From the open skies of Wyoming, here’s this month’s short story about ranch life, an insight I learned from my family, and a piece of trivia.
Story
In the early 1970s, Miller Estate Company hired a rugged individual who had powerful shoulders and a soft heart. We all called him Hummer, a nickname he earned from the word he often used to replace expletives in conversations. Hummer had a scar on his face from a bullet wound he sustained during a firefight while serving as a Marine in Vietnam. For his bravery in combat, he earned both the Bronze Star and Silver Star. Even more, he tried to save a man who eventually won the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously.
We all loved working with Hummer and respected his heroic service to our country, something he never bragged about.
For a man who could kill when it was necessary, he was gentle around livestock, almost like my dad. He and his boy proved to be good horsemen and knew their way around cattle. One day, Dad told Hummer that a horse down at the barn was too old to survive another winter and needed to be put out of its misery. Hummer took a rifle from the gun closet and slowly walked to the corral where the old horse was bedded down.
Half an hour later, Hummer came back to the ranch house. “I can’t do it, Frank. That animal
never treated me badly.”
Dad smiled at his sad friend and then marched to the barn, put a bullet between the horse’s eyes, and returned to the house to pour Hummer a cup of hot coffee. They sat together and marveled about the powerful bond between a horse and rider that develops in the country.
When he left the ranch later in life, Hummer worked for law enforcement and once had to shoot a suspect who had recently abducted a woman. He didn’t flinch in his duty. Soon after, the sheriff ordered him to shoot a horse that had been hit on the highway and crippled. Hummer followed orders this time, but claimed it was the hardest thing he ever had to do.
That was Hummer. Break the law or shoot at him and you risk losing your own life. But treat
him with respect and deference, and he was a good friend for life. Horses felt that innate
compassion in him. We did too and were all very grateful for his time on the I Lazy D.
Insight
From Ada, my great-grandmother: Never hit a horse. Horse and rider are mutually dependent, and their relationship is built on trust. My great-grandmother’s principal notion extends beyond horses to our families: we should never strike someone we love.
Trivia: Did You Know?
For most horsemen, putting an animal out of its misery is one of the hardest things to do on a
ranch.
Until next month,
Mark Miller
“Tabasco and I sprinted across a rocky ridge where his metal shoes struck pebbles that sparked when they flew. . . . We shared the perfect freedom of synchronized movement that only horseback riding provides.” A Sometimes Paradise.
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