Tales of a Texas Boy

by Marva Dasef

  After a bit, the rabbit started to move his hind legs a little. He hunched them up under him and inched his way into the underbrush.

  We went back to the truck and Pa decided we’d had enough hunting. Neither one of us had the heart to kill anything, at least not that day. I hoped the cottontail recovered and went about his business. I also hoped the bullsnake went off an found himself a meal, but I was glad it wasn’t my cottontail. Life is hard on the prairie, but there ain’t no sense in relishing the death of any animal, not even a rattlesnake or a jackrabbit.

  The Auction

  Mules and jackasses have a special place on the farm. They’re strong and tough, so farms back in the early part of the twentieth century couldn’t operate without them. Fortunately, or sometimes unfortunately, they were also very smart and had a mind of their own.

  Pa hollered at me. “Eddie, you get outta bed and get dressed.”

  I looked out the window and saw it was still dark, so I knew sumpin must be up. I jumped up and pulled on my pants and boots as fast as I could. I grabbed up a shirt and headed down the ladder from the loft where I sleep.

  When I get to the kitchen, I saw Ma was already cooking up some ham n’ eggs. My stomach started growling at the smell, so I finished buttoning my shirt and tucked it in like Ma likes. Sumpin was definitely going on since we usually do chores before we get breakfast.

  “I thought you was going to sleep all day, Eddie,” Pa says when he sees me plop down in my chair.

  “Pa, it’s still dark out,” I said and Pa gave me the look what told me I was statin’ the obvious. I looked through the doorway at the chime clock in the sitting room and saw it was only four in the morning. We usually get to sleep ‘til five, so I was starting to get real curious.

  “We’re going up to Amarillo to an auction. They brought in some mules from Georgia and I thought to take a look.”

  I knew about the auction, but I didn’t know we was going to it. After all, we raised mules, so I wondered why we’d buy some more.

  “Yessir. Those Georgia mules are special I hear.” If Pa wanted to buy mules from Georgia, that was his business. But I weren’t going to argue, as a trip to Amarillo didn’t happened every day.

  “They also brought in a couple of jacks if you was wondering why I’d want to look at mules,” Pa said when he read my thoughts from my expression. I weren’t very good at hiding things from Pa. Not that I was trying to hide nothing. I just didn’t want to question his good sense, especially at four in the morning.

  We finished up eating breakfast and got ready to hit the road to Amarillo. Ma gave us a sack with some biscuits and leftover ham, so we’d have something to eat along the way. I helped Pa push the truck out of the barn and he cranked it while I worked the throttle. Soon enough, we were driving north to the big city.

  We pulled the truck into the fairgrounds where the auction was going on. There were trucks and cars all over the place. I hadn’t seen so many folks together in one place since the last county fair. Most everybody was milling around the holdin’ pens looking over the stock. There weren’t just mules, but also horses, cows, and pigs. Each of the types had a different time to be auctioned. It meant folks who were interested in any animal auctioned later had to sit through stock they didn’t care about. Everybody had to come first thing, since it wasn’t known ‘til then when any one auction was going to start.

  But, there was plenty to do if’n you had to wait. It was interesting just looking over the stock and seeing what was up for sale. Some traveling salesmen set up booths where they’d pitch their wares. They was right entertaining just to watch. Those fellas sure could talk! They was selling everything you could think of. One fella was selling a potion to cure the bellyache and baldness all at the same time. I couldn’t rightly figure how it could work. Still, he swore it come from a old Indian who never had a bellyache and sure weren’t bald, so it must work. I ain’t never seen a bald Indian, so I had to believe him.

  There weren’t no beef cattle for sale, as they are sold in herds not one animal at a time. They did have milk cows, though. Pa and me was looking over a Holstein, just about the biggest cow I ever did see. The auctioneer went from pen to pen auctioning off the animals.

  The crowd of buyers followed him around and bid on the ones they wanted. When they got to the Holstein, Pa and me were already in the pen inspecting the cow. The auctioneer come into the pen and pushed on the cow to move her aside. The cow stepped right on my foot. I didn’t think it polite to yell out, so I just tried to shove on the cow to get her to step off.

