Most kids that grew up in North Texas either wanted to be a cowboy or had no choice. Since my family moved from the farming community when I was five, I had a choice. Although I maintained my rural roots and from time to time would work on my uncle's farm and play cowboy. Truth be known, as I grew up, I was more of a "drug store" cowboy, than the real deal. Nevertheless, I still knew a little and was ready to breath some fresh air.We all arrived at the small farm outside Spurger, Texas and Doug's Father immediately put us to work. He had a small herd of about 30 cows and we spread out "on foot" and herded them into a small pen in one corner of the pasture. Some of the cows had calves. We moved the herd through the "squeeze chute", which holds the cow's head while they are treated. When each bovine has its shots, it is released into the open pasture. A fairly easy process to get them in, give the shots, etc. and release them.
Once all of the cows were treated and released we had about seven or eight bull calves left in the pen. Doug's Dad wanted to castrate the calves before turning them out. They weighed about 100 pounds each. Doug, Clyde and me took turns grabbing the calf by the leg and flanks and putting them on the ground. Then Doug's Dad would apply a rubber band like o-ring to their private area. This stopped the blood circulation to their private parts and they would fall off painlessly, so I'm told.
Everything had gone smoothly until we got to the last calf. This little bull was a little bigger than 100 pounds. Early estimates was that he probably weighed about 300-400 pounds. Doug and Clyde both looked at me and said, "It's your turn!" I really didn't want to try and throw that big bull calf, but was not going to admit that I was afraid. So, I told them to put him in the squeeze chute and I would tie one end of the rope to the post at the chute and one around the bulls horns. Yep, he had horns. My plan was to let him out of the chute and when he hit the end of the chute, I would have followed him down the rope and using my best steer wrestling move, throw him to the ground.
After taking a deep breath, I told them to let him out. He bolted out the chute with me running down the rope. When he hit the end, it stopped him and I was there to grab one horn and with his nose in the crook of my arm, easily throw him to the ground. All was well until my arm slipped off his head and I fell with my right arm wrapped around the rope. The bull dragged me all over the pen. He stepped on the back of my leg while Doug kept hollering, "LET GO OF THE ROPE, LET GO OF THE ROPE!!!" Finally, I got my arm lose and came to rest in the middle of the pen with cow manure all over me. Still on the ground, Doug asks me, "why didn't you let go?" In a profanity laced response, I told him, "I couldn't let go!" Since my plan hadn't worked we all cornered the little bull and put him on the ground. Since he was much larger and more developed than the previous calves, Doug's Dad surgically removed his "bullness"! This did not make the little fella happy as he chased us all up the fence.
Once we turned him out, my arm and leg both began to swell up and I knew it was not going to be pleasant. But, he had promised us gumbo and that would help relieve a little of the pain. After washing-up and heading to the kitchen of the little farm house, Doug's Dad brought in the gumbo. I got a heaping bowl of rice and filled it with gumbo. The gumbo had a great flavor, but there was some strange meat in there. One thing was some small animal as there were little rib cages in the bowl. There was something else in there that I did not recognize. I took a bite but it was a little chewy and didn't taste that good. I asked what was in the gumbo. I was told it was squirrel and guinea gizzards.
I ate around the gizzards.
The next day I could hardly walk and my forearm was twice its normal size. I haven't done any "Steer Wrestling" since.
