I'm crabby. I won't go into all the reasons why as I don't want to bore y'all. Suffice it to say, I'm crabby! So I got this e-mail today and it seems to fit my mood so thought I would share:
Credit: Welda McKinley Grider was raised by a ranch woman and knows many and would pity the thug that tried to rob them.
Violence does not scare us. We ride 1,500 pound horses and stare down an alley full of mad, snot-slinging cows that weigh over 800 pounds. We've held down calves that outweigh you by four times. Don't try to intimidate us. Most of our husbands stand a head and shoulders taller, outweigh us by 100 pounds and we aren't scared of them. Why would be we be frightened by someone who can't keep their pants up? Every time we work cows, our husbands threaten us if we don't get out of the gate. They threaten us if we don't stay in the gate. We are pretty much not impressed by threats. Plus, if you get much closer we may give you some threats of our own to consider and be able to back it up.
Don't wave that knife at me, boy. I castrate when we brand, throw the 'mountain oysters' on the fire AND eat them, dirt and all. You probably don't want to go there.
Don't threaten to steal my pickup. I work for a living, so have insurance. The chances of you being able to drive a standard are next to none and there is no spare. I've walked home from the back side of the ranch, I can walk from here.
You want my purse? Take my purse. It has little money in it because, as I mentioned, I work for a living. You will find various receipts for feed and vet supplies, some dried up gum and the notice for my next teeth cleaning. The only 'drugs' you will find is something that is either aspirin or a calf scours pill but its been in there so long I've forgotten which it is.
Don't threaten to hurt me. I may look old and fragile to you, but I can ride horseback for 12 hours, with nothing to eat or drink. I have been kicked, bucked off, run over and mucked out. I've had worse things happen to me in the corrals than you have experienced in the little gang wars you've been through, and still cooked supper for a crew. You may whip me, son, but you'll be a tired, sore S.O.B. in the morning and yes, I will remember your face because I am used to knowing which calf belongs to which cow. I'll also remember which direction you went and what you were wearing because I've tracked many a cow with less information than you've given me.
You are not going to scare me with that little 'Saturday Night Special' when I have a .38 in my boot. You need not think I won't shoot you. I've shot several coyotes and numerous rattlesnakes. I put down my horse when he broke his leg and shot my pet dog when he killed some sheep. Don't think I won't consider you a rabid dog and go on my way.
OK I'm back. I can't say I do all this, but I do some of it. Bet Mikey does more than I do, what do you think???