Home on the Range at X-Mas!
- by -
the Cowboy King *
//~~//~~//
From the Arden Mountains cabin of St. Paul's Poet Lariat, The Bard of Arden, The Cowboy King: "I was bakin' up a fresh batch o' m' worl' famous Christmas Curmudgeon Biscuits (ingredients is whatever's left in the cupboards an' cabinets what ain't movin' too much, an' ain't too green yet, after m' Unsocial Insecurity check runs out fer the month), an' this here pome popped outa m' mouth, an' smack inta the mixin' bowl:
The snow is blowin' roun' the eaves --
Yer buildin' up the fire --
The wind is chasin' autumn's leaves:
We know what YOU desire!
There ain't no quarrel -- Santa's great
An' Frosty makes us sing,
While Rudolph's nose helped haul the freight --
BUT YOU WANT COWBOY KING!!!
All right -- biscuits is about ready -- don't push now -- who's first?"
...
The Night Before Christmas at M' Home on the Range
...
T'were nigh onto Christmas, an' all 'round m' cabin
Ya c'd hear cactus grow -- warn't a coyote gabbin'.
M' long-johns was propped on a stick by the fire
In hopes that, come mornin', they'd be warmer an' drier.
The Guernseys were dreamin', outside on m' lands,
Nightmares 'bout me milkin' with cold mornin' hands.
M' horse slept indoors, an' the cabin smelled rank. It
Were so cold outside, me an' him shared the blanket!
When above, on the shakes, I heard hoof-beats skedaddle.
I unholstered m' guns -- somethin's scarin' the cattle! --
Threw open the door, stood out on the porch
Barefoot, buck-naked -- jes' m' gun an' a torch.
The moonbeams that marched 'crost m' spread single-file
Showed the snow was nbroken fer mile after mile.
"Some ruckus," I shrugged. "Jes' the wind in the sage" --
When 'crost the night sky comes the overland stage!
(Well, m' seein's no good -- ain't no cause to lodge pity --
Lost m' specs playin' blackjack in Dodge City.)
Overhead the stage twirled like a big wagon wheel,
An' I reckon I felt like a buzzard's next meal.
My eyeballs improvin' as each swoop it nears,
I c'd see the stage pulled by some strange-lookin' steers!
They ambushed m' ranch like a hound'll rout grouse --
Tore a wall off the barn, an' knocked down the outhouse!
Like a tumbleweed skitters which way the wind blows,
Them varmints was loco (an' believe me, I knows!).
An' then, from above me, I heard m' roof groan,
An' I figgered m' ceilin' would drop like a stone.
I yelled m'self raw, over jangles and jingles:
"Git that stage off m' roof! Git them steers off m' shingles!"
When, from somewheres behind me, I hears some galoot
Crack out "Pipe down, son!" as the room filled with soot!
He'd clumb down m' chimney, this greenhorn so rude,
An' one look at his rig said it all: "He's a dude!"
His face was all whiskers -- in a bag was his gear --
His red suit must mean he was huntin' fer deer.
He looked so danged silly, I guffawed through an' through,
But I stopped when he said, "Son, yer skin's turnin' blue."
I'll admit it looked strange -- didn't take much more proof
Than me standin' buck-naked, eight steers on m' roof.
"M' brain must've friz up clean through to the marrow.
'Scuse m' bad manners, sir," an' I doffed m' sombrero.
I asks, "Where ya from, Gramps?" an' the dude says, "Up north."
(Guess them Montana folks don't care how they go forth!)
"I'll be drivin' all night," he said, "last light t' first.
It's hard on ol' codgers -- but on reindeers it's worst.
So I'm askin' a favor, an' I hopes you agrees:
Lemme borry eight longhorns t'night, if ya please."
"Ya got grit, dude," says I, as my six-guns I cock,
"Bustin' up m' home spread, an' now rustlin' m' stock."
"That's all been repaired," said he, scratchin' his nose.
With a last "Much obliged!" up m' chimney he goes.
I were seein' dang good then as I recollects;
That greenhorn done gimme a new pair o' specs!
I looks out, an' sees a new barn in the fog;
In m' new privy sits a fresh Sears catalog!
But I still was uneasy -- them longhorns was prime,
An' fer reindeers I couldn't git nary a dime.
"I'll be back afore dawn," says he, slappin' the traces,
An' next thing I knowed, they whooshed over the mesas!
But I heard him shout out, as his stage cleared the moon:
"Happy trails t' ya, cowboy, 'til we meet again soon!"
_______________________________________________
*Source: Bulletin Board, St. Paul Pioneer Press, 12/23/13
.jpg "Brandon de Wilde (1942-1972)")
