Buttercup

 

A couple of times a year Cleve and I head down to Reno with the stock truck to load up on supplies we can’t get around home. Now, never let it be said that ol’ Jack was a city loving fellow, no I prefer our ranch, the Plenty of Rocks, but sometimes it’s okay. We get what we need and head back to Winnemucca happy to be leaving the crowds.

Well, this one time we happened to be there when the big Reno rodeo was going on so we decided to go and watch the boys ride. I had a couple of beers and was enjoying the show when the Announcer starts talking about this one bull rider, what a big rodeo star he was, and the bazillions of dollars he made last year.

I listened to that and thought about the stack of bills sitting on the table back home. You know the ones that say, Final Notice ’or‘ You’d Better Pay,” signed by some guy named Big Benny. That bull rider made more in eight seconds than we cleared in a year raising cattle.

Now, I’ve been ranching with Cleve for over twenty years and I know better than to say certain things in front of him. In my own defense though I did have a couple of beers and was more talkative than usual. I went and said something about how much money that guy made. How he made more in one show than we did busting our backs ranching. Then, and I’m not sure why I said it, but I did. I said that I missed my calling I should have been a bull rider.

Had I been paying attention I would have seen that light come on in Cleve’s eyes. Like on those TV shows where the guy gets a light bulb over his head when he gets an idea. Well, Cleve had a light bulb over his head and it had my name on it.

The next day we were back on the ranch. I was patching up some fence when Cleve comes up to me and asks if I recalled what I had said last night. I said that I didn’t recollect I did. I went on twisting two wires together inside the stretcher.

Sometimes Cleve can be a might annoying, especially when he doesn’t get to the point. He watched me for a bit and then says, “About the bull riding?”

About now my patience was running thin. “You want to get to the point of this conversation I’ve got things to do this month.”

I can always tell when Cleve thinks he’s done something great and clever, except it’s usually not great or clever. He gets this particular look and that’s when I start to worry. He had it now. “You said that guy made more riding bulls than we made ranching and that you missed your calling as a bull rider.”

I was still waiting for him to spit it out. “I don’t recall.”

 “Well, I do. So, I entered you in the bull riding at the Elko Stampede in two weeks.”

I just sort of stood there, the words rattling around in my brain like a marble in a tin can. “I don’t think I heard you right, you want to run that by me again?”

 “In a few seconds you could win a fortune. We just need to get you some bull riding gear.”

I started laughing and telling him how he really got me on that one. Like as if I knew anything about riding bulls. Then, I noticed he wasn’t laughing.

He says, “I paid a hundred dollar entry fee and if you don’t ride we get fined.”

It took a minute for it to sink in that he wasn’t kidding, he really had done it. I tried to maintain my calm. “Cleve, I don’t think you should have done that.” Then, I lost it, “You trying to get me killed?”

“What’s the big deal?” he says. “You snap out broncs all the time, what’s the difference?”

My calm was officially gone. “Because, broncs don’t have horns eight feet wide and hooves like turkey platters!”

Cleve gives me one of those patient head shakes, “If you can ride a bronc you can ride a bull, just stay on his back, it’s easy.”

“If it’s so easy why don’t you do it?”

 “Because you’re the one who wants to ride bulls not me.” He walked off leaving me standing there staring after him.

Well, I was facing two choices; I could run up the white flag or cowboy up and ride that bull. I wasn’t sure where to get a white flag so I figured I was stuck with the bull. I also knew that Cleve would pay dearly for this.

I got a hold of my pal Stubb who I recalled had done some bull riding in his younger days. I borrowed his frayed out old bull rope and a glove that had more holes in it than Swiss cheese. Stubb figured I was a little old to be getting on bulls with them kids. I agreed, but it was something Cleve had set up. He understood that.

 He also said that he quit riding when a bull stepped on his head. You know, it wasn’t until he said that that I noticed his head did have that squished look to it. What it would look like if a bull stepped on it I guess. I wondered if I’d have a head like his when this was over. It didn’t make me feel any better.