  “You move aside, boy,” the auctioneer said.

  “Yessir. I’m tryin’ to,” I answered.

  Pa walked around from the other side of the cow and saw I’m stuck, so he gave the cow a big push so she’d step off’n my foot. I’m glad I wore my cowboy boots or she woulda broke my foot for sure. I decided I’d stay out of the pens from there on out.

  The auctioneer bid up the cow and she went for the nice price of thirty-five dollars. The bunch of us moved on to the next pen. Pa and I watched as they sold off a heifer, then a nice-sized sow.

  After awhile, we reached the pens where they stabled the mules. I knew Pa wasn’t interested in the mules as we breed them ourselves, so we just waited through the bidding until it got to something interesting.

  We came to an empty pen and we all walked by. Then, another empty pen and we moved on past that one, too. Finally, we came to the end of the line of pens and lined up in front of the one holding an animal. There weren’t a single horse, cow, mule, or pig within three pens of the one where we found ourselves at last.

  I looked in and my jaw dropped like a rock. There stood the biggest, blackest, and meanest looking jackass I ever did see. Two men were holding lead ropes tied to his halter. His head was up and he was puffing his nostrils as he stood there stiff up against the back of the pen. The lead ropes were stretched to their fullest and the two men didn’t look too happy to be in the pen with this critter.

  He were at least eighteen hands, so he was near as tall as Pa. His head reared up another three feet. Maybe you’ll think I’m exaggeratin’, but I swear it’s the truth. He was the biggest Mammoth Jack I ever did see.

  The bunch of men standing outside the pen were mumbling to each other and looking at the auction book. Pa was holding a copy, so I asked for it and read about the farm he come from in Georgia and other such information.

  The auctioneer started up, “What am I bid for this fine jack?”

  “Ten,” I heard from the other side of the crowd. All a sudden, the jackass reared up against the ropes and one of the men holding him got flung up on the fence. The other one dropped the rope and scrambled over the side of the pen.

  The Jack threw his head down and went for the man who was on the ground. The beast’s mouth was gaped open and he was clearly trying to do some serious damage. Men outside the pen jumped up and grabbed the hands of the man in the pen and jerked him right out. The Jack reared up and slammed his front hooves against the side of the gate.

  Crack! The gate splintered and the Jack came tearing out. A brave man grabbed hold of the ropes but he just got hauled behind the jackass like he was no more’n a sheet flyin’ in the wind. Another in the crowd with some presence of mind opened the gate across the alleyway and the Jack went into the next pen. A bunch of the fellas slammed the gate shut.

  “Aw, c’mon folks, this Jack is only four years old. He’s worth a lot more’n that. Who’ll give me fifteen?”

  Nobody said anything for a bit, then Pa held up his auction card and said “Fifteen.”

  The auctioneer pointed at Pa and grinned. I believe he thought the bidding was just getting started.

  “Do I hear twenty? Twenty. Twenty. I’ve got fifteen. Who’ll give me twenty?”

  Nothin’ but silence.

  “Gentlemen, I can’t believe you won’t bid on this fine animal. Just look at the hip on this outfit. He weighs in at over fifteen hundred pounds.”

>   The auctioneer looked around at the silent crowd. He tried one more time.

  “He’ll be a fine stud. Your mules will be big, strong fellas. C’mon now, I’ve got fifteen. Give me seventeen, seventeen. Alright, give me sixteen.”

  It didn’t do no good. The crowd figured any jackass that could break down a two by twelve board gate was more’n they wanted to deal with.

  “Sold to the gentleman in the Stetson,” the auctioneer finished. He knew when to give up and move on. Pa had just bought himself a new jackass.

  The rest of the crowd moved on. Pa and me stood there and looked at the Jack. The big fella snorted a few times and stamped his hoof on the ground, but seemed to be over most of his mad.

  Everything was finally quiet while me and Pa pondered what to do next. Then, I heard a snuffling sound, but it didn’t come from the jackass. I looked over to the next pen and saw a boy sitting on the ground, hunched over. I could see he was crying and it made me wonder. Pa looked over, too.

