The Art of Barnyard Cussing

Nothing can stir the soul of man, woman, or child more than an adventure on a Montana dude ranch where one can partake in piece of old west history called cowboy, & blend that with the great outdoors. So, this is the setting of the story to follow...

It was a beautiful, pristine Montana morning with the horses grazing peacefully about the meadow in belly-deep grass; the sun rising up to kiss the mountain peaks with warmth. The morning campfire was crackling away outside the lodge, and awaiting the guests, was a fresh pot of cowboy coffee.  It was what we called "Wrangler Breakfast" morning, which entails your guests consuming their meal of steak, eggs, & camp spuds around the fire while watching the wranglers gather in the stock by horseback.  This was my job, and I loved it.  There is nothing like saddling up on a cool, summer morning and heading out to gather in the horses.  It's just you and your horse working together, and the feeling, well... indescribable.  I was the only wrangler on tap for "Wrangler Breakfast", so I mounted up and headed my horse out the gate. Walk. Trot. Gallop!  The ranch owned about 80 head of horses and mules, and MOST were cooperative, knew the routine of wrangling, and did as they were supposed to, gallop gracefully to the barn displaying their athleticism and grace for the onlookers.  But, there were stragglers; defiant sons of bitches that chose to head the opposite direction or hold their ground in a sweet section of timothy grass.  Well, I worked them back and forth across the meadow, coaxing firmly but gently until they were in front of the lodge where they chose to stop. They would take a few steps toward the corrals and barn, then stop and plant their fat faces in the grass. Any time I came near, they would pin their ears, whirl and kick, or go nowhere at all.  After several minutes of this fun, I'd had enough.  My horse had lost any brain he had, my temper flared, and I opened up and aired out both lungs.  Now, growing up in the barnyard, you learn the importance of which cuss words to string together to get the best bang for your buck, so to speak.  You don't just throw out the usual "Shit!" or "Damn it!". Oh no! You put them all together at one time, so I did. "You G** Damn stupid Sons of Bit*$@! Get your F*$@#%& asses into the F*&$#^& corral, or I'm gonna shoot each and everyone of you stupid Bast$#@*!" I let ropes fly, along with another incoherent stream of foul language, and chased them in with all I had, smacking hind ends all the way.  I don't know if it was my convincing words, or my crazed appearance that convinced them to head directly to the corrals, but they took off like their tails were on fire, bucking & kicking.  I cussed and yelled at the herd all the way to the barnyard, all the while forgetting about the crowd of  adults, children, crew, and most importantly, my uncle & boss, that had now gathered at the edge of the front lawn to watch the show.  Upon reaching the corral, I slammed the gates, and let out one more, "You bunch of dumb asses!"  There!  I'd showed them who was boss!  I stomped my way to the barn, went about unsaddling and caring for my horse, and huffed up the hill for breakfast with the gang.  As I reached the campfire and guests, I noticed it was awfully quiet upon my arrival.  Shit.  It dawned on my that I hadn't given a thought about them hearing EVERY word that came out of my mouth about 10 minutes prior. Double shit.  Me and my big mouth.  Head down, I quickly grabbed a plate of food and SILENTLY ate alone.  Later, with the lump of breakfast souring in my stomach, I was quietly reminded that sometimes, silence is golden.  So, will I ever learn? Hell, no...