Monday, April 04, 2005

Journal of the Nameless Cowpuncher

Latigo Flint found the Journal of the Nameless Cowpuncher to be extremely moving. The journal is currently on display in Los Angeles at a very prestigious history museum. The museum recently lent the journal to Latigo Flint. This was quite an honor; museums are typically rather asshole-ish when it comes to letting people borrow their stuff.

Since the museum probably won't ever let you borrow it, I'll tell you the last ten entries so you know how it ends:

July 17, 1874
It was dang hot today. I don't much like punchin' cows. That sway-backed steer keeps trying to bite me. I think I'm gonna shoot him when Boss ain't lookin'.

July 18, 1874
Even hotter today. Cookie's stew gave me the wind something fierce. Too hot to bother shooting the sway-backed steer who keeps trying to bite me. Accidentally dropped my favorite neckerchief into a ravine.

July 19, 1874
Day dreamt about Sarah today. Was lost in pleasant recollection of the way she brushes her gingham bonnet back from her pretty face, her laughing eyes, sweet smile... Then the sway-backed steer tried to bite me and I couldn't get her image back after that. One of the Allen twins hit the other one over the head with Cookie's bone rasp.

July 20, 1874
Boss got sunstroke today and went plumb out of his mind. He said he could hear the cows whispering of escape. Boss sat in a barrel of water and said we weren't moving one more inch until someone counted all the cows. I drew the short straw. That sway-backed steer follered me around all day long trying to bite me.

July 21, 1874
Today we had to shoot three hundred and forty seven of our cows. I must have accidentally counted some of the cows twice, 'cause this morning Boss ran out of his tent waving the inventory above his head, ranting and raving about "infiltrators". I tried to persuade Boss that the sway-backed steer was one of 'em, but Boss ran his nose across the steer's back and said it didn't smell like an infiltrator.

July 22, 1874
It rained a little today and we were all mighty glad. Out here on these plains anything that settles the dust, even if only for a spell, is proof of the Lord's mercy. For some reason Cookie looked awful guilty as he ladled the stew into our bowls this evening. I actually don't want to know.

July 23, 1874
All morning long we had no idea where Boss was. One of the Allen twins finally found him 'round about lunch time. Seems Boss had come upon a large prairie dog colony about three miles west of camp, and spent most of the night and all morning bringing 'em cactus berries. I'm startin' to suspect there's something very wrong with Boss.

July 24, 1874
Seven mean looking range wolves jumped that sway-backed steer in a narrow gully this afternoon. I was the only one around and was fixin' to back quietly away and let 'em finish him off like I'd always wished upon him, 'cept for some reason I couldn't. Even though that sway-backed steer is always trying to bite me, I've come to kinda like the old boy. The last wolf did bite me on the shin while I was reloading, but it's little more than a scratch. As thanks for saving his life, that sway-backed steer tried to bite me.

July 25, 1874
There's something powerful wrong with my leg where that wolf nicked me yesterday. The fever's coming up on me too.

August 1 or maybe 2, 1874
Pretty and kind as she is, Sarah's gonna have no trouble finding another man who wants to marry her. This makes me mighty happy and mighty sad at the exact same time. I wonder if

And that's how it ended. Latigo Flint wonders if the museum curator noticed the three or four smudgedy tear stains at the bottom of the last page when he returned the journal. If she did, she was kind enough not to mention it.


At 10:52 PM, Blogger 1031 said...

Who knew that "Cowpuncher" was such a dangerous profession?

At 12:54 PM, Blogger Ghost Dog said...

*Snif* that poor nameless cowpuncher...I bet he and Sarah would have made a great couple. Alas, we'll never know. Dadgum wolves. He shoulda let them have that sway-backed steer.

At 1:53 PM, Blogger Blog ho said...

i choked on my vulva reading that. literally.

if you were hans blix i would marry you.

At 2:44 PM, Blogger darthmoridin said...

Riveting. Fastening.

At 5:07 PM, Blogger Mister Jinxy said...

The exquisiteness of your writing knows no bounds.

It was like reading the diary from the whaleship Essex.

Or the Donner Party.

At 6:19 PM, Blogger Frenzy Lohan said...

"Accidentally dropped my favorite neckerchief into a ravine."

I'm dying.

At 11:12 PM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

Another fine entry into what will hopefully one day be the Portable Latigo Flint Reader.

Reading this post made me jab a pound of ground chuck in the fridge.

At 9:43 AM, Blogger Dave Morris said...

The sway-back steer may very well be the first case of mad cow.

Or maybe I'm overthinking things. Regardless, the line about Cookie looking guilty gave me a nasty case of the giggles.

At 8:55 PM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Believe this 1031: We would never have made it to Colorado, much less California, had we been exploring under the litigious environment that currently exists in our nation.

I feel your pain Ghost Dog. Those were my exact thoughts when I read Nameless' journal for the first time.

But Ho, I'm not han blix, I'm Latigo Flint... I'm Latigo Flint.

So then I've secured your readership for another day DMor?

I humbly thank you Mr. Jinxy. (Goddamn sperm whales.)

Cara I would hope only figuratively. (I wonder if Laura I.W. would have liked that line.)

LBB my talented friend, if you truly believe, then maybe at some point I will as well.

Dave, if it adds another level and means I'm even more clever-er, then let's absolutely assume that was an intentional reference. (And I'm very glad to hear it by the way 'cause next to drinking and shooting people, making them giggle is my favorite thing to do.)

At 3:45 PM, Blogger Ari said...

O, I love those lines of yours. Great stuff as always.


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