  “What’s the matter, boy?”

  The boy, who was not much older than me, looked up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Nothin’, sir,” he answered in a quavery voice.

  “Well, you must be sad about sumpin.” Pa opened the gate to the pen the boy was in and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Why not tell us about it? We’ll try to help if we can.”

  “Well, sir, that jackass belonged to my daddy up ‘til you bought him. Times are hard, so he was forced to sell. I’ve raised up Samson from a foal. I’m just gonna miss him sumpin fierce.”

  “We’ll take good care of him. I promise,” Pa said and took the boy by the shoulder. He stood him up and reached out his hand.

  “You got my word, son. Can we shake on it?”

  The boy reached out and shook Pa’s hand.

  “Alright. I guess that’s fair. I’ll miss ol’ Samson, but you seem a nice man who’ll take care of him right.”

  “I sure will, son. What’s your name?”

  “Robert Ray James, but folks call me jus’ Bobby Ray.”

  Bobby Ray went into the pen with Samson. Pa got kind of tense as he’d seen how the jackass was. But, the boy walked right up to the Jack and threw his arms around the big neck. Samson put his nose down and nuzzled the boy’s shoulder for a minute. I heard the boy whisper, but I couldn’t make out what he said. I kind of thought he was saying goodbye.

  Then, Bobby Ray picked up the lead ropes and handed them over to Pa.

  “He’ll be good for you now, sir. I tol’ him to behave hisself.” Bobby Ray walked away and didn’t look back even when Samson threw his head up and brayed. We all watched the boy walk away and disappear out of sight.

  “Well, Eddie,” Pa said, “I guess we’d better figure out how to get this big boy home.”

  Pa handed me one of the lead ropes and, together, we led the jackass out of the pen. As we walked him out of the big barn, Pa was quiet. I knew he was sorry to take the boy’s pet jackass, but he’d paid the money and the animal was now his.

  We led Samson to the truck and slid down the ramp in the back. Pa was looking a tad skeptical whether the big jackass would fit in the truck, but we was bound to give it a try.

  I saw Bobby Ray come toward us with a man I took to be his father. Pa had the same thought and held out his hand to shake. Once they’d shook hands, the man held out his hand to me, so I stepped up and shook his hand, too.

  “I’m Bob James, Bobby Ray’s dad,” he explained though we already thought it was the case.

  “Bobby Ray said you bought Samson, so I wanted to drop over and tell you a few things about him before you head off to home.”

  “Why, I appreciate that, Mr. James,” Pa answered and looked expectant.

  “Well, Samson is a good stud jack, but that also means he can be a handful. Bobby Ray here is about the only one he’s taken to. I was sorry we had to sell him, but you know how times are gettin’ hard. I can’t afford to keep more’n one jackass and we’ve also got General Lee back home. He’s the senior jack and I couldn’t see lettin’ him go.”

  “Samson did show his spunk, I’ll admit, but he seems to be quiet enough now.”

  “Oh, sure, he’s good as long as there ain’t no mares in the area. Just be careful when you bring in the mares ‘cause he might get a little crazy. He ain’t mean, just real enthused about his job, I’d say.” The man chuckled a bit at his own joke.

  “I already promised Bobby Ray we’d take good care of him, and I shook his hand on it. That’s my solemn word,” Pa said as he looked at Bobby Ray to see if he understood what he was saying. Bobby Ray nodded his head to show he knew he and Pa had a gentlemen’s agreement.

  “Well, that’s about it,” Mr. James said, looking as if it were time for him to leave. “But, we could help you load him up.”

  “That’d be right nice of you. You know, in case you come down our way, we live a little ways outside Hereford. Perkins is the name. You can ask anybody where to find us.”

  “We just might do that,” Mr. James said.

  We loaded up Samson easy enough and drove off.

  “I think we’ll call him Bucephalus,” Pa said as we were driving home.

  “Why not just call him Samson, Pa? That’s his name.”

  “He’s got a new life now, so he should have a new name. Besides, I always wanted to call a horse Bucephalus, but I think a jack can live up to the name just fine.” We ended up just calling him Beau, ‘cause it’s a lot easier to say.

