby had just graduated from high school. Both of us were used to roll up beds with more than one body in them. It was just a way of life at cow camps and ranches. So that didn't bother me so much it was just that living with Bobby took a little getting used to.

    For one thing there was his theory of cooking which went like this. Since everything gets mixed in your stomach anyway you might as well just cook it like that to begin with. That meant Spaghettios (Man did he love his spaghettios) and Lima beans cooked in the same pot. It was bacon, eggs and bread all cooked together. It was fired hamburger with the pork and beans thrown in to the same pan.

    Bobby also theorized that this kind of cooking saved on doing the dishes, which he was at least right about that. See, one thing about living in a sheep wagon is you had to do minor chores like the dishes and putting things away. If you didn't you within a day or two you wouldn't have enough room to turn around in.

    So doing the dishes was one of our daily and nightly routines. He'd wash and I'd dry and put away. And it was during this routine I noticed another routine. Every time I jerked the silverware draw open to put the silverware away there would be this pill bottle with white powder in it that would roll its way from the back part of the drawer up into the front part where the silverware was.

    I never really paid it much mind until one evening when I went to throw a big chunk of bacon rine out and Bobby said no he was saving that to bait up the mice with. He was right we were being overrun with them by then (and when I say overrun I mean they were running all over the top of us in bed at night) and I was all for something that would get rid of them because they were wise to the traps.

    I asked him if he had a better idea and he said; "Wait until you see this. This works better on mice than anything you've ever seen" With that he grabbed a small board and produced a hammer and some tacks and proceeded to nail the bacon rine onto the board. Then he looked at me and said; "Ok hand me my strychnine."

    I was a little perplexed and not just because I didn't know where it was but more to the point where someone would come up with strychnine. Bobby acted a little impatient. "It's in the drawer just on your left in a pill bottle," he explained.

    "You mean this drawer?" I said opening the silverware drawer.

    "Yeah," he answered, "its right back behind the patrician."

    "No it ain't Bobby," I kind of protested, "it's right here on top of the forks where it is every time I open this drawer. What the hell do you keep strychnine in the silverware drawer for?" I wanted to know.

    "So I can find it. You don't just leave strychnine laying around you know. That stuff is dangerous. Besides the lid's still on it isn't it?" he asked as if not exactly sure himself.

    That seemed like somewhat of a small consolation but it was.

    Bobby then shook a small amount of the powder out in a tin can added some water and made a brush out of the end of a piece of rope he cut off. He then just painted the bacon rine with it and took it outside where he nailed the smaller board to a bigger one announcing that should knock a big hole in the mice population.

    He was right. By the next morning I could see about a half dozen dead mice. The next day maybe a dozen and a pack rat. But by the end of a couple of weeks if you made a big circle around the sheep wagon we had a whole dead ecosystem. From mice to rats to a raccoon and a badger not to mention an assortment of dead birds and a Bull Snake and a Rattler. Bobby was right. I'd never seen anything work like that. And I eventually just got used to checking the make sure the lid was tight on the bottle every day.

    Bobby and I also had another mis-communication over my cigarette smoking. Not that he minded me smoking. It was just that I'd run out of cigarettes within the first two weeks I was there. I'd got to rummaging around in the wagon and found some rolling papers and a can of tobacco and taken to rolling my own.

    They tasted terrible but they seemed to work alright as far as me not going into withdrawal. And then one day Bobby announced he was going to drive down to the home ranch and go to the store and asked me if I wanted him to pick up some cigarettes for me. I thought it was an act of sheer kindness on his part and told him I had part of a carton in the bunk house and I'd give him the money to pick me up another carton at the store.

    "Thanks, Bobby," I told him. "That's mighty considerate of you."

    "It's not that so much. And I don't mind sharing. But at the rate you're going you're going to smoke up all my worm medicine," he told me.

    "Worm medicine," I asked thoroughly confused.

    "Yeah, old Baldy (one of his saddle horses) has got a bad case of worms so I mix the deworming medicine up in the tobacco because he loves tobacco. I just hold a handful out to him and he eats it right up," he explained.

    "Jesus Christ Bobby, why didn't you say something before this"? I wanted to know. "That shit could have poisoned me, or something."

    "It didn't seem to bother you," Bobby replied, "and I figured the worst that could happen is you wouldn't get any worms."

    Such was my life with Bobby in the sheep wagon. And aside from the strychnine in the silverware draw and the worm medicine in the tobacco it really wasn't that bad. We spent many an enjoyable night playing cards or checkers while he would put a spoonful of sugar in his mouth and then wash it down with straight Karo Syrup. (I eventually got used to seeing that too).

    Incidentally, I looked for it but couldn't find it, but if you ever get hold of an old copy of National Geographic you can see the real Bobby. He got his picture in it about ten years ago and you can't miss him. It was 25 years after our summer together, and he's still in a sheep wagon, bottle feeding bum lambs that have little pamper diapers on them to keep them from messing up the wagon where he brought them in from out of the cold.
     
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    #5
  6. Lookn4awillin1

    Lookn4awillin1 Porn Star

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    I've heard of dogs running out of leash, but sheep running out of rope...too good. No sheep wrangling in the rodeo I guess.
     
    #6
  7. tenguy

    tenguy Reasoned voice of XNXX

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    Good stories Stumbler, please keep them coming.
     
    #7
  8. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    You'd think I'd have figured that out myself. They work sheep with what they call a sheep hook. Its a smooth iron hook that you use to hook their hind leg so you can grab them.

    I'd seen them catching sheep with them and hadn't ever seen them rope them but never knew why until I made the mistake of roping one. Like I said; Opps.
     
    #8
  9. deidre79

    deidre79 Supertzar

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    i met some guy on a forum, he was a jerk, end of story.
     
    #9
  10. Lookn4awillin1

    Lookn4awillin1 Porn Star

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    You might have done right, what would someone have thought had you been grabbing a sheep by the hind legs...damn, that man been out here too long, be needing a woman.:rolleyes: That damn sheep hook looks like it'd piss em off.
     
    #10
  11. tenguy

    tenguy Reasoned voice of XNXX

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    This site has a rather specialized subject, Shepherd's Crooks, you might enjoy looking at it.

    https://theshepherdscrook.net/
     
    #11
  12. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    They say that's why guys out here were those 501 button fly Levis. Its because a sheep can hear the sound of a zipper at 1,000 yards.

    But I never figured that out.

    Did you ever notice how tiny their cute little ears are?
     
    #12
  13. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    I think that was the deal with those hook shaped walking sticks you see Biblical characters with. They were for hooking sheep. God knows what they did with them after that.:eek:
     
    #13
  14. tenguy

    tenguy Reasoned voice of XNXX

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    "Tis the symbol of the Shepherd of the Lord.
     
    #14
  15. Lioness

    Lioness A Fun Flirty Frisky Friendly Felion

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    I didn't see this when I sent you my PM.
     
    #15
  16. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    See we crossed in the mail again.:)
     
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  17. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    Here ya go Deidre dear. Nibble on this nice piece of bacon rind.
     
    #17
  18. Nympho

    Nympho sex kitten

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    should this be moved to the stories section?
     
    #18
  19. stumbler

    stumbler Porn Star

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    I figured the stories section was more for sexually related stories and these are more of general nature.

    Personally I like it here where I can find but you're the mod Nympho.
     
    #19
  20. Nympho

    Nympho sex kitten

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    I'll leave it here... for now... :p
     
    #20