The day finally came when we headed for Elko. I took a long look at the Plenty of Rocks and wondered if I’d ever see it again. I also wondered what the boys would say at my funeral. I could just see them all gathered at Charlie’s Bar each holding up a glass toasting poor old Jack. Charlie was a bit of a cowboy poet so he’d say something like, “Here’s to Jack, to him we tip a glass, he got killed riding a bull, boy what a stupid . . . .” Well, anyway you get the idea.

I signed in at the rodeo office and then went over to the board to see what bull I drew. My stomach was feeling like the day I drank some alkali water or when I had to take castor oil from my mother when I was a kid. I was expecting to see a bull’s name like Horns of Death or Head Ripper Offer. Cleve found it before I did, but then I wasn’t looking too hard either. He pointed and laughed, “You’ve got Buttercup.”

I looked and sure enough, the bull’s name was Buttercup, I started to feel better. Cleve slapped me on the back, “Buttercup, I’ll bet a little girl could ride him. This is going to be a breeze, just think of all the money we’re going to make.”

I looked at him, “We’re going to make?”

“Well sure, if it wasn’t for me you’d never have won it.”

Before I could answer these two bull riders come walking up to check their draws. The one jabs the other in the ribs and says, “Hey look, some guy named Jack drawed Buttercup.”

The other said something about never having heard of this Jack. The first guy then says, “Well, you probably won’t again, you can figure he’s dead meat.” The other guy says, “If it was me I’d be turning that monster out, I don’t care how much they fined me.” They both walked away laughing.

I slowly turned toward Cleve, “A little girl could ride him huh? Someday, somehow, I will get you for this.”

The next couple of hours dragged by, I saw my life flash before my eyes at least six times. I spent the time devising ways to get even with Cleve, providing of course I survived.

The bulls were finally run into the chutes and I got my first look at Buttercup. I would have preferred my stomach full of alkali water and castor oil. He looked like a hair covered boxcar with Ponderosa trunks for horns. He was bellering, kicking, and blowing snot everywhere, he was one unhappy critter. I knew this was the last thing I would see on this earth.

The chute boss walked down the row calling names, when he called mine he stopped and looked up at me. He then turned toward the fence, waved his hand in the air and pointed at me. I looked to see who he was waving at and saw two paramedics pick up their bags and a minister pull out his prayer book.

I got my shaking knees down on that monster and he didn’t like it none at all. One of the boys on the chute pulled my rope. I heard a scream, but I think it was me, I don’t remember ‘cause it all turned to a blur. Four seconds later I was on the ground and people were yelling at me to run. I didn’t look, I just did like they said and run, but I didn’t get too far before that sucker hooked my backside and launched me up into the second row of seats.

When we got home I made some phone calls to a few friends in town. I told them about my Cleve sponsored adventure and that I was going to do something special to thank him. They all agreed to help. I limped around a few days watching for the mailman to bring a package. When it came I couldn’t wait to tell Cleve what I had for him.

After supper I sat back in my big chair and called him into the room. I was holding the box and trying hard to keep a straight face. I told him I wanted to thank him for getting me into the bull riding, how it really made my day, and I had bought something special for him.

He stood back studying me like he didn’t trust me. I handed him the box and watched while he opened it. He pulled back the flaps and just stared down into it. He slowly lifted out the bright pink cowboy hat and stared at me with a questioning expression.

I said, “Pard, I wanted to return the favor so I entered you in the Rodeo Queen competition for the Winnemucca rodeo. See there, the hat has one of them sparkly little crowns on the front, ain’t that pretty? No need to thank me.”

He got that look like when you drink alkali water or swallow castor oil. He starts backing away, “I ain’t doing it!”

“What? You have to. I’ve paid the entry fees and people are expecting you to show up. Besides, I already told all the boys to come out and cheer for you. Now, try the hat on I want to see how it looks.”

He just dropped it like it was hot and ran out the door. I yelled after him, “Cleve, you get back here and put your princess hat on! You can’t hide in that barn forever!”

I rubbed the big purple bruise on my backside and grinned. 

 

                                                                            Dave P. Fisher