  Out of the Chicken Coop

  Most animals on the farm were there for a purpose, rarely as pets. That meant that animals were not allowed in the house like they are today. If they got in, however, it wasn’t always easy to get them out again.

  When I was just a little kid, no more’n seven if I remember rightly, I was down in the chicken yard tossin’ grain like I was tol’. This one little red hen started followin’ me around instead of peckin’ up the grain like the other chickens. I thought it strange, but just went about my business.

  When I opened up the gate to leave, the red hen just whooshed right through ‘fore I could get it closed. I tol’ her, “Now you get back in there,” and opened the gate just a bit for her. She didn’t pay any mind to the invite, but just headed on across the yard as fast as two feet could take her.

  I latched up the gate and took off after her. I thought I’d better grab her before she got up to the porch. Ma doesn’t like chickens on the porch ‘cause of the mess they make. So, I was runnin’ after the hen and she was makin’ a bee-line for the house.

  Well, she was faster ‘n me, so she beat me handy and up on the porch she went. The kitchen door was open to let the heat out since Ma was bakin’ pies. That hen just traipsed right in like she’d come to visit. I caught up with her finally and she and me went round the kitchen table a time or two. I was glad Ma wasn’t there ‘cause I know that hen wouldn’t of lasted two seconds if that were the case. I figured I’d better catch the chicken ‘fore Ma turned her into supper.

  It were a standoff. I’d go right around the table, and the hen’d go left. I’d go left, and she’d go right. When I stopped, she stopped. Mostly, chickens don’t have much sense, which is why people don’t take to them much. Except for eatin’ and eggs, of course. But, I was beginnin’ to think this was one smart chicken.

  I’d left the kitchen door open so’s I could chase the chicken out, but that just perked up Ol’ Spot’s curiosity as he come in to see what was up. Of course, Ma don’t allow no dogs in the kitchen, neither, so I’d two strikes again’ me already.

  The hen didn’t care for Spot bein’ in the kitchen, neither. That’s one thing Ma and the hen would agree on. So, she gave out a couple of clucks and jumped up on a chair, which was shoved under the table. So, I got down on my hands and knees and crawled under the table. Spot thought this was a good idea, so he come under, too.

  The hen spied Spot and Spot spied the hen and there was a lot less room under there after th
at. Spot jumped at the hen and she jumped over to another chair and Spot just followed her under the table. He’d pretty much forgot I was there, too, so he scrunched his way right over the top of me, pushin’ me flat to the floor. The hen’s jumpin’ from one chair to the next and Spot was runnin’ around in circles trying to catch her.

  Cluck, cluck, bark, bark. I was surprised Ma hadn’t already showed up.

  I decided there weren’t enough room for me, Spot, and the chicken, so I started to crawl out. But, that didn’t work so well, as Spot lunged at the chicken just as I was pushin’ out from under the table.

  Now, Spot wasn’t a real big dog, but he weighed in about thirty pounds and was plenty strong. When he jumped up to catch the chicken, he knocked me over and I rolled up against the leg of the table. Yep, that’s the same leg needing fixin’ for the last month and Pa hadn’t got to it. It’s not surprisin’ the leg pushed away when I rolled up against it. That end of the table fell on my back and all the pies slid off on the floor. It was pretty startlin’, so I’ll admit I yelped some. Course, Spot was barkin’ and the hen was a-cluckin’ so it was gettin’ right noisy in there.

  When the side of the table fell, I could see the hen kind of squirt out the other side and make for the door. Spot scrabbled out and hit the floor runnin’ after her. I’d just crawled out from under the table and, wouldn’t you know, Ma showed up and was standin’ there like she does with her fists balled up on her hips. She’d got that look, I’m sorry to say. I ‘spect you know the one I’m talkin’ about. Her eyes were kind of narrowed down and her mouth wasn’t smilin’ at all.

  I stood there in front of her tryin’ to think of what to say, but nothin’ good was comin’ to mind. So, I just tol’ the truth.

  “Ma, it was the chicken. And Spot, he was chasin’ the chicken. It weren’t my fault.”