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Baxter Black

Baxter Black tackles ag issues with a strong funny bone. Black is an American cowboy, poet, philosopher and former veterinarian.

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Have you ever been embarrassed by your good dog? Me either. I’ve got a good dog. An Australian shepherd with one blue eye, and I believe he loves me. I believe I love him. He’ll go with me anywhere.

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Sharon had hauled the old piano home in a stock trailer. It came out of the Miner’s Club in Mountain City where, according to the bartender, it had set since the early ’30s.

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Mac told me a harrowing tale about losing a loaded six-horse trailer off the back of his pickup. He admitted he knew the ball was too small – but it wasn’t far to go; it was gettin’ dark; the kids were restless; it was a new moon; the tide was running out; his hat was too tight – whatever the excuse he needed to justify not changing the ball.

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Most of us, rural or urban, can get attached to an animal. Our barn cat Jay Jay has a special place in my mind. Somebody dumped a litter of kittens on the church grounds. I took three of the little tomcats.

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Many’s the time I’ve come home with yellow paint on my coveralls. Caterpillar yellow – spot it a mile away. We used it to mark our cull cows. Two paint brands we’d borrowed from the sheepherders were dipped in the paint can and daubed on the cow’s rump according to their condition.

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I wonder if I will see in my lifetime the end of “designated Americans”? I was filling out a form and was asked to check if I was African American, Hawaiian American, Latin American, Native American, Asian American, Anglo American or Other American